“I guess there is no point going back to the restaurant,” Scarlett says on a sigh, looking at Nix intently.
“No, not now, but this isn’t over. I might be fine with you setting the layout for the restaurant, but I am not okay with pink lampshades.”
“It isn’t pink! It’s magenta!”
“Same freaking difference! Scarlett, don’t make me pull rank.”
She crosses her arms, her anger palpable as she glares at him. “Fine. But if we do this your way, then I get my way with the wall paint.”
Nix appears to weigh this. Then, since Scarlett doesn’t look like she’s willing to budge, he finally relents. “Fine, you can have your way with that.”
“Yes!” she cheers, hugging him and dispelling her previous anger immediately. “You’re the best!”
“And you’re a pain in my ass,” he grumbles, shooting back his own drink.
“No, that is Harvey. Although, I assume there is some pleasure, too.”
He shakes his head at her, appearing amused. “Harvey is picking me up any minute. You want a ride home?”
“Actually, I might hang out here with Cynthia for a bit.”
“Okay, but don’t tell Sasha. She’ll just think of it as approval for her sneaky ways and keep meddling.”
“I don’t think anything we do will ever stop Sasha from meddling,” I point out.
“God save us all, then,” he states dramatically before giving Scarlett and I both a hug then leaving.
“That was an impressive save,” I tell her, watching as she orders a third drink. At least this one is a premix and not another shot. Then I lead her away from the bar and sit her down on a free couch in the corner.
“Better than hoping he wouldn’t notice a surprise birthday bash with only us in attendance.”
I cringe, wishing I had been better at showcasing some quick thinking, instead of just digging myself a hole.
“What would you have said instead?”
“I don’t know, and honestly, I don’t even care. Thank you for keeping this a secret. I know you could have blurted out what was going on, but you didn’t, and I really appreciate that.”
My lips twitch with the need to smile, happy that she liked I made the effort.
“I made a promise, but if something comes up and I judge it necessary, I will tell whoever I need to,” I tell her with zero nonsense in my tone. “I won’t put your life in jeopardy, no matter your thoughts on the matter. I’d rather have you alive and mad at me than hurt or worse.”
She gives me a small nod, resting her hand on my leg as she takes another sip of her drink. The touch is innocent, I’m sure, but I can’t help how affected I am by it.
Scarlett is a touchy person. When we were dating, we were almost never together without her touching some part of me. Holding hands, hand on my back, or even an arm over my shoulders, there was always something physical happening with Scarlett.
I was never a person who liked touch like that. I always liked my personal space and, other than in the bedroom or the privacy of my home, I didn’t see the point in making such an obvious claim over the person you are with. But after I lost that touch, I missed it. Every day, I ached to feel that closeness again. I felt lost without her touch anchoring me. And, while I know her touch now is innocent and likely done without thinking, it causes an ache to resonate through my heart over what I lost and still don’t have.
“Cyn, your phone is ringing,” she calls out gently, bringing me back to the here and now.
“Cynthia,” I answer Gemma’s call, needing to clear my throat afterward to get rid of the emotion.
“I can’t hear any chatter about Scarlett from anyone, but they’re definitely speaking to someone like they’re getting orders. I don’t know who. I asked Jerry to chase down whoever is on the other end of the line.”
“Jerry? But we’re supposed to—”
“You made that promise, not me. If your girlfriend is in trouble, then we need as much information as we can get.”
I can’t exactly argue with that, though I get the feeling this is spiraling out of control and the likelihood that we’re going to be able to keep a lid on things is about to be nonexistent.
“Fine, how long before he knows who is giving out these new orders? And for that matter, what is being ordered?”
“I don’t know. They talk mostly in code. I’ve recorded what they’ve said, and I’ve got a connection with the CPD in the drug unit. I’m going to see if she can de-code what is going on.”
“But nothing about Scarlett is being said, right?” I confirm, needing to cover my other ear as the background noise around me seems to grow.
“If they’re talking about her, I can’t see it.”
“Right, okay.”
“I also took a swing past the restaurant. No signs of trouble.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me. No signs of trouble don’t mean they weren’t there, or that trouble wouldn’t have happened had she been there.
“Thank you for this. I appreciate your help.”
“Whatever, Park. You know I got your back.” That’s the first time she’s ever said something like that.
I appreciate her words more than she could ever know, not that I even have to worry about blurting out any feelings of my own since she hangs up immediately afterward.
“Good news?”
“I don’t know. It seems someone else is taking hold of the reigns while Sanchez is in prison. That isn’t surprising, but it is concerning that it’s being kept under wraps. Without knowing who it is, we don’t know their motives. Maybe they want Sanchez out of the way so they can be the leader? Or, if there is a more personal link, they might want revenge for what is happening to him. I don’t know.”
“Shit, I hate that we’re even having this conversation. Damn Wally, always getting me in the middle of shit I want no part of.” She nurses her drink while glaring out into the sea of people.
I take the sullen silence to observe that no one is acting suspicious. Other than the usual interested stares from strangers, which can come with the territory of being a lesbian, no one appears interested in us in any negative way.
“You want to grab something to eat while we’re here, or just go home?”
“Home,” she answers immediately. It warms me greatly to hear her referring to my home like that, even if she is just repeating my own phrase back.
“Then let’s head out.”
Outside, the sidewalk is getting busier as most businesses close up and people begin their rush to get home. With the weather close to freezing and snow due any day, everyone is walking at a brisker pace than just a couple months ago.
I grab Scarlett’s hand to prevent myself from losing her while we make our way back to my car.
My phone ringing slows us down, and when I see Jerry’s name, I’m not sure what to think.
“Cynthia,” I answer, holding my breath in hopes this will be good news.
“Someone hacked your cell. They were able to clone your phone, but I found the virus and was able to remotely disable it. I usually keep on top of that with you guys, so it happened sometime today or yesterday. Gemma said you were working a case for Scarlett. I checked her cell as well, and she had the same virus. Hers has been on there for weeks. I’m not sure what they were able to see, but I’ve remotely disabled hers, too,” he explains, the telltale clicks of fingers on a keyboard a constant tempo.
“Shit, what the hell?” I gasp, bringing us both to a standstill as I try to process what this means.
With everyone bumping into us as they move past, Scarlett leads us closer to the road and out of the way of the rush.
“It might be nothing. These days, phone scams are a daily occurrence and phone security tends to be much laxer than home security, but it’s an odd coincidence given the timing.”
Plus, I have some of the best security on my phone. That speaks to it being more than just a typical phone scam.
“Thanks, Jerr
y, I appreciate you noticing and getting our phones clean.”
“All part of my job. I’m still working on what Gemma wants, but I don’t think it will take more than a few more hours to get past the firewalls,” he says distractedly.
“You’re amazing. I owe you one,” I tell him for likely the millionth time. Even though he is part of the team, he goes above and beyond for us.
“Stay safe,” he tells me, which is his usual signoff.
I disconnect, but before I can update Scarlett, my grip on her hand is broken as she is jolted away from me. Someone shoves her harshly, causing her to fall back onto the road and straight into oncoming traffic.
I act quickly, letting go of my phone and satchel as I grab her flailing arms, pulling her forward and just avoiding the speeding car that doesn’t even slow down a bit, even given the near miss.
Scarlett’s hair flies into my face from the wind caused by the too close traffic, and we fall back into the crowd on the sidewalk.
“Shit,” I gasp, my heart thundering. I glance madly around, but apart from a few annoyed glances at our blocking the way, no one is acting suspicious.
Was that a freak accident or was Scarlett pushed on purpose?
“Are you okay?” I ask, placing my hands on either side of her face and forcing her back so I can see her properly.
“I can’t believe … I was just nearly … Someone pushed me!” she gasps, her eyes wild and panicked, her skin turning ashen.
“Come on; let’s get out of here,” I snap, reaching down to grab my cell and bag and noticing the cracked screen.
I hold her close and probably tight enough to cut off the blood circulation in her hand, but I don’t let up until we’re at my car. Even then, I hold her hand over the center console as I drive us as quickly as the traffic allows back home.
I place Gemma on speaker as I tell her what just happened, and she assures me that she will find any security footage in the area to identify the person who shoved Scarlett and figure out if they have any connection to Sanchez.
“Do you really think someone tried to harm me tonight?” Scarlett asks with a wobble in her voice.
I swiftly decide not to point out that with the speeds the vehicles were travelling, it would have likely been a head-on collision that would not have meant just mere injuries. More like a fatal result.
“I don’t know, but I refuse to leave any rock unturned.” I squeeze her hand, hoping to offer her some support and to remind her that she isn’t alone in this.
When we get back to my place, I basically shove her in the direction of my bathroom with an order to take a hot shower, and then I spend the next short while preparing a light meal and trying not to think about the fact that she is naked and only one room away.
I let the soup cool as I grab an older model cell phone and change my information over. Then I make a call to Detective Tibbett, who is not thrilled to be speaking with me again, muttering to himself about what a pain in his ass I am being.
After some follow-up questions, plus putting me on hold to speak with his captain, he informs me that all I have given him is circumstantial, and if he is going to be able to link anything to Sanchez, he needs more than a couple sighting of passing vehicles on a public road of known associates of Sanchez, ones that haven’t even been confirmed by CPD and was only discovered through Gemma, and a figure that hasn’t been identified as anyone known to Sanchez potentially knocking Scarlett on purpose with the intent to cause harm. Without footage of the incident—I haven’t heard back from Gemma yet—it can easily be explained as an accident.
I’m frustrated by the end of the conversation, mostly because a lot of what he said is right. Scarlett feels like she is being watched, but there is no proof. Our phones being hacked does bring up one red flag, but again it can’t be directly linked to Sanchez.
Right now, the detective’s hands are tied by a lack of resources and a lack of evidence, which means no protective custody from the CPD. That doesn’t mean she won’t be under a protective watch from me.
It’s time I talk to Zander and clue in the rest of the guys, and that means it’s time Scarlett comes clean to Nix.
When the bathroom door opens, I deeply breathe in the smell of roses, feeling a heady rush at the familiar scent, and stare hungrily at her exposed skin around her robe.
She looks less stressed, but no less scared than before she went in.
“I heated up some soup and made grilled cheese sandwiches,” I tell her, directing her to the couch where I place a tray of food on her lap. I have a glass of water on there, too, but I wonder if she might want something stronger to calm her remaining nerves.
“I’m not really hungry, but thanks.”
Before I can protest, she dips one sandwich triangle into the soup then takes a small bite.
Relieved that she’s eating, I sit beside her with a tray of my own as we eat in silence.
I wait until she says she can’t eat another bite before I bring up the fact that she needs to come clean to Nix.
“Tomorrow, I need to tell Zander what is happening.”
“Yeah, I figured,” she mutters, sounding defeated. It’s a tone I have rarely, if ever, heard from Scarlett.
“It means it won’t take long before the others, including Harvey, will be in the loop.”
She nods, her eyes downcast. “In the shower, I realized it was selfish of me to keep this from Nix. I know he won’t abandon me, and I know he won’t blame me. I just didn’t want any of this to touch him. He’s already been through enough shit to last a lifetime.”
“Nix is your friend—your best friend,” I point out. “He wants to know what is happening in your life, and he wants to be part of it, even if it does include a scary drug lord at the moment. This will blow over, I promise, and things will get back to normal soon.”
She nods again, and I see a little more determination in her eyes. “Okay, I’ll call him tonight. I want him to hear it from me.”
“Good.” I reach over and give her arm a supportive squeeze before I get up, grabbing both our trays and walking them into the kitchen. I rinse off the dishes, stacking them into the dishwasher as I listen to murmurs coming from Scarlett’s bedroom.
I recheck the front door, make sure all the windows are secured, and then I unnecessarily tidy up until I decide I need to get ready for bed.
If Scarlett needs anything else, she knows where to find me.
I attempt to take a quick shower, which is made harder by the smell of Scarlett’s body soap still wafting through the air, bringing up images that are hard to ignore when one is naked, wet, and horny.
I have never been one to care about my bouts of celibacy. From my first time with a woman when I was seventeen, I have had times of plenty of sex. On the flipside, I have had months, and once even years, without sex. I have always been good at taking care of myself, and most of my relationships fizzled out in the sex department long before they ended emotionally.
I tend to commit to something, even when I know it isn’t working. A perfect example is my ex-girlfriend Vanessa. Our sex life started out hot and passionate. She liked controlling things in the bedroom, and I personally liked the thrill of being controlled. Then it became less about that happening in the bedroom and more about controlling me out of it. That was when the passion, the fun, and the sexiness faded until all there was between us was obligation and laziness.
Scarlett was different. Or, at least we hadn’t lost any of the passion between us before I screwed things up. She wasn’t about controlling me. She was about fun. We laughed, we moaned, and we came together as often as she could get me in bed. She had an insatiable hunger that awakened something I never thought I could feel.
You sometimes hear about that limitless sexual appetite when you can’t keep your hands off each other. You think it must not be all that it’s cracked up to be, like an exaggeration not unlike the perfect marriage, or that perfect Instagram bikini shot. It’s all smoke and mirrors, and a who
le lot of bullshit.
The way the girls, and Nix when he is drunk enough, talk about their sex lives, which is to say they overshare to maximum levels, means I figured they each had found that elusive match. The ones who gave amazing orgasms and meant you had a sex drive the likes to get you pulled over for speeding. But, just because some people have it, that doesn’t mean everyone will. It doesn’t mean there is anything wrong if you don’t. Then I found Scarlett and realized she made me feel a way no one before her had.
So, right now, naked and smelling her delicious soapy scent, knowing how close she is, is absolute torture. I’m wet just thinking about her, and I can’t leave this bathroom feeling this way.
Today has been a trying day, tied up with a lot of stress and a near miss that still has my heart racing. I need to get rid of this feeling, and I need to do it before I scare Scarlett off. She needs me to be supportive right now. She needs me to be her rock.
I slap one hand against the tiled wall and put my head under the spray of hot water until my hair is drenched. Then I move just a little closer until the water pounds down my neck and rolls along my back.
I close my eyes, picturing Scarlett in front of me, imagining the water trailing down her face, through her chestnut brown hair, and over her pebbled nipples. I want to reach out. I want to touch her, taste her. Instead, I move my hand over my own breasts, tweaking the tight buds and imagining it’s her hand touching me.
I moan when each twist is a shot of lust down to my pussy.
I need more. I want more.
I trail my hand down my waist, my short nails scraping me along the way, and I picture Scarlett’s brightly painted red nails, the length longer than mine and more refined, nipping and tickling me as she moves over to my mound.
My legs are shaking in anticipation of her touching me. I need this so badly. But then she grins at me when her hands—my hands—don’t touch my aching clit. They don’t penetrate my drenched channel. They tightly move along my seam, drops of water cascading down my body, some moving along my crease to tease me further, until she finally—I finally—move my finger through my part and immediately insert two fingers into my tight channel.
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