The After Party (A Badboys Boxset)

by Karr, Kim

  I tense. “What is it with you and all the negative comments whenever Charlotte comes up?”

  He shrugs. “I just get the feeling she’s bad news. That’s all.”

  “Dude, why haven’t you said anything about that crap on his plate?” Drew asks, pointing to Jake’s plate, and I know he’s trying to defuse the tension. Drew hates it when any of us get too serious with each other.

  For the sake of moving onto a different topic, I go along with it. “Nothing noteworthy to talk about, I guess.”

  Drew looks at Jake. “Hey, Pretty Boy, it looks like dog food.”

  Jake gets really irritated when we call him Pretty Boy, so of course we do it all the time. He got the nickname in middle school when he asked a girl to a dance and she said no because he was prettier than she was.

  Jake narrows his eyes at Drew. “It’s the special. High-end hash, and it tastes great.”

  “Yeah, it’s high end all right, all the way from the Alpo factory,” Drew says with a laugh.

  “Can we cut the shit and get back to business now?” Will says as he sits down.

  Everyone shuts up.

  “Listen, Jasper, whatever you decide to do about Charlotte, we’re behind you, but I have to say, be careful. This situation is going to be really messy.”

  “Yeah, especially since that chick she worked with was out to get you,” Drew adds.

  “We don’t know that,” I tell him.

  Will tilts his head to the side. “It seems like a logical conclusion, though. This girl that none of us remember from college shows up out of the blue and tosses those bizarre questions at you right before the vote, crashes the party, sneaks into your bed, and then ends up dead.”

  The muscles in Jake’s jaw twitch.

  I lift my chin in his direction. “What?”

  “You shouldn’t rule out the possibility that this Eve chick was working with Charlotte.”

  I exhale warily and shoot him a displeased look. “You need to stop with that shit right now.”

  He holds his hands up in surrender. “Sure, man, I will, but I just want to make certain you’ve thought of all the possibilities.”

  “She’s not involved.”

  “Got it.”

  Will clears his throat and looks at me. “Can we get back to what’s important?”

  With a raised I brow, I look at him. “By all means.”

  “Sorry, but I just got off the phone with Whitney and—”

  “Who’s Whitney?” Drew asks through a mouthful of food.

  “The girl I met Friday night,” Will says shortly.

  Whitney, huh. I knew who Whitney was. I’d seen her—under Will.

  “The one you got busy with?” Drew asks.

  Will narrows his eyes at Drew and then looks around the table. “Two things. The auction has been put on hold, but then again it’s not like we weren’t expecting that.”

  We all curse low under our breath.

  “What’s the second thing?” I ask.

  He looks at me. “You have an appointment with Todd Carrington at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  We’d discussed whether I should go to the station on my own or not, and all agreed with the poor state of Detroit, it was best to go with an attorney. Cuffs are slapped really easy in this economy. I never imagined when we talked about representation I’d be able to acquire someone like Todd Carrington. He is the best criminal attorney in all of Detroit. “How did you get me in to see him so quickly?”

  Quietly, Will responds with, “He’s Whitney’s brother. She worked for him for years, but is currently transitioning between leaving his office to work for the mayor.”

  “The naughty secretary is Todd Carrington’s sister—that’s wild.”

  “The what?” he seethes.

  I shake my head. “Never mind. Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Dude, that’s totally what she looks like.” Drew only adds fuel to the fire.

  “She’s not a secretary. She’s an executive assistant. There’s a difference.”

  “Whatever she is, she’s smoking hot.”

  “Shut up, Drew,” we all say at once.

  “Do you really think he needs to see a criminal attorney?” Jake asks Will, definitely sobering the moment.

  “Yes, I do. Jasper might have been the last one to be seen with the victim. I’m sure right about now the police are putting that little-known fact together, and it won’t be hard to figure out what the conclusion will be.”

  Ignoring that, I let my mind wander. Out of the blue, I remember the mud on my shoes that I saw when I woke up yesterday morning. “Any idea how I wound up with mud on my shoes Friday night?” I ask them all.

  “What do you mean?” Will asks.

  “Like I said, I had mud all over my shoes and no idea how it got there.”

  Everyone is quiet.

  “Jasper, did you leave the hotel Friday night?” Will asks with concern in his voice.

  “Just with the three of you once the vote was announced.”

  “You sure?” Jake asks.

  All three of them look at me. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “You sure you didn’t go somewhere with those two chicks?” Drew asks.

  “No. I already told you, I passed out and left them to it.”

  Will looks like he might puke.

  “I didn’t kill her and then bury her body, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m not,” Will says, horrified.

  “Then why does the expression on your face say I’m fucked?”

  “You must have stepped in a muddy area of grass when we went outside—that’s the only thing that makes sense,” Jake says.

  “Were your shoes muddy?” I ask.

  They all shake their heads no.

  “Well, it must have happened, then. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  Will is quiet, as is the rest of the table.

  Fuck this.

  Standing up, I toss a twenty on the table. “I need to get going.”

  “Where to? Jake asks.

  “I have something I need to take care of today.”

  “Something or someone?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m going to see Charlotte to find out where she’s been all these years and to see if she knows anything about what happened the night of the explosion.”

  Will nods. “Call me if you need anything.”

  Under his breath, Jake snarls something I can’t understand and I don’t bother to ask what it is.

  “The Tigers are playing Kansas City at four—we were thinking of watching the game at Will’s,” Drew says, and it seems to be news to Will.

  Three sullen faces are looking at me and I can’t take it. I need to get out of here. Yes, I feel bad Eve is dead. Really bad. I hate that someone killed her. I want to know why just as much as they do, but it wasn’t me. I didn’t fucking kill her and I don’t know anything about how she died. And I can’t fucking talk about it anymore. It’s on my mind enough without over-talking the situation. “I’m going to pass today, but I’ll try to catch up with you guys later.”

  Will nods in my direction.

  “Yeah, talk later, man,” Drew says to me.

  Jake says nothing at all.

  With long strides, I exit the diner and unlock my bike.

  I started cycling after my accident to rebuild my leg strength and as a speed junkie, I was immediately hooked. I can never get enough. No matter how fast I go, I want to ride faster. Whether I’m doing a solo training or group ride, riding up a mountain, doing intervals, or taking part in a race, club ride, or fundraising event, more often than not it’s about how fast I go, what my average speed is, or how long it takes me.

  Speed is speed.

  I’ll take it any way I can get it.

  Today, though, I’m not looking to break any records. My plan is twofold. Show her the area she’s living in so maybe she’ll understand it’s not as safe as she thi
nks, and find out what she knows about why her father and his partner left town after the explosion. I just want to be able to talk to her in a way that doesn’t feel confrontational. I have so much anger over my father’s death, but I know it’s not her fault. She was eight, for fuck’s sake.

  It’s only noon and I have some time before I pick her up, so I decide to loop Comerica Park before I head to the garage to get my car. Traffic is light and will stay that way for a couple of more hours until the game-day festivities begin. That makes for an easy ride.

  Needing to burn some energy, I slide my sunglasses on and hop on my bike. I skip the helmet and Lycra altogether, neither of which is my thing anyway. I only wear them when forced. My riding gear of choice is of course a Tigers hat worn backwards and shorts and a T-shirt.

  Old habits die hard and when I find myself slowing because of the wind resistance, I reduce my drag by lowering my body closer to the bars and tucking my elbows. Pedaling faster, harder, and before I know it I’m flying down the road at a pretty good speed and unable to stop myself from thinking about Charlotte. Those mounds of curly blond hair flash before my eyes. The way I want to run my fingers through it and get lost in it for hours, days even. The sweet taste of her lips. How much I want to take more than just her mouth. That body, the way she moves, how she doesn’t even know what she does to me.

  Horns beeping pull me from my thoughts. That’s when I see the red traffic light straight ahead.

  Fuck!

  Pressing the brake as fast as I can, I’m able to stop quickly. A slight jerk forward is nothing to worry about. With a foot on the ground, I use the break to wipe my brow and clear my fucking head of her, of the shit I might be in, of how after all my hard work the building of the plant is going to be delayed or worse, of everything—or at least I try.

  From then on, I take my time and focus only on the ride. Once I circle the park I head to Grand Circus Park Garage. The Kales Building conveniently has an underground tunnel to the garage for parking.

  In no time, I attach the bike rack to my car, toss my bike on it, and take off.

  What I’m going to do when I get to her place, how I’m going to act, I have no idea. The angry thing didn’t work. The friend thing didn’t work. The talking thing went okay, until it didn’t. The only thing that worked great was when our lips connected.

  And I can’t stop thinking about it.

  I’m so fucked.

  Again.

  CHAPTER TEN

  OUT OF THE SADDLE

  Charlotte

  I’M UNACCOUNTABLY NERVOUS. Pacing back and forth in my apartment, I look at my watch. It’s twelve thirty-five. I glance toward my bike in the corner. I tell myself it’s not a big deal, but somehow I can’t decide what to do.

  Should I?

  Shouldn’t I?

  Yes.

  No.

  Oh, I don’t know.

  I could make a list of the pros and cons, but that would be stupid.

  Putting an end to my fretting, I just decide to do it. Without further thought, I open my door and roll my bike into the hallway. This will help move us out of my apartment quicker, and the lingering memories of his lips on mine won’t keep surfacing like they did the entire night.

  The rational side of me knows that I have no reason to be nervous. It’s only a bike ride . . . with Jasper . . . a man I’m attracted to. And it’s only a conversation . . . about where I’ve been for the past twenty years . . . and what I know about that night. Which will inevitably lead to why I’m here. Okay, so maybe I have a valid reason to be nervous.

  I try to refocus.

  We’ll be outdoors in the heat.

  Snacks. I need to pack snacks.

  Carrots sticks and orange wedges.

  Simple.

  Easy.

  Yet my fingers fumble with the knife when I pull it from the holder and I cut myself. The bright red blood wells up. I suck my finger and reach in the cabinet above the sink for a Band-Aid. The whisky bottle front and center makes me think of Jasper and I smile.

  Finally, I’m back to the task at hand. Once I’ve put the food in chilled bowls, I slip them into my cinch sack and toss in a couple of small water bottles.

  Sunscreen. I can’t forget my sunscreen.

  Searching the bathroom cabinet, I sigh at the disarray I still haven’t tidied up from when the maintenance man spilled its contents. Tomorrow, I’m marching down to the supervisor’s office and reporting him.

  No sunscreen anywhere.

  Giving up, I brush my teeth for the tenth time this morning and refuse to look in the mirror. The humidity has my hair doing all sorts of craziness, and all I can do is pull it back or suffer its wrath in the heat.

  Feeling frenzied and nervous, I start pacing the small hallway again. Having had enough, I make my way to my bedroom and collapse on my neatly made bed. The complex mess of emotions cascading through me are ones that I know I shouldn’t be allowing myself to feel. For one thing, it’s not like I’m Jasper’s type. I’ve seen the women he’s attracted to. Full, large breasts, endless curves, and very put together. The total and complete opposite of me. Not that I’m insecure or self-doubting, because I’m not, but I am a realist.

  Secondly, that kiss happened in the moment and very well could have been a fleeting attraction on both our parts. We were both feeling vulnerable because of Eve’s death.

  And thirdly, and most important, I’m here for a reason, and that reason does not include getting tangled up in a relationship that, given my history with men, can only end badly.

  Still, no matter how much I try to forget last night, I can’t. The feeling of his hands on my skin—gentle yet rough—is something I want to experience again. The scent of him—cologne and male—is one I can’t wait to smell again. Full lips on mine—soft and inviting—are ones I want, craving more than just a kiss.

  One man shouldn’t make any woman feel this way.

  How can I explain exactly how he makes me feel?

  I can’t.

  I’m out of sorts.

  Unbalanced.

  Lustful.

  Wanton.

  There’s too much chaos going on in my mind.

  I need to relax.

  Calm down before he gets here.

  Like I said, we are both feeling vulnerable and raw right now, so it’s expected that our emotions would be heightened.

  I’m just going to close my eyes for a few minutes.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ROAD RAGE

  Jasper

  CONTROL IS AN absolute necessity when driving fast on the road, and there is no other car that applies force to the pavement as directly as the Storm. Whether turning the wheel, accelerating the gas, or stepping on the brake, I am always in direct contact with the road, and therefore I always have control.

  Too bad I can’t say the same for my life, which right now seems to be spinning out of control.

  A woman has been found murdered on the very site where I am so close to building the factory that will deliver the Storm to the world.

  It’s not like I don’t realize how serious it is. I found her body, for fuck’s sake. I can’t get the image out of my head. But it’s not like I was involved with her or had any connection other than the one day, and yes, the one hookup long ago that I barely remember.

  What’s really worrying me is the effect this will have on acquiring that land. How long will it delay everything? Will people put the tragedy of the explosion and this together and halt the sale?

  Then there’s Charlotte, and the way the guys looked at me at breakfast. I have a whole fuck load of shit on my plate and no idea what is the best way to deal with it or where to start.

  Driving through the streets of the old Cass Corridor, I manage to suppress the bad memories of my childhood from surfacing. Sure, the area’s history is a sad cocktail of drugs, prostitution, and crippling poverty. And even though this section of midtown is a shadow of its former self, I can still see the neglect in the thou
ghtless demolition. However, as I come to a stop in front of Charlotte’s building, I can also spot change and hope for the future.

  Then again, her building isn’t the grimy brick front with a dark lobby lit only by streaks of light through cracked windowpanes that I grew up in. Her stairs aren’t rotting, her hallway isn’t a putrid shade of green, the carpet isn’t worn, nor does it smell like piss, and there isn’t the yelling going on that makes me want to cover my ears.

  This isn’t the same place where I grew up.

  Slowly, I look around as I open the broken lobby door. She’s right—her building isn’t that bad, and aside from the loud bar next door, her neighborhood isn’t that bad either. I’ve done work down here but never saw it as other than the way it had been.

  As I take the stairs and look out the windows in the stairwell, I think I might have been a bit harder on her than I needed to be about choosing this area to live in.

  Walking down the hallway of her floor, I can’t suppress the smile on my face when I see that her bike is just outside the door. This means she’s planning on coming with me. After my confession last night, I wasn’t exactly sure she would.

  I appraise her bike. The style of it tells me she likes a little adventure. It’s a hybrid like mine—made to go from pavement to terrain without a problem.

  Not quite ready for this, I give myself the pep talk. This is not a date.

  Not.

  A.

  Date.

  Answers.

  You’re looking for answers.

  That’s all.

  You don’t need to be thinking of her in any other way than as someone you used to know. You look only at her face. You definitely don’t watch the way she moves. You don’t need to feel guilty because you fucked her co-worker a long time ago or because you let that same girl blow you the other night. You don’t even remember much about either time anyway. And for fuck’s sake, you don’t need to be thinking about how good this girl would feel wrapped around you.

  With that out of the way, I’m feeling clear-headed and focused. Before that changes, I hurry up and knock.

  No one answers. I knock again.

  Maybe she changed her mind and she isn’t going to come with me after all.