The Deal Dilemma

My attention continues to snap toward the door, waiting for the second my favorite girl walks through it. I’m pushing three hours in before the familiar platinum blonde enters, but it takes two seconds to note there’s nothing but a purse on her arm where a tiny brunette should be.

Layla slides right up to my end of the bar, and Willie weaves around, dragging a chair up for her.

“Where is she?” I ask instantly, glancing at the door once more.

“Home.” She sets her bag on the counter. “Something about an early shift tomorrow.”

My frown is instant.

Funny when she doesn’t go back to work until Monday.

“What’d she say?”

Layla lifts a brow. “That she had an early shift tomorrow.”

I glare at her, and she laughs.

“What? You want me to run down the whole day?” When I don’t look away, she shakes her head teasingly. “We went swimming, ate ten pounds of pasta, washed that down with chocolate-covered cherries and virgin margaritas. Then we got back in the pool and tanned for a while. We got out to get ready, and she said she had an early shift, so she decided to skip tonight.”

“Anyone call her while she was there?”

Why that question comes out, I don’t know.

Layla smirks, leaning forward as much as her pregnant belly allows. “If they did, she didn’t see the call until she left. We had a no-phone rule today.”

Tossing my towel in the basket beneath the counter, I jerk away. “I’m taking a piss.”

Laughter flows in my wake, but none comes from me.

Especially not when I call Davis and get her voice mail.

The little liar can’t cancel our plans and then not answer when I call.

I need to know she made it home safely, that she’s okay.

Her location says she’s at the house and that is the only reason I’m not in my car already. Thank fuck, since there’s not much I can do right now, not when I’ve got four more hours here, at least, and not with the traffic this social-media-made band has brought in tonight.

Maybe it’s best she didn’t come. This place is prick paradise right now.

I’ll deal with the little liar when I get home. Even if I have to pry the truth from her perfectly pouty pillows around my cock lips.

Yeah, that sounds like a solid plan for later.

I expect Davis to be asleep when I walk in, but the surprise that settles over me when I step into my room to find my bed empty is nothing compared to when I make my way to hers, and hers is too.

I check the bathroom and no Davis.

I hustle into the front of the apartment again, lifting and tossing the blanket on the couch, even though her body would have been visible beneath it. I move to the table near the door, spotting the bright-pink Laffy Taffy key chain attached to her car keys.

“Where the fuck is she?”

My gaze snaps around the room, settling on the kitchen counter, and the sweet treat on top of it. Walking over, I glare at the half-eaten cake, but it’s the two forks beside it causing my blood to boil.

Two fucking forks.

Two empty beds.

A dead motherfucker next door.

Throwing the front door open, I charge to the apartment beside ours, pounding heavily on the cheap wood.

“Open the door, you son of a bitch, or I’ll kick the motherfucker in.” A few beats go by and nothing, so I slam my fist harder. “I swear to fucking God, I’ll—”

The door is yanked open, a shirtless blond prick revealed on the other side.

I slam my forehead into his, and he stumbles back, gripping his head as I charge through the house.

“What the fuck are you doing, man?” he shouts.

My chest rumbles, and I swing my left arm out as I pass an empty office, slamming my fist into the wall without pausing my steps. Shoving his bedroom door open until it bounces off the wall, I charge into the room, yanking his blankets off the bed, but she’s not beneath them.

I rush back to the bathroom, and Jess charges forward.

“Get the fuck out of my house!” he screams, blood smeared along his brow.

I grip him by the neck, shoving him into the wall as I kick the bathroom door open, but it’s empty.

Tearing away from him, I dash back in his room, swinging the closet open, and it’s empty.

Chest heaving, I look around the room, footsteps pounding behind me.

“You need to leave before I call the police.”

“Call ’em. They know me.” My jaw locks, eyes tracking over every inch of the room. “Where the fuck is she?”

“Who…”

Swinging around, I get in his face, and after a second, his brows jump.

“Davis?” His head tugs back. “I haven’t seen her since I came over with the pizzas.”

“Don’t fucking lie,” I force past gritted teeth. “It’s been a long fucking time since I’ve gotten to beat the life out of someone.”

“Dude… I’m not.” He eyes me closely, seeming to settle, and that fucking pisses me off. “She’s not here, man.”

I’m about to walk out, to leave, when a spot of red flashes in the corner of my eye. My head jerks toward it, and slowly, I make my way over to his bedside table.

Right there on top sits a hair clip, two pink cherries attached to the stem.

The same one I pulled from her hair.

The same one he pulled from her hair?

In what feels like slow motion, I face Jess.

His hands are up, eyes wide as he takes a few backward steps from the room, but the door bounces closed, blocking his escape.

“That’s not—”

“It’s hers. Be a fucking man and say it.”

My limbs begin to tremble with rage.

“It is—”

My fist connects with his jaw, and I grip him by the shirt, flinging him across the room until he’s slamming against the sliding glass door leading to the patio.

“I’m not playing, man. I’ll have you arrested!”

I get in his face, screaming, “Why the fuck do you have this?”

“I found it outside!” he shouts, speaking so fast his words go together. “I thought it was hers, and I was going to give it to her, but I forgot about it, man, I swear!”

“Bullshit! Where the fuck—”

“Jess, what’s going on?”

Davis’s voice slices through the air.

We both look toward the sound, out the sliding glass door, where one of Davis’s eyes peeks through her patio’s privacy wall.

“Oh, my god, Crew?” she gasps, her voice thick with sleep. “What the hell’s going on?”

My mind reels, confusion surging to the forefront.

“Your boyfriend is a fucking psycho, that’s what!” Jess barks.

A hint of clarity slips through, and my arms fall to my sides, my breath coming too fast to calm, my head a fucking muddled mess.

She’s… home.

She isn’t with him.

She didn’t pick him. She didn’t leave me or let me go.

Jess jerks from my hold, shoving past me, and my shoulder jerks, my muscles dead as my eyes pop up, locking with the one of hers I can spot through the crack.

A door clicks behind me, and I spin, looking at the man holding it open.

“Leave.” He glares.

I think I nod, slipping past him, and when I get outside, several others are peeking out their windows. Curving to the left, I head back for our apartment, the door wide open, Davis standing just inside, eyes heavy with… a lot of things, sleep being one of them.

Locking it behind me, I step toward her.

“Baby—”

“What the hell’s going on, Crew?” she asks. “When did you get home? Why were you over there?” Her gaze snaps up. “Oh my god, why is there blood in your hair?”

My limbs are still numb but shaking.

“Crew?”

“You weren’t in my bed.”

She opens her mouth but closes it.

“Weren’t in yours either…”

Her eyes narrow, and she begins shaking her head. “Wait.”

I take a step forward, but she throws her hands up.

“You thought I, what?” Hurt washes over her and I want to punch myself. “Stayed the night with Jess?”

“He wants you.”

Her stare is incredulous, as is the shrieked “so” that follows.

“You bailed on me, didn’t answer, and there’re two forks on the counter.”

She stares. “One was for you.”

“You weren’t in your bed, Davis. I didn’t know what the fuck was going on, and I lost it, all right?”

“No! Not all right. Not at all!” she yells, wide awake now. “Did you hit him?”

I lick my lips, and her mouth falls open.

“Jesus, Crew! Jess is not a ‘handle it in the back alley’ kind of guy!”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means he could call the cops, and when they see your record, they probably—”

“I don’t care.” I jerk forward, and she stops talking. “I don’t care what happens to me. If you paid attention, you’d know I never have. I thought you were with him and all I felt was blind, hot, rage, so yeah, I went after the motherfucker.”

“You can’t just do that! I told you, you have to stop hitting people because of me!”

“I can’t! Probably won’t ever. I thought you were there, and my mind caught fire. I had to go get you and bring you back here, back to me. Maybe it’s fucked up, maybe I’m fucked up, I don’t know, but when it comes to you, I. Don’t. Care. That’s the truth, so get used to it.”

“And what happens when I do?” she throws back. “It’s not like you want me around.”

“Is that a fucking joke?” I didn’t mean to snap the words, but hers instantly draw anger.

How the fuck could she say some shit like that to me after everything?

Is she fucking blind?

She eyes me a moment, then slowly backs away and rounds the kitchen, only meeting my eyes when she’s clear across the fucking room. There’s a shadow in her gaze, and I don’t like it.

“Why did you bail on me tonight, Davis?”

A humorless laugh leaves her. “You don’t get to question me now.”

“You’re looking at me differently. I want to know why.”

“You just assaulted our neighbor and basically accused me of cheating, but guess what, Crew?! You can’t cheat on someone who doesn’t want you and isn’t yours!”

“Girl, I will fucking—”

“Why did Layla think I was going to be some bitchy ballerina with a tiara?” she cuts me off, hitting me with some random shit.

“What the fuck?” My eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t do this. Just tell me.”

I eye her a minute, noting the disappointment eating her up. “Something happened at Layla’s. That’s why you didn’t come to the bar.”

She says nothing, and I creep closer.

“Davis, tell me now.”

“It was nothing.”

“It was enough to keep you from me, and I’m not okay with that. Not even a fucking little bit, so tell me before I go over there to ask myself and end up boxing in my best friend.”

She gasps. “You wouldn’t…”

“I abso-fucking-lutely would.”

“That’s insane.”

“When it comes to you, that’s exactly what I am.”

I’m a fucking hothead, and she makes it worse. Unintentionally and truly, unbeknownst to her, but worse, nonetheless. Guarantee we go on like this, there’ll be more men I come to blows with. No doubt about it, really. She makes me crazy, overly emotional, and that’s a lethal combination when your life is built around drunks.

No matter where I get in life, no matter what I achieve, I’ll never not be me.

Even if I could offer her a comfortable future in a nice home with nice things, she deserves more. She deserves a good man who can love her without the mess.

I am not that man. I will never be that man.

What I feel for her is messy and wild and strong; it’s a twister of emotions whirling around me, sucking the air from my lungs and the sanity from my mind.

I can’t be good or proper or rational. Not when it comes to her.

Davis

Crew’s frown is deep, and I hate that I said anything, but I know he won’t let it go, and truth be told, I can’t either. The thought alone has my emotions in overdrive, speaking the words out loud and fearing his response is too much for me to handle, especially at five a.m., when I slept maybe a total of two hours.

“She said she thought I would be uppity and judgmental. Why did she think that, Crew? I’ve never judged you, never looked down on you.” I shake my head. “Even right now with the fighting. I don’t care what happened to Jess, and maybe I should. Maybe I’m the one who is messed up because I don’t, but all I can think about is the police knocking the door down and taking you away. I’ll lose you again when I just got you back.” Crew’s brows clash, and I continue, “And I know I don’t have you, have you, and I stooped really, really low to have you back by bribing you into my life again, when you finally washed your hands of me. I know I screwed up your plans, but—”

“Yeah, you did,” he cuts me off, stalking toward me.

Tears pool in my eyes, my lower lip quivering.

“You fucked up all my plans,” he admits.

“I’m sorry.”

“You fucked up my world.”

“Okay, I get it.” Heat streams down my cheeks, and I look away.

“No. You don’t.” Heavy knuckles press along the underside of my chin, bringing my attention back to him as his dark eyes pierce mine. “You don’t get it, at fucking all.”

I suck in a shaky breath and wait.

“Everything I do,” he begins, crouching down a little. “Everything I’ve done, for as long as I can fucking remember, has been with you in mind. What will she think? How will she react?”

A small furrow builds across my forehead.

Crew’s hand opens, his palm replacing his knuckles on my cheek. “Could she ever want a low-class man like me? Could I ever be enough for the princess who grew to be a queen right before my eyes, when I’ll never be more than a hands’ man?”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“It’s the truth. I know what I am and I’m not going to stand here and pretend life is different. It’s not. I’m not. I can’t give you a white picket fence and I’ll never be sitting in a church on Sundays, like your parents did when you were little. I’ll probably be in the bar, trying to find a way to hide the smell of vomit and vodka. That stable, standard family shit isn’t me. It won’t be. Not ever.”

The sense of worthlessness, of deep-rooted resolve in the words he’s speaking, gnaw at me.

Doesn’t he know how much he means to me?

Is it not obvious what I feel for him?

My hands come up, latching on to his wrists, and his eyes slope at the edges. “You think I would change a thing about you if I could?” I whisper. “I wouldn’t. I like you the way you are. I always have, even when I understood little of what it meant.”

“I was the only man around you, Davis, and you knew no different. Now you do. Now you see. Look what I just fucking did.” He frowns. “Look what we’re doing now.”

“We’re just talking, Crew,” I gently say, trying to ease the tension overwhelming him.

“Exactly.” He pulls his hand from my face, freeing himself from my hold. “I acted a fucking fool and now you’re standing here feeling like the bad one? That’s fucked, Davis, and you know it. You should be screaming at me, fighting with me. You should have told me to leave.”

I hear what he’s saying, and maybe some parts are true. Maybe I should, but…

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“Because you need me, right?” He throws his hand out. “You know I’m a piece of shit, but you don’t care because you need me here until our deal is done.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No. If it were up to me, you’d never leave.” The words are out before I can stop them, a heavy dose of embarrassment, of vulnerability, sweeping over me and creating a deep ache in my chest.

He stares at me, his features twisted as he searches for the lie, convincing himself there must be one.

“Crew, I-I want you. I’ve always wanted you and being with you lately has done the opposite of what you’re saying it should. I-I want you even more now.” I pause a moment, moving toward him. “You said my body will tell me what it needs, and what it needs is you. What I need is you.” I grip his shirt, staring up at him. “Let me have you.”

Crew stares at me a long, pressing moment, and then he tears away, putting a half dozen steps between us.

He glares at me, taut anger on the outside, pain-laced fear within.

“And then what, huh?” His tone is sharp, though thick and unsteady. “You get what you want from me, what your body is telling you it needs, and you go find something better after, holding on to the memory of the asshole who took your virginity? For what, Davis? So you can say you scored the guy you weren’t supposed to want? Your brother’s fucked-up former friend? Your childhood crush? Your fucking foster brother?”

I shake my head, but he keeps going, crouching as he stabs his finger into his chest.

“I don’t want to be the one thing in your life you regret or the guy you roll your eyes at yourself for later, when you’re embarrassed by what you did, of how low you stooped.” His brows crash, pain flickering across his face. “I can’t be the man you fuck and forget, so—”

“I love you.”

I suck in a sharp breath once the words leave me, and Crew turns to stone before me, his body frozen in the crouching position.

After a solid seventeen seconds, he straightens, though his expression remains struck. Beaten, but not by pain or discomfort. It’s the refusal to believe what I’m saying, a subconscious insecurity… or maybe a shred of hope?

“I love you,” I say it again so he knows it wasn’t a slipped mistake. That I meant it.

“Stop.”

I shake my head, inching closer.

“Davis.” His chest heaves, his eyes glued to mine. “Stop.”

“I can’t. I won’t. I love you, Crew. Every bossy bit of you.” I pause a step away from him, our bodies near but not touching. “Psychotic tendencies and all,” I softly tease.

His Adam’s apple bobs with a thick swallow, his pinkie brushing mine at our sides. Crew says nothing for a long while, and then he steps closer, bringing his chest flush with mine.

“When did you stop listening to me?” he rasps.

I lace my hand with the one grazing mine, drawing it to my lips to kiss along his knuckles. “When did I ever truly listen at all?”

“Fair enough…” Slowly, his hand wraps around my lower back, holding me to him as he holds my gaze hostage, something softer swimming in his own. “I think I know why Layla might have thought what she did.”

I’m about to say it’s okay, that it doesn’t matter, and while it doesn’t really, I do want to know, so I say nothing.

“Since the minute I met her and Will, I’ve been busting my ass, trying to reach for shit I had no business reaching for, trying to become something better, trying to be someone worth something… someone worth you.”

Tears pool in my eyes, and his hold on me tightens.

“It’s my fault she took that as you needing more than I was, but I can promise you, Sweets, she sees the truth now.” He grips my face. “It’s not that you need more. It’s how you deserve so fucking much more than I could ever give. It’s that my life might not be the one you want to live.”

“You’re giving me too much credit,” I whisper. “I’m just a girl.”

“A perfect one.”

My ribs constrict. “Perfect for who?”

His eyes move between mine, flicking to my lips as he presses his own tight.

“Me, Sweets.” His words are so low, so, dare I say, fearful, it’s agonizing. His gaze flies to mine. “Perfect for me.”

There’s a but in there that stings me to my core, so I wait for it, and it comes quick.

“But I will never be perfect for you.”

You already are, I want to whisper, but it’s easy to see there will be no convincing him anytime soon.

I glide my hands up his chest, across his shoulders, and his eyes close when my fingers graze his neck, sliding into the sharply faded sides. Pushing onto my tiptoes, I bring my lips as close to his as I can get them, the heat of my breath causing his eyes to snap open.

“So don’t be perfect for me,” I murmur. “Be good to me.”

The hold on my back grows more possessive by the second, and I welcome the sting of his fingertips, waiting for his resolve to snap.

Please snap.

“Take what’s yours, Crew…”

Take me.

A deep rumble works its way up his chest, and he dips down, catching my bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut. He scrapes along the soft skin, releasing with a slight nip.

Wild and wicked, he looks at me.

“What’s mine, Sweets?” His hand lowers on my back, squeezing my ass in his tight grip. “This?” His other hand finds my breast, fisting tight around it and making me gasp. “These?”

He spins us, my back hitting the wall with a soft thud, as his palm glides down, lower and lower, until he’s cupping me over my sleep shorts. “This?”

I take the hand he’s pressed to the wall beside me, dipping my head to the side as I trail his fingers over my own neck, down my collarbone and across my chest, pausing right over the wild beat of my heart.

This.

I don’t say it, but I don’t think I have to.

I told him I loved him, and now I want to show him how much, even if I don’t really know how.

He swoops down, slamming his mouth to mine, his tongue forcing its way inside before I have a chance to open for him. Gripping him tight, I leap, wrapping my legs around his body and he hoists me higher, my ankles locking above his ass.

He grinds into me, his hardness pressing against my sweet spot and making me whimper with need. I fight for more friction, rolling my hips with pure abandon as I try to climb him like my favorite tree.

He’s my favorite everything.

Crew groans, and I tug on the hem of his shirt, lifting it. He hesitates, but only for a split second before allowing me to pull it from his body. My eyes stay on his. The sheer heat of his skin has me shivering as my hands trail and learn each dip of his muscles as they flex beneath my touch. But as I slide them down his pecs, my fingers brush along a patch of raised skin.

His gaze seems to burn a little deeper, and it takes effort to lower mine.

My brows pull, flicking along his collarbone and chest, down to his abs. At least a dozen nicks litter his skin, all different shapes and sizes, some protruding, others flat, but discolored.

One even hidden near the tattoo coloring his left pec.

“Scars…” I whisper, tracing one and then another. “From fighting?”

A ghost of a smirk pulls at his lips. “From winning.”

An airy chuckle escapes me, and I lean forward, pressing my mouth against the highest one, curved along the lower edge of his collarbone, nearly dead center.

Crew groans, lifting my mouth to his.

He presses against me then, using the strength of his torso to hold me up, so his hands can roam free.

He tugs the small band from my hair, and it falls around us, his fingers immediately diving in and wrapping the short strands around his fist. He yanks, and a sharp breath escapes me, my head flying back as his mouth clamps over my throat. Sucking. Nipping.

“Fuck,” he pants, his voice gruff, his hand shaking. “I’m trying to be gentle with you when I want to tear you apart.”

“I don’t need gentle.”

“You deserve—”

Now it’s me who yanks his hair, forcing him to look at me.

His eyes flash with wild surprise, the brown swallowing the green completely.

“I said I don’t need gentle. I don’t want you to hold back because you think I need that. Whatever you feel you need from me, I want you to take.”

His dick flexes between us.

“Let me be what you said I am. Let me be perfect for you.”

“Perfect for me,” he echoes, nearly incoherent because his mind is so far gone. So deep in desire.

Slowly, his eyes find mine.

“Whatever you need, I want to give you. Whatever you want, I want to be.” I hoist myself up higher, bringing my eyes above his, my lower lip placed perfectly between his own.

He stares up at me through hooded eyes and my tongue slips out, flicking along the bow of his lips. His fingers dig into the skin of my thighs, his chest rumbling.

“Take what you need from me, Crew.”

“What if I say I need everything?”

My smile is slow as I drop my forehead to his. “I’d say it’s already yours.”

And just like that… he snaps.

Finally…