Mess Me Up
Page 21

“Did he catch you?”
I shook my head and leaned into Rome when he pulled me under his arm.
“He was outside swimming laps in his Speedo,” I muttered darkly. “Unless he has cameras set up in his house—which wouldn’t surprise me because he’s paranoid—then I think I’m in the clear.”
Both men tensed.
“How do you mean he’s paranoid?” Wade was the one to ask.
I sighed and stood up straighter, turning so that my back was to the bar, and I was wedged in between the two men. I was touching from armpit to thigh with Rome. Wade was a few inches away from me, but I could still feel his heat.
I scooted closer to Rome, who twisted on his bar stool so that I was now in between his thighs. His arm was around my waist, and one large hand was spread out along my thigh. I would not think too hard about how close his hand was to my unmentionables, either.
“Well,” I said, wiggling slightly so that I could find a more comfortable position—one which Rome accommodated by moving the hand on my thigh and wrapping it around my waist and pulling me even tighter into him. “He won’t let me go into his office unless he’s there with me, watching my every move. And the minute that I’m done, and he’s not going to work in there, he locks it up. I’m also to keep all the doors to the house locked while I’m there. And if his wife is the only one home on the days that I clean, then I’m not allowed to clean his office at all.”
Wade hummed.
Rome snorted. “I wouldn’t have thought too much into that. There are things that I wouldn’t want you to see on my home computer—like my vast porn collection or my bank work—but he is a US senator. He might very well have sensitive documents in his office…which begs me to question, why weren’t these in his office, or better hidden? It’s like he wanted you to find them.”
I shivered.
I sure hoped that wasn’t the case.
Why would he want me to find them?
“I clean everything. And those weren’t there last week when I cleaned, I would know. I pull that same drawer out every week to clean. It has this weird lip on it that collects dust, and if you don’t pull it out to clean along the top, the crease gets this grayish tint to it and Senator Antilles’s wife complains about it.”
“That all seems very convenient to me,” Rome admitted.
Wade grunted in agreement. “I agree.”
“Think maybe you should do some quiet digging, Wade,” Rome admitted. “I’m not sure where this is going, or why she’s involved in whatever she’s found herself involved in, but it’s more than obvious that he wanted her to find those.”
Wade grunted. “I know a guy.”
“Anyway, do I quit or keep doing the job?” I asked hesitantly.
I was praying that he said keep the job.
I’d been looking at cars over the last week. I couldn’t afford one if I didn’t have that money from cleaning his house once a week. And furthermore, according to the driving school that I’d looked up online, I had to have a vehicle of my own to drive at the school because the student cars with the dual brake pedals on the driver side and passenger side were a thing of the past—at least in this county.
Though I guess technically I could just pick up a few extra jobs, but then that’d take away from my Rome time, and I wasn’t really looking forward to that.
“No,” Wade grunted. “But I think on top of looking into this, I still need to report it. Which I can do. I can claim I have a confidential informant. Got the email through a throwaway email address, and since you can name off one of the individuals in the pictures with the women…”
“They’re teenagers,” I said softly. “They might have all the essentials and look grown up, but I’ve seen those girls around town. They’re still in high school. The two right here,” I pointed at the pictures. “They’re in the eleventh grade. Oscar has a son who is a football player. He played varsity this year. Those girls were on the sidelines cheering for them.”
Neither man spoke for a long while, processing that news.
“The other option is reporting it as an anonymous tip.”
“And that tip will point directly toward me,” I told him honestly.
Wade’s eyes were hard and unyielding. “Sometimes you have to do shit you don’t want to do, girl.”
I looked away.
I knew better than most what he was talking about. I did a lot of shit I didn’t want to do.
Not that he’d know that.
But when I looked up at Rome, I knew that he knew what I’d be sacrificing if I told the senator I could no longer work for him.
“What do I do with the pictures?” I asked softly.
Wade held out his phone. “I’ll forward them to my email. You delete them. Having child pornography on your phone is a crime in itself.”
Kissing the dreams of driving and a car goodbye, because I knew once Wade reported my “anonymous” tip, things would blow up in my face, I proceeded to get drunk.
Really, really drunk.
And Rome let me.
Chapter 13
Not today, heifer.
-T-shirt
Rome
I woke up with my arm about to fall off, and my cock as hard as a rock.
At first, I wasn’t too sure where I was.
Then, when I opened my eyes and saw the mass of black hair spread out over my chest, and the head resting on my bicep, I remembered exactly where I was, as well as why the beautiful Izzy was currently sleeping on me.
After she’d shown me her pictures and asked me my advice, I’d suggested she take a shot to calm her nerves. That shot had turned into four margaritas, a shot of whiskey, two strawberry daiquiris, and a mojito.
When she hadn’t been able to find her house keys—she said in her haste she might’ve left them at the senator’s house—I’d taken her to my place.
From there, I’d laid her on my bed and had started to leave her…until she started to cry.
And I’d always been a sucker for a woman in tears.
After toeing off my shoes and shucking my shirt, I’d laid down and gathered her into my arms, listening to her cry about the car she wasn’t getting to buy now, as well as the fact that there were pieces of shit on this Earth that needed to be gelded.
After crying her little heart out, she’d fallen asleep, and I hadn’t been far behind.
Which led to now.
It was three o’clock in the morning, and I was now wide awake.
Why was I wide awake?
Because Izzy was practically laying on top of me, and my dick liked her softness pressed into it.
“Izzy,” I called softly, running my hand up and down her bare thigh, under the silky shorts she still had on.
It was so soft.
So. Fucking. Soft.
My hand practically spanned around her entire knee, and I found myself wanting to follow the same trail I’d taken by hand with my tongue.
I swallowed hard and started to push her off of me, but she tightened her arms around me.
“I was sleeping really well,” she muttered darkly. “Why are you waking me?”
I was never one to beat around the bush. Hesitation and indecision were not fine traits to have when you were a professional football player trying to protect your quarterback from having his teeth knocked in.
“You’re lying on top of me, and grinding against me, and making these noises with your mouth,” I told her. “I haven’t had sex in a really long time, and I’m not a saint. My dick is about to explode.”
She went up on a hand, which was planted in my chest, and stared at me—or at least I thought she stared at me. It was too fucking dark to know for sure without turning on a light.
These old walls that surrounded us didn’t allow anything to penetrate their depths—even the streetlights and security lights outside.
“I’m sorry,” she said, not moving an inch. “I didn’t mean to do those things.”
“You’re still on top of me,” I told her, needing her to get off, and fast.
“I never said I wanted you to be a saint.”
Her whispered reply had me stiffening beneath her.