Reaper's Stand
Page 15

I sat in the driveway and pondered just turning my van around and leaving, then decided that would be pure cowardice. I’d run into him sooner or later. Might as well get it over with. It would be good for me to see him with another woman, I decided. I’d nearly slept with him the other night, and while I’d decided to break up with Nate, that didn’t automatically mean hooking up with Reese was a smart idea.
It could never be more than random sex anyway. Nothing underscores the temporary nature of a booty call like seeing your intended booty calling on someone else.
You’re here to work. What he does is his business.
I turned off my van, grabbed the groceries, and started toward the door. Balancing the bags gracelessly, I punched in the code and pushed through to find myself face-to-ass with the owner of the Miata.
She straddled Reese on the couch, her miniskirt pushed up around her waist, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination—my own personal porno, front and center. Holy. Shit. I couldn’t breathe. His gaze met mine over her head, and I managed to clear my throat. She froze, twisting around to see me.
Awkward.
“Thought you were coming later,” Reese drawled, wrapping his big hands around her waist and holding her steady. His eyes were cold and hostile, although a mocking smile graced his face. He was still angry. Fair enough. We hadn’t exactly ended things on a positive note back at my place. Miss Miata buried her head in his shoulder, obviously trying to hold back a fit of giggles. God, had he told her about me? Did they laugh together at how stupid I’d been, getting drunk and throwing myself at him?
Don’t panic. DON’T PANIC.
I panicked. I felt the grocery bags starting to slip, so I tightened my grip and forced myself to inhale slowly. Exhale.
Think of calm things. Oceans. Clean ovens. Don’t let him see how this hurts you.
Wait. Why should this hurt me? So I had the hots for him, but that didn’t mean I cared about Reese Hayes. Had I been celibate so long that I’d forgotten what mindless lust felt like? I’d kicked him out of my bed, not the other way around.
I coughed, and realized I had to take control of the situation. Break the tension. Make a joke.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I said, wondering if my voice sounded as shaky as it felt. “Do you want me to reschedule, or can you move to your bedroom? I generally frown on cleaning around people while they’re having sex. All sorts of potential OSHA violations.”
Hayes’s eyes widened and his smile shifted from mocking to genuine. He shook his head slowly.
“You know, I want to stay pissed at you, but you’re just too cute sometimes,” he said finally. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you, London.”
I’d never met anyone like him, either, I thought somewhat hysterically. Maybe I’d led a sheltered life, but most of my friends liked to have sex in private. I decided now wasn’t the time to discuss our cultural differences, all things considered. I’d go right ahead and keep focusing on breathing, because somewhere deep inside it felt like I’d been stabbed in the gut, which wasn’t right on about a thousand different levels.
“Um, still here,” Miss Miata said, lifting a hand and waving it in front of his face. “Unless she’s joining us, I think we should relocate. I only get off on performing for appreciative audiences, and I think we’re scaring this one.”
“I’m not joining you,” I stuttered.
Her eyes swept up my figure.
“Too bad.”
That was my signal for full, unconditional retreat.
“I’ll just put away the food,” I said, walking quickly past them into the kitchen. I dropped the bags on the counter. Then I leaned forward and forced myself to inhale and exhale some more, counting to ten each time. What the hell was going on with me? So it was weird walking in on people having sex. Yes. Definitely weird. But not full meltdown weird.
Shit.
This was all about my stupid crush on Reese, which was apparently even stronger than I’d realized. I didn’t have the right to feel hurt or possessive, yet here I was, trying not to hyperventilate in his kitchen. Not me at all. Desperate times …
I opened a cabinet and pulled out a mug. Then I opened the freezer and grabbed some vodka. I poured myself a nice shot, drank it, then quickly disposed of the evidence. Cold fire slid down my throat, clarifying things.
So I had a problem—Reese was beautiful, I had a crush on him, and he was currently fucking another woman in the living room. His living room. A place he had every right to use for sex or anything else he felt like using it for. Kind of shitty that I walked in on it, but I’d come out to his place early, too. Time to face some hard facts:
Reese slept with lots of women.
He wasn’t betraying me, and so far as he knew, I was in a relationship with another man.
I wanted to curl up into a ball and die.
Curling up in a ball and dying seemed a little extreme, so I’d just have to pull up my big girl panties and fucking deal with this shit. First up—I had frozen food melting in the van, and it needed to be put away. Because I’m only human, I ducked out the back door to grab the rest of the bags, avoiding the spectacle out front. By the time I came back, they’d left the living room. More giggling and sex noises drifted out from his bedroom and I winced. Maybe I’d just go upstairs for a while. Vacuum. That should drown them out.
Forty minutes later there wasn’t a speck of dirt or dust anywhere to be found upstairs. This wasn’t a huge surprise, given how clean it was from the last time I’d been there and the fact that the rooms weren’t being used. There was no getting around my unfortunate reality—I had to go back downstairs.
My feet wouldn’t move, though.
I just couldn’t do it. Instead I sat down on the top step, leaning forward on my knees to think. This cleaning gig wasn’t going to work out after all. I couldn’t handle seeing him with another woman, because no matter how I colored my hair, I wasn’t sophisticated and modern enough for booty calls. I would just have to tell Reese I couldn’t clean for him and let it go. Preferably by text. I really didn’t need a new car or that sweet contract out at The Line.
Except …
Now that Jess had taken off, it really was the perfect time to start expanding my business. The strip club would be a hell of an account to do it with. I could just suck it up, right?
Yes. I’d be damned if I’d walk away from that much money. Does that sound mercenary?
I didn’t care.
So what if Reese Hayes was pretty and I wanted to have sex with him? I wanted a million dollars and a house on the lake, and that wouldn’t be happening any time soon, either. Reese had all kinds of women lined up to sleep with, ten a day if he wanted that many. He’d probably lost interest in me already, and I should be happy about it. Clarified things. Didn’t mean I shouldn’t do my best to get and keep the club accounts.
You have to separate business from pleasure if you want a Miata.
Exactly. That’s what I’d do. Pull my act together and—no, pull my shit together and send Jessica her clothing with a smile. I’d be a support to Mellie and be empowered and self-sufficient. I didn’t need a man, but if I wanted one I’d take him and use him and then pass him along without a second thought, because I’d become a sophisticated, modern woman if it killed me.
Sure.
And I would lose ten pounds and age backward, too.
Right after I learned to fly my invisible jet.
Thirty minutes later the roast was in the oven and I was setting out frozen rolls to rise. I’d had a second, strictly medicinal shot of vodka, and while I wasn’t exactly buzzed, I was feeling a little more balanced about things. Of course, dumping yellow food coloring in the back of the downstairs toilet tank and pouring vinegar in his milk helped restore that balance … I also loosened the lid on the salt shaker.
Why did I do these things?
Probably best not to examine that too closely.
Reese emerged from the back addition to lean against the door frame. He wore a pair of faded jeans and nothing else, his big, beefy arms crossing his chest with casual laziness. I refused to let my eyes linger on his muscles, although I did let myself check out his feet.
There’s nothing sexier than a big, tough man walking around barefoot. I’d always had a thing for it.
“Sorry about that earlier,” he said, although I could tell from his tone that he wasn’t sorry one little bit. “I had no idea you’d come out to the house so early. I thought I had a couple more hours.”
Wow, he sounded almost sincere.
“I was planning to get done before you got home from work,” I said, turning away from him to fuss with the rolls. “What are your hours?”
“Irregular,” he said. “I’m the boss, remember? I work when I’m needed or when I want to.”
I sensed him moving toward me, so I turned away from the rolls and headed over to the fridge to put some space between us. Pulling open the door I studied the interior, trying to figure out what I should do next. Sadly, the beer, ketchup, and jar of pickles facing me had no insights to offer.
Turning and looking at him wasn’t an option.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to scratch him for screwing that other woman or jump his bones. Either way I’d have to scrub him down with bleach, just to be safe, because he was all covered in her cooties.
“Let’s put together a schedule,” I suggested, studying the expiration date on a container of yogurt as if my life depended on it. “So I won’t run into you here at the house.”
“Scared?” he asked, and his voice was right behind me. He reached around and shut the fridge, resting one hand on either side of my body, trapping me. Every instinct I had said I should create a diversion and run like hell, but I turned to face him instead.
I didn’t want to let him think he was right, no matter how hard that might be.
Professional. You are a professional and you don’t play games.
I offered a bland smile and focused on a cabinet handle across the room, exactly two inches above his broad right shoulder.
Perfect.
“I just don’t want to get in your way,” I said evenly. “I know things are awkward between us after the other night. But I want you to know how much I appreciate your support. It was a bad weekend for me. I’m fine now.”
He cocked his head and his lip curled in a sneer.
“Deputy Dick kiss it all better?”
“My personal relationships have nothing to do with my work here.”
“No, I guess they’re only relevant when you crawl all over me, rub your tits on my chest, and then kick me out the door after I take care of your drunk ass all night. You started it, sweetheart. I was just following through.”
I closed my eyes, praying I wasn’t flushing bright red.
“Let’s forget that happened, okay? I was emotional and had too much wine. I almost made a horrible mistake, and I’m sorry if I used you. But that doesn’t mean sleeping together would’ve been a good idea.”
“Sounds like a damned fine idea to me,” he whispered, leaning down and sniffing my neck. “I’d make it good for you.”
I caught a whiff of perfume on him.
“Miss Miata is still in the bedroom,” I said tightly. “Better back off or she’ll see you. Then you’ll be in trouble.”
He laughed without pulling back.
“Miss Miata?” he asked. “Now that’s a new name for her. At the clubhouse, we call her—”
“If you say something nasty, I’m going to kick you,” I snapped. “Is it really worth it?”
“Define ‘nasty.’ ”
“Anything less than complimentary about the woman you just had sex with,” I told him. “Because it sounded like you were going to insult her. Just remember, anything she did, you participated in. You’re equally guilty.”
He gave a low laugh.
“At the clubhouse we call her Sharon,” he said softly. “Which I’ve never considered an insult, especially given that she’s named after her grandmother. But you feel free to interpret it any way you like.”
I closed my eyes and counted to five.
“Just go away.”
“Pic, you know where my shoes are?” Sharon said. She walked into the kitchen and I expected him to pull away, to turn to her with an explanation. He stayed put.
“Think they’re in the living room, babe,” he said, reaching up to run his fingers through my hair, tugging my head just enough to force me to meet his eyes.
“Thanks,” Sharon said, passing by us to hunt for her footwear.
“Isn’t she pissed off that you’re talking to me instead of her?”
“Apparently not,” he said, shrugging. “Think she already got what she wanted.”
“Let me guess, this is where you tell me how many times you made her come?”
He smirked.
“No, although if you want details, I guess I could give you some,” he said. “I like how you think. Dirty. But what she wanted was cash. She’s a nice girl and she’s in a bit of trouble. I’m helping her out, so she decided to help me out.”
That took me off guard.
“Is she a … prostitute?”
He shook his head. “She’s a person. Try not to be so judgmental—it’s not nice to objectify women like that, London. Don’t you know better?”
His tone mocked me, and I snorted.
“Let me go.”
“Give me a kiss.”
“We already covered this,” I said, feeling my chest tighten because I wanted him to touch me. How did he do that? Here he was trying to kiss me right after having sex with another woman, and for some reason I hadn’t kicked him in the balls yet. What was up with that? Probably the vodka, I decided. Definitely the vodka. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”