West, page 11
"Alright," he said, tucking his hands into his front pockets, making his shoulders hunch, something that made him seem boyish, nonthreatening. "What's up, Auggie?"
"Nothing," I objected, shaking my head. "Can you move your belt?" I asked, annoyed that I had to, but there was no way I could reach it.
"So you can run away?" he asked, brow raising, baiting me for an argument.
"So I can go get something to eat. I'm starving."
"Oh, a dinner invitation!" he declared, beaming, even though he damn well knew I wasn't inviting him. "In that case," he went on, reaching up to unclasp the belt, slipping it back on. "What are we having?"
What was the least appetizing thing for a hungry, post-sex man?
"Salad," I told him, moving into the hall.
"Gotta get the greens in. Good for the muscles and all that. I always wanted to be Popeye when I was growing up," he added, sounding light and happy as he followed me up the stairs. "Who did you want to grow up to be when you were a kid?"
"Charlotte Pickles."
"The mom from Rugrats?" he asked, and I could hear the surprise in his voice.
"She was so sophisticated and scary and her husband kowtowed to her. I thought she was the shit. Or maybe even Betty. She was the ultimate feminist."
"Really doubled down on the Rugrats, huh?"
"Was it possible not to like Tommy and his crew?" I asked, opening my door. "You know what. No. Blanche from The Golden Girls."
"You watched The Golden Girls as a kid?"
"Who didn't?" I shot back, having fond memories of curling up in bed, turning on the TV, and watching that awesome group until I fell asleep.
"Are you really going to make me eat a salad?" he asked, closing the door behind me himself, following me toward the kitchen.
"I don't even have anything in the place to eat," I admitted. "Unless you count cheese singles."
"You got any bread?" he asked. "Grilled cheese is always a good meal."
"It's probably stale," I admitted, trying to remember the last time I actually bought a loaf.
"It's going to get toasted anyway," he said, taking it out of my hands, opening it up. "No mold. Alright. We have dinner," he declared, pulling slices out. "Are you a two-sandwich person or a liar?" he asked.
"A liar?" I asked, brows scrunching.
"You know. Trying to convince me you only eat like a bird meanwhile your stomach is growling for more food?"
"What about me suggests I would do such a thing?" I challenged.
"Fair enough," he agreed, peeling the plastic off the cheese slices. "You want to go get changed?" he asked. "I can handle the food. Though I am going to go ahead and suggest that slipping panties back on would be completely pointless."
Despite myself, I felt my lips curling upward. Charmed, that was what I was. It was impossible, I was sure, not to be charmed by West.
Damn him.
"What makes you think I want another round with you?" I asked.
"One word," he said, pausing in spreading butter on a slice of bread. "Aftershocks."
A sigh moved out of me as my hand raised, pushing my hair back.
"It was pretty good," I admitted, smiling.
"Babe..." he said, shaking his head.
"Fine. Really good."
"Getting closer," he agreed, waiting.
"Alright. It was epic. You fucked me into oblivion. Happy?" I asked, watching a slow, giant smile spread across his face.
"I'm not unhappy with that, pretty girl," he admitted, shooing me down the hall as he turned to turn the heat on under the pan.
I did a quick body rinse, realizing I was a little more stubbly than I cared to be when someone was going to have their hands all over me, so I shaved and lotioned and changed into a pair of leggings and a tee, before following the scent of grilled cheese and something else I couldn't quite place, back into my kitchen.
Where West was spooning tomato soup into bowls.
"Look at this gourmet shit," he declared, waving an arm out dramatically to the mismatched plates and bowls, the glasses full of something reddish tinted.
"As someone who has never seen a man get more fancy than pouring boiling water over ramen, I am suitably impressed."
"Alright. Are you a purist or a normal person?"
"I'm going to need more than that."
"A 'food at the table only' sort of person, or a person who eats in front of the TV because staring at each other and listening to one another chew is fucking awkward."
"Oh, in that case, Netflix and food all the way," I told him, grabbing both plates, balancing them on an arm, then slipping a bowl into each hand. "I used to serve tables," I explained to his impressed look. "You get the drinks. And just so you know, this is not the sort of house where the guest gets control of the remote. The bill-payer does."
"So long as I am not watching some Real Housewives bitch about the ungrateful kids they spoiled their whole lives, I'm good."
"I hope you like horror. Because someone is going to get brutally murdered in the woods."
"The woods, huh?"
"It's always the woods," I told him, putting down the plates and bowls, carefully pulling the coffee table closer, then dropping down on the floor in front of it as I snagged the remote from where it flew under the couch the night before, and I'd been too lazy to retrieve it. "I hope you're not squeamish."
"Used to beat the shit out of people for a living, babe, I think I can handle people being bludgeoned to death."
"Bludgeoning is a classic. Sometimes they pull a Vlad The Impaler. Those are cool."
"Gotta like a woman who is impressed with murder."
"Oh, I watched one last week that fed a guy to his pet alligators. That one was intense."
"Any kind of murderers you don't like?" he asked, sounding amused as he dropped down next to me.
"Creepy kid murderers. I saw this one when I was like twenty-one where the adopted kid was tormenting his parents. I almost made an appointment to get my tubes tied that week."
"No creepy kids," he repeated, like he was making a mental note. Almost as if he thought he might be around long enough for it to become useful.
No.
Nope.
I wasn't going to let my mind go there.
So we ate our canned soap and very nearly over-toasted grilled cheese while watching a couple of college kids get parts cut off by meat cleavers.
"Okay. I've tried guessing. What the hell is in this drink?" I asked, taking another sip, trying to roll the taste around on my tongue.
"You had half a dozen open bottles of shit in there. Cranberry juice, pineapple, lemon, lime, and a can of mostly-flat Mountain Dew."
"What I'm hearing is the next time I have a party, you are on the punch."
"You need me, honey, just let me know," he said, and my insides did a little wobble.
Of course.
Of course my stupid body would want West.
A guy completely out of the question.
Not Tag, the investment banker who had promised to take me on lavish vacations every year for the rest of my life. Or Eric, the very steady, very dependable and sweet delivery driver at the nursing home who, while he couldn't promise me outlandish vacations, would have been a solid and true partner. Not even Kenneth, the older gentleman who claimed he just wanted a life partner, that my sex life would be free to explore with other men.
Nope.
I didn't get a single wobble for any of those guys.
But West, the out of town biker who was as commitment-phobic as I thought I was?
All the wobbles.
God damnit.
NINE
West
There was no going back.
The smart part of me knew that I should have unlocked that door in the laundry room, walked out the front door, and never looked back.
So, clearly, I was a fucking idiot.
Because I followed her up. I made her dinner. I watched her God-awful horror flick with her. I passed out with her on the couch.
We didn't even fuck again.
That was how I knew I was screwed.
While I enjoyed women just as people, I never mixed that enjoyment of women with someone I was sleeping with. It was too easy for things to get confused, for it to seem like there was more going on than there was. So I hung out with the club old ladies. Then I had casual sex with other women.
I didn't do both with any one person.
Yet, here we were.
I did have the foresight to text Huck to tell him I'd safely deposited his sister at home before going to do my own thing.
"Shit!"
Those were the first words out of Auggie's mouth, her entire body jolting, wide awake in a blink.
"Jesus Christ," I hissed, startled fully awake. I'd been dozing for about half an hour, maybe enjoying the fact that Auggie had moved to rest on my chest at some point during the night a little more than I should have. "What?" I asked as she pushed up off my chest, looking down at me with puffy, but wide-awake eyes, her hair a mess around her sleep-flushed face.
"Work," she told me, voice a little rough.
"It's six in the morning," I told her, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair that had slipped into her eye behind her ear.
"Oh," she said, air whooshing out of her, her body free-falling forward again, slamming down on my chest, her head hitting my rib. "Ow," she grumbled, reaching up to rub her chin.
"Think you broke a rib or two," I told her.
"Shush, you. Sleep, me," she said, sounding half asleep already.
"Alright, but what time should I wake you up then?" I asked, feeling her hand slap me in the face, seeking my lips, landing there.
"Seven-thirty," she told me, though, before passing back out again.
She was not someone who tossed and turned, who struggled to fall asleep. Her entire body went limp in under a minute, her breathing going slow and even.
This would have been another good time to slide out from underneath her, find her phone, set it up on the table so her alarm would go off, then go my own way.
Did I do that?
No.
No, of fucking course I didn't.
Why?
That was the question, wasn't it?
I didn't make myself think about that right then, though. Instead, I went ahead and stroked my hand through her hair, wondering what she was going to say and do when she was fully awake.
Five minutes to when her alarm was set to go off, I slid out from beneath her, going to the kitchen to put some coffee on, taking down a couple cups.
"Oh, you bastard," she hissed, making me stiffen before I realized she was yelling at her phone's hazard alarm. "I could be rich and sleeping 'till noon," she added, still talking to her alarm as she jammed her finger at her screen. "But no, no. I choose to work for a living. Wait," she said, sitting up, stiffening, then turning, brows drawn together as she took a deep breath. "Oh, you."
"Oh, me," I agreed. "Good morning, babe."
"You stayed the night."
"I did."
"And you made coffee."
"Yep."
"Why?"
"Why did I make coffee? Because it's early as fuck, and I need it."
"Why did you stay the night?" she clarified, standing, moving around the couch, slowly approaching me.
"Well, I was trapped under a sleeping woman who I was pretty sure would have clawed my eyes out if I woke her up."
"You're exaggerating."
"You slapped me in the face, Auggs," I told her, smirking. "I think I have a cut from one of your nails," I added, gesturing toward my face.
"I really, really like my sleep."
"I am starting to see that," I agreed, passing her a coffee, watching as she went into her fridge to get Cinnamon Toast Crunch flavored coffee creamer, pouring an absurd amount of it into her cup. "You were dreaming of bagels."
"I... what?" she asked, pausing in taking a sip as she looked at me.
"At some point this morning, your body whipped to a new position while you yelled out 'bagels!'"
"I get hangry in the morning."
"Explains your fit at your alarm clock. Did you break some rich guy's heart?" I asked.
"A couple," she told me.
"That'a girl. How fast can you get ready for your day?"
"Depends on the motivation."
"Egg and cheese bagels at that place down the street?"
"Eight minutes," she declared, already turning and speed walking down the hallway.
She'd taken a shower the night before, but I heard the water running. A whore's bath, most likely.
Auggie was not huge on the daily makeup. And, I guess, when you worked in an ass-breaking job that entailed hauling people around and sponge baths, you didn't really want your makeup running all over the place.
So when she emerged seven and a half minutes later—yes, I counted, out of pure curiosity since I knew from experience that when my sisters said ten minutes, they meant half an hour—she was fresh-faced, dressed in pressed blue scrubs, her non-skid shoes on her feet, and an empty coffee cup in her hand.
"You get two minutes in that bathroom, or I'm leaving without you," she told me, moving to rinse out her cup. "There are spare toothbrushes in the medicine cabinet."
I rushed through my morning routine, meeting an impatient Auggie already standing in the doorway, tapping her foot.
"I texted Huck saying I was taking an Uber into work. And that he better have my car done by the time I am done with work today. You're welcome," she added as we moved into the hall.
"For?"
"Covering your ass since you are afraid they'll find out you slept with me."
I didn't say anything because she wasn't exactly wrong.
I understood that she knew her brother better than I did, that they had a different relationship than I had with my sisters. She was probably right. Huck was likely fine with her getting involved with men he knew.
But that didn't mean I felt comfortable with it. At least not in this situation. In my opinion, you didn't tell a man you respected that you were casually fucking their sister.
Dating was different.
But neither of us was the dating sort.
"Don't judge me," she demanded a couple minutes later as we stood outside the bagel place. "It's pretty," she added, unwrapping the rainbow bagel she had seen and squealed over, declaring that they never had them because the kids that came through always bought them out.
"It sure is," I agreed, but I wasn't entirely sure if I was talking about the bagel. Or the woman taking a giant bite out of it.
If I meant the latter, yeah, I was in some big fucking trouble, wasn't I?
After that, I dropped her off at work, took a few minutes to convince myself that no one was going to suspect a thing, and made my way back to The Yard.
I showered before going back down to the garage, finding everyone already at work.
Huck was finishing up his sister's car. McCoy was working on the car for the mission to take out Melor.
The other guys were working for paying clients.
"Reign called," Huck told me, sparing me a glance. "Said to call him back when you had a minute."
"I'll call him now," I said, going off into the office to charge up my phone, half-expecting someone to come into the room and accuse me.
It didn't happen, though.
And, in fact, no one made a comment at all about me being out.
And why would they?
They were a group of guys who often went home with women. There was no need to discuss it.
"Huck said they're making their move today if they can catch him alone."
"Yeah," I agreed, even though I hadn't heard that we were ready for that to happen so soon.
"You think they're ready?"
"Honestly, yeah, I do. They came up with the plan all on their own. They made the decision to replicate the car. They handled all the details. They are putting a lot into this. So long as they can catch him alone, I think they can handle this."
"Good. Then let them. I don't want you anywhere near it, giving them help. They need to stand on their own feet, or they can't be a part of this."
"Got it."
"Anything else to report?"
"No. What about back home?"
"Things have been nice and quiet. No girls walking around bitching about glued-down toilet seat covers or lipstick laced with hot pepper."
"They miss me, and you know it," I countered. "I'll let you know how it goes."
"Appreciate it. You're doing a good job there."
Those were good words to hear, ones I didn't know I needed so much.
"Hey," Huck's voice broke into my thoughts, making me jerk hard enough that I almost fell backward on the chair.
"Hey, man. What's up?"
"I got a favor to ask."
"Alright."
"We have a plan tonight to do some recon. Any chance you can drop this piece of shit back off to my sister? She can drive you back here after. Unless you have plans."
"No, I'm wide open." And looking for any excuse to spend more time with Auggie. Despite my better judgement.
"Appreciate it," he said, rubbing a hand across his neck, leaving grease in its wake.
"Huck, that asshole is here about the Mercedes," McCoy said, making Huck roll his eyes before excusing himself, heading out to deal with who was clearly a difficult client.
"You need me to leave?" I asked when McCoy just stood there, looking at me.
To that, he shook his head, moving to close the office door. "Nope. I need you to keep your ass right there. We got some shit to discuss."
My stomach tightened at his tone, at the unyielding look in his eyes.
Like he knew something.
Like he knew.
Fuck.
"In general, West, your business is your business. Who you fuck, that is your business. Who you fuck over—when that woman is like a sister to me—that is when it becomes my business."
"McCoy—"
"I'm not done," he cut me off. "I get that Gus is a force of nature. I get that she can get her claws in. And I get that she can make it seem like she is invincible. Or that she never catches feelings. She really wants you, and us, and everyone, to think that. But that girl, she feels deep. And if she ends up feeling deep for you, and your ass takes off to Jersey, and she is a little less happy—even a fucking smidgen less happy—than she is right now then I am going to have to make that right. You feel me?"
