Yes, Lisa knows me well.
“You still like tequila?” I ask.
“Absolutely. You still have my number?”
“I do.”
Her smile is slow and full of promise. “Good. Use it.”
I stand up and walk toward the door. “I’ll do that.”
“And I’ll get started on the paperwork.”
• • •
A few hours later, after approval from child services and a quick compulsory appearance before an indifferent judge, Rory walks out of the courthouse with us. We head back to my office to gather his many siblings. They all seem happy to see him—if the affectionate “stupid idiot” and eager questions about his stay in “jail” are any indication. The sky is dark by the time I escort Chelsea and her charges back out to her car. I wait next to the driver’s-side door as she gets them loaded and buckled in.
Then she comes around and stands in front of me, all warm eyes and soft gratitude. And I’m struck again by the smooth flawlessness of her skin beneath the glow of the streetlight.
Fucking gorgeous.
This close, I notice the adorable dusting of freckles across the bridge of that pert nose and wonder if she has them anywhere else. It’ll take a slow, exhaustive search to find out. And I’m just the guy for the job.
She pushes her hair behind her ear. “Thank you, Jake, so much. I don’t know what I would’ve—”
“Aunt Chelsea, I’m starving!”
“Can we get McDonald’s?”
“Do you know what they put in McDonald’s? Even insects won’t eat it.”
“Shut up, Raymond! Don’t ruin fast food for me!”
“You shut up!”
“No, you shut up!”
“Aunt Chelsea!”
“Hiiiiiii!”
I can’t help but laugh. And wonder if she owns earplugs.
Chelsea blows out a breath through her perfect, smiling lips. “I should go before they start eating each other.”
“That might not be a bad thing. There are enough of them to spare.”
She shakes her head and climbs into the truck, then rolls down the window to say, “Thank you again. I owe you, Jake.”
I tap the side of the truck as she slowly pulls away. “Yes, you do.”
And that’s a debt I can’t wait to collect.
Soon.
8
Scorching lips suck at the skin along my neck—teeth nipping, tongue-laving suction. Nails scrape along my abs, across my chest, blazing a hard trail of need that leads straight to my cock. Deft fingers work the buttons on my shirt and hot blood pools in my pelvis.
It’s been so long—too long—but the dry spell ends tonight.
Fucking finally.
I cradle her face in my hands and move my mouth over hers roughly. My tongue plunges and swirls, tasting tequila. So good.
Friday afternoon, I got around to dialing Lisa DiMaggio. Because I learn from my mistakes, I asked about her and Ted’s breakup—it wasn’t because of cheating. Then I asked if she’d been tested recently. Miraculously she had, and she was clean. It was like the universe was telling me, “You’ve suffered enough, poor man.”
We made plans for her place on Friday night, and I brought a bottle of Patrón for Lisa and a bottle of red wine for me that I ended up leaving in the car.
Lisa peels open my shirt, running her palms across my pecs and over my shoulders. “God, your tattoos.” She moans appreciatively, tracing the ink first with her hands, then with her lips. “These are so fucking hot. They’re my favorite part.”
I work on her earlobe, flicking at it with my tongue like it’s a clit. And I chuckle. “I thought my cock was your favorite.”
She giggles against my skin. “Guess I need my memory refreshed.”
Works for me.
I’m just about to start doing some unbuttoning of my own when my phone lights up, vibrating on the coffee table near the couch we’re sitting on. I glance at the screen but don’t recognize the number and let it go to voice mail.
I palm her tit over her blouse. Her blond hair slides over her shoulders as Lisa arches her back, moaning.
And the phone rings again. Same number.
What the fucking fuck?
I pull back. “I should answer that.”
Lisa shrugs and pours herself another shot of tequila, licking her hand and dashing it with salt as I stand and bring my phone to my ear. “Becker.”
“Hey, Becker! It’s Paul Noblecky, how ya doing?”
I was doing a hell of a lot better two minutes ago.
“I’m in the middle of something.” My eyes zero in on Lisa’s shapely thighs beneath her black dress—that’s really where I’d like to be in the middle of. “Make it quick. What do you need, Paul?”
“Well, we broke up a beer party out on Cambridge Place tonight. A high school thing, parents were away. A few of the kids were pretty wasted so we brought them to the station to dry out and call their parents. One of the girls, she won’t give us her name—only your business card. Says you’re her lawyer, Becker.”
My eyes roll closed. And I just know.
“Let me guess—brown curly hair, about five two, blue eyes, piss-poor attitude?”
Noblecky chuckles. “That’s her.”
I rub my forehead, feeling a migraine coming on—because the blue balls has most likely traveled to my brain. “Her name’s Riley. Her aunt’s the legal guardian.” I rattle off Chelsea’s phone number, which I got from her on Wednesday.
“You still like tequila?” I ask.
“Absolutely. You still have my number?”
“I do.”
Her smile is slow and full of promise. “Good. Use it.”
I stand up and walk toward the door. “I’ll do that.”
“And I’ll get started on the paperwork.”
• • •
A few hours later, after approval from child services and a quick compulsory appearance before an indifferent judge, Rory walks out of the courthouse with us. We head back to my office to gather his many siblings. They all seem happy to see him—if the affectionate “stupid idiot” and eager questions about his stay in “jail” are any indication. The sky is dark by the time I escort Chelsea and her charges back out to her car. I wait next to the driver’s-side door as she gets them loaded and buckled in.
Then she comes around and stands in front of me, all warm eyes and soft gratitude. And I’m struck again by the smooth flawlessness of her skin beneath the glow of the streetlight.
Fucking gorgeous.
This close, I notice the adorable dusting of freckles across the bridge of that pert nose and wonder if she has them anywhere else. It’ll take a slow, exhaustive search to find out. And I’m just the guy for the job.
She pushes her hair behind her ear. “Thank you, Jake, so much. I don’t know what I would’ve—”
“Aunt Chelsea, I’m starving!”
“Can we get McDonald’s?”
“Do you know what they put in McDonald’s? Even insects won’t eat it.”
“Shut up, Raymond! Don’t ruin fast food for me!”
“You shut up!”
“No, you shut up!”
“Aunt Chelsea!”
“Hiiiiiii!”
I can’t help but laugh. And wonder if she owns earplugs.
Chelsea blows out a breath through her perfect, smiling lips. “I should go before they start eating each other.”
“That might not be a bad thing. There are enough of them to spare.”
She shakes her head and climbs into the truck, then rolls down the window to say, “Thank you again. I owe you, Jake.”
I tap the side of the truck as she slowly pulls away. “Yes, you do.”
And that’s a debt I can’t wait to collect.
Soon.
8
Scorching lips suck at the skin along my neck—teeth nipping, tongue-laving suction. Nails scrape along my abs, across my chest, blazing a hard trail of need that leads straight to my cock. Deft fingers work the buttons on my shirt and hot blood pools in my pelvis.
It’s been so long—too long—but the dry spell ends tonight.
Fucking finally.
I cradle her face in my hands and move my mouth over hers roughly. My tongue plunges and swirls, tasting tequila. So good.
Friday afternoon, I got around to dialing Lisa DiMaggio. Because I learn from my mistakes, I asked about her and Ted’s breakup—it wasn’t because of cheating. Then I asked if she’d been tested recently. Miraculously she had, and she was clean. It was like the universe was telling me, “You’ve suffered enough, poor man.”
We made plans for her place on Friday night, and I brought a bottle of Patrón for Lisa and a bottle of red wine for me that I ended up leaving in the car.
Lisa peels open my shirt, running her palms across my pecs and over my shoulders. “God, your tattoos.” She moans appreciatively, tracing the ink first with her hands, then with her lips. “These are so fucking hot. They’re my favorite part.”
I work on her earlobe, flicking at it with my tongue like it’s a clit. And I chuckle. “I thought my cock was your favorite.”
She giggles against my skin. “Guess I need my memory refreshed.”
Works for me.
I’m just about to start doing some unbuttoning of my own when my phone lights up, vibrating on the coffee table near the couch we’re sitting on. I glance at the screen but don’t recognize the number and let it go to voice mail.
I palm her tit over her blouse. Her blond hair slides over her shoulders as Lisa arches her back, moaning.
And the phone rings again. Same number.
What the fucking fuck?
I pull back. “I should answer that.”
Lisa shrugs and pours herself another shot of tequila, licking her hand and dashing it with salt as I stand and bring my phone to my ear. “Becker.”
“Hey, Becker! It’s Paul Noblecky, how ya doing?”
I was doing a hell of a lot better two minutes ago.
“I’m in the middle of something.” My eyes zero in on Lisa’s shapely thighs beneath her black dress—that’s really where I’d like to be in the middle of. “Make it quick. What do you need, Paul?”
“Well, we broke up a beer party out on Cambridge Place tonight. A high school thing, parents were away. A few of the kids were pretty wasted so we brought them to the station to dry out and call their parents. One of the girls, she won’t give us her name—only your business card. Says you’re her lawyer, Becker.”
My eyes roll closed. And I just know.
“Let me guess—brown curly hair, about five two, blue eyes, piss-poor attitude?”
Noblecky chuckles. “That’s her.”
I rub my forehead, feeling a migraine coming on—because the blue balls has most likely traveled to my brain. “Her name’s Riley. Her aunt’s the legal guardian.” I rattle off Chelsea’s phone number, which I got from her on Wednesday.
