Busted (Stacked Deck Book 11)

by Emilia Finn

  “Um…” Whiplash. That’s how I feel. “Grace?”

  “Spam,” he chuckles. “She keeps texting and calling, but doesn’t wanna say anything real. Says we have to be alone to talk.”

  “Nice way for her to wrangle a free meal,” Luke scoffs from behind me. “Bee-tee-dub, there’s an old lady across the hall who’s totally gonna feed us all the time so long as we don’t wake her at night.”

  “Score.” Rob brings a hand up and swipes his sweaty brow. “We’ll have some extra insulation brought in today to keep the noise out of the hallway.”

  “Egg cartons on the walls,” Luke declares. “On it!” Then he circles out of the room at a trot and leaves us alone.

  To Luke, everything is as it should be. The Devil Twins and EmKat. It’s always been the three of us.

  But now, being alone with Rob feels different. Charged.

  Scary.

  “How was work?”

  “Um…” I lean against the doorframe and try to hide how awkward I feel. I feel more exposed now than I did this morning when I was naked and on top of him. “Uh…” I clear my throat. “Good. Fine. It was, uh, fine.” I bring a hand up to smooth my hair, then leaning back into the hall, I search for Luke.

  He’s nowhere in sight, and what’s more, I can’t hear him. Which means he’s likely gone outside to collect another box.

  Turning back to Rob, I clear my throat again, and resent the way my heart pounds. “Why do I feel so nervous right now?”

  Rob reclines back, completely at ease. “Dunno. Why are you nervous?”

  “Why aren’t you nervous?” My voice is accusatory and snappy. “You’re usually the one who does that, not me. Why aren’t you freaking out right now?”

  His smile is devilish, arrogant, and sexy. “I’m enjoying seeing you freak out,” he says. “It’s so rare, that I’m aware of the fact I need to absorb this and tuck it away for future entertainment.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  I move off the wall and head into the bedroom. Sitting on the edge of his mostly built bed, I study him, watch him, enjoy him.

  “I missed you today,” I admit on a whisper. “You didn’t call or text, and I guess I kinda expected you to. Work dragged because I was hoping you’d text, and you never did.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Rob pushes up to his knees, and walks his way across the carpet until he’s on my side of the bed. Then moving up with a grunt, he plops onto the mattress, shuffles back until he leans against the wall, then he reaches forward and grabs me by the hips until I’m situated right beside him, against the wall, so our bodies touch from shoulder to feet, but it’s completely innocent-looking should Luke storm back in.

  Which he will. It’s what he does.

  “I got busy moving,” Rob takes my hand – still platonic, really – and plays with my fingers. “We’ve done so many fucking trips between the house and here today. My legs wanna fall off and die.”

  “The apartment is coming along. You got a lot done while I was gone.”

  “It’s called hustle,” he chuckles. “And Red Bull. I gave Luke a double shot, which basically means he moved everything on his own.”

  “Did you, uh…” I shake my head. I’m being the needy chick, and that’s not me. “You didn’t tell him, obviously. If you did, he’d have already made it into a massive deal.”

  “No. I haven’t told him anything,” Rob murmurs. “This is our business to discuss, our thing to explore. I had an amazing night, by the way.” His grip on my hand changes. It’s subtle, but commanding. Sweet, but a declaration all the same.

  Luke stomps back into the apartment amid grunts and cussing, he plops something down – possibly the box of books – then he clods his way into the hall and stops at the doorway to study us. He sees nothing he hasn’t seen a million times before.

  “We forgot to eat lunch.” He lifts a hand, and shows it shaking. “My blood sugar! I drank so much Red Bull, I couldn’t tell the difference between caffeine shakes, and hungry shakes. But now I remember we didn’t eat.”

  “Meatball subs?” I suggest with a sweet smile.

  Luke drops his hand as his lips curl into a wicked grin. “Meatball subs for the Kat. I’ll be back in twenty.” Then he looks to Rob. “Stop sitting, you lazy fuck, and start working. By the time I get back, I expect this place to be done.”

  “Yup,” Rob agrees – he lies – and snickers under his breath. “I got it. Can you get me a soda too? Extra sugar, no caffeine.”

  “Yup. I’m taking your truck, by the way. You parked me in.”

  “Uh, no,” Rob snorts. “You parked like shit, and now can’t get it out.”

  “Tomato, tomahto,” Luke laughs. “Back in a bit.”

  He swings out of the room and into the hall. A minute after that, the front door slams, and a minute after that, the sound of Rob’s truck starts.

  Then he’s gone, and Rob and I are all alone on a bed.

  “So, uh…” I start.

  Rob bursts away from the wall, twisting his torso so he can look back at me, then his hands come to my face and hold on so that his eyes bore into mine. “Moratorium, or no? I’m not ready to stop yet.”

  “Moratorium,” I agree, only to gasp when Rob’s lips to slam to mine.

  It takes only seconds for my top to be removed, my bra. With practiced moves, Rob unsnaps my jeans, and soon after that, he’s in, and all of my worries are gone. My insecurities, my nerves, replaced with bone-deep hunger and a blazing fire that has the potential to destroy us both.

  But I’m not inclined to douse it. I have everything I want right in this moment.

  “Hey, Fart?”

  “Yeah.” His voice is strained on a laugh, but with a grunt of pleasure, he thrusts forward. “I love you, EmKat. Forever.”

  Rob

  This Is What Happiness Feels Like

  Em and I sit side by side on the couch in front of the TV. It’s our space now – so much so, that our asscheeks have permanently shaped the cushions – and though we’re still “just friends” to anyone who looks or asks, the amount of times she’s snuck into my room late at night now easily outstrips the number of times she did it at the family estate.

  We’re three weeks into hitting pause on our friendship, and ‘play’ on our relationship, and there isn’t a part of me that regrets it. Things aren’t weird, the sex is fucking phenomenal, and though I’m not sure either of us intended to make this a secret, it’s become one, and now we’re running with it.

  Sneaking is fun, and doing it all right under my brother’s nose makes for silly laughter and almost-caughts that makes our blood run faster.

  Now it’s Saturday night, which means no work for Em tomorrow – not with other clients, anyway – and though Brooklyn 99 plays on the flatscreen TV, neither of us pay it any attention. Em leans against me, her back and shoulders tucked under my arm while she hums and paints her fingernails, and while she does that, I sip a beer and enjoy the fuck outta the fact my best friend is my… girlfriend? Lover? Future forever?

  Every single fucking thing I’ve ever wanted, all wrapped up in one beautiful, smartass, crazy package.

  Luke moves around the apartment, doing whatever it is he typically does in a day – break shit and annoy people – though of course, his newest hobby is flirting with the sweet Mrs. Mabel across the hall, all for the sake of some baked goods and a sweet pat on the cheek.

  I think he has a crush, and despite the snarl I saw from the woman once or twice in the early days of our living here, almost exclusively when she’d overhear us cussing, she’s softened so much that we may as well call her Grandma.

  Luke sees Em and I always joined at the hip, always talking and hanging out, always laughing, but this is nothing new to him, so while she and I hug, he keeps on moving on his way from the hall to the kitchen. “Heading to Rhino’s tonight.”

  He passes through in nothing but jeans. No shirt, no shoes, but with wet hair and a towel slung over his shoul
ders. Em’s eyes come up with curiosity as he passes, her nail brush stops moving, and her brows come up.

  I pinch her shoulder to stop that bullshit.

  “Ouch!” Giggling, Em’s eyes snap away from Luke and whip to me. “Don’t pinch!”

  “Don’t look at my brother,” I growl right by her ear. “Not fucking cool.”

  “But you look the same,” she whispers right back with a wicked grin. “So really, it’s okay.”

  “No,” I declare in a low, warning tone. “It’s not. You have absolutely no trouble telling us apart, so don’t get caught looking at him again.”

  “Or else what?” she challenges. “Gonna snitch to Daddy that the girl you’re fucking is looking at the wrong brother?”

  She’s so crass, so ballsy with her words, that my heart jumps and my eyes swing to the kitchen to make sure Luke isn’t listening. He’s in the hall, half-naked, chatting with our sweet baked-goods supplier, and though the door is open, he sounds fully immersed in her words.

  Looking back to Em, I slowly take the bottle of nail polish from between her fingers, and the brush from her other hand. Putting them together and closing the bottle tight, I toss it to the coffee table and turn back so I’m half smothering her, and our noses almost touch.

  “Look again,” I rumble until her eyes spark with something fun and dangerous, “and I might be tempted to see how often I can make you say ouch in bed. You might like it at first,” I add when she opens her mouth to speak, “but not as much as I’ll like watching you tap.”

  Unfazed, she scoffs, loud and obnoxious. “Kincaids don’t tap, Fart. You know this.”

  “Perhaps.” I lean in and drop a fast, teasing kiss to her plump lips. But then I pull back far enough that I could continue to pass us off as friends if Luke walks back through. “But like I said,” I continue. “It’ll be fun to see how far you could go.” I tilt my head just a little, and grin. “Ready for bed?”

  “Rhino’s!” Luke slams the front door and lopes his way into the living room with annoying speed. I bounce back a little further, and tuck Em into place so we look completely and utterly platonic by the time his eyes meet mine. “Let’s go, little brother. Time to go pick up something tasty.”

  “Pig,” Em grumbles. “Ever considered joining a monastery? Your future flings will thank you for it.”

  “Monasteries don’t have women.” Luke swings back into the hall and heads toward his bedroom. He drops the towel on the floor as he goes, slams the door, but before the echo is finished bouncing off the walls, he’s back again in jeans and a black shirt, and picking up his phone when it dings. “Not interested in sausage, Emma Katherine. Oh…” He unlocks his phone and reads the screen for just a beat before his smile grows. “This chick Kora is interested as fuck.”

  My phone dings too. Once, twice, three times so that it vibrates against the wooden table.

  The first chirp, Em merely glances. The second, her brows rise. But on the third, she growls.

  “Fucking Grace Guacamole.” She shoots forward and snags the device, and checking the screen, snarls and turns it to me.

  Grace’s name sits atop three separate messages:

  Robert! You need to call me immediately.

  Rob. We need to talk.

  I’ll be at Rhino’s tonight. Meet me there so we can talk.

  My lips curl back into a grimace.

  Instead of opening the messages, I power my phone down and look back to Luke. “Not going to Rhino’s tonight.”

  “What?” he cries out, like this is possibly the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. “Dude! I need you there. It makes picking up chicks wayyyyy easier.”

  “Well, I’m staying in.” Emma tosses the black-screened phone away. “Brooklyn 99 made me wanna watch Die Hard.” She glances up to catch my eyes, then grins. “Staying or going?”

  “Staying.” I look to Luke and confirm, “Bros before hoes. I’m staying with EmKat.”

  “Wait, she’s your bro?” Luke argues. “What the fuck am I?”

  “A hoe,” Em and I both say at once, only for Em to continue, “You’re absolutely a hoe, Pukey. Rob is a respectable citizen without STDs and a bad reputation.”

  “Fuckin’ lies,” Luke chuckles. “He has the reputation too. But that’s only because he takes all your shit and pretends it was him.”

  “Makes him a sucker,” she snickers and lifts her feet to the couch. “I’m not going out. I’m tired of hangovers while working, so I’m gonna watch Bruce Willis for a bit, then I’m crashing.” She looks to me and grins. “I might crash on the couch tonight, if that’s cool with you.”

  Ha. She says couch, but what she means is my bed, and an excuse for still being here at three in the morning when Luke stumbles in with his newest conquest.

  “Sure.” I play along, and squeeze her tight. “But I’ll be on the couch, not you.”

  “Cause he’s a sucker,” Luke agrees with a snorting laugh. “He’s gonna get a sore neck, you’re gonna get a comfy bed, and all the while, he could be out with me, tag-teaming sorority sisters and sharing STDs.”

  “Go away!” Fast as a whip, Emma snatches up the TV remote and tosses it across the room. “I don’t wanna hear about sororities and hoes, you ass. Get your chlamydia outta here and into a doctor’s office.”

  Ducking back into the room once the remote lands and Em has nothing else to toss, Luke flashes a wolfish grin and blows an obnoxious kiss. “I adore you, Kincaid. Even when you’re mean to me.”

  “Ever consider that I’m mean to you with the hope that you’ll leave me alone?”

  “Nope. We were all in the womb at the same time. We’re in this for life.”

  “I was in a different womb, you weirdo!”

  He shrugs and turns back into the hall. “Still counts. I’m going out, you bores can stay here and get cobwebs on your private bits, and when I get home later, I don’t want either of you to complain about the noise.”

  “It’s not healthy for a woman to make the noises she makes when she spends time with you!”

  “And yet, my reputation precedes me, and my phone is bursting with messages.”

  “Hoe!”

  “Bed,” I declare the second Luke is dressed and out the front door. The sound of his Bronco is drowned out by Em’s delighted squeal when I bound off the couch and drag her along at a trot. “Pants off. Go, go, go, go, go.”

  Sundays usually mean Inkalot is closed to the public. Appointment books are blacked out. The phones are set to answering machines, and for that one day a week, the artists get to rest their eyes and hands. But Emma makes an exception for me – best friend perks – since she’s booked so far into the future, and I have what some may consider an actual addiction.

  We ride in her Mercedes now, which is purring from an Alesi Auto tune-up – well, a tune down, if Bry had anything to do with it – and pulling into the tiny, graveled parking space behind the shop, Em kills the engine, and Maroon 5’s “Girls Like You” cuts off with a snap.

  It’s nine in the morning, but this is a small town, and the church bells ring just a couple hundred yards away, so there wasn’t a soul be to be seen on the whole trip over here.

  Unsnapping her seatbelt and grabbing the keys, Em smiles for me and pushes her car door open. She seems so carefree today, so content and happy in her soft smiles and easy laughter. She grabs her coffee thermos before climbing out, then juggling everything, she closes the door again and heads toward the security panel at the back door.

  I watch her seductive hips sway as she moves in jeans tight enough for me to consider sending her to a nunnery. But considering the shop doors will be closed to the public, and I’ll be the only one seeing her for the next several hours, I say nothing, and instead choose to enjoy the show.

  I follow her to the security panel, and the second the light flashes from red to green, push the heavy door open and hold it for my girl.

  My girl!

  Holy shit.

  “Do you have mo
ments where this all feels weird?” I close the door again when Em passes, hit the locks, and nod when that green light goes red and ensures we’re going to stay alone.

  Turning to find her patiently waiting with a hand outstretched for me to hold, I accept it with a smile, and tug her in until she tucks beneath my arm exactly where she belongs.

  “You’re my best friend, right? That’s all it ever was. But now you put my dick in your mouth, and it’s starting to psyche me out.”

  Snorting, Em presses her cheek to the side of my chest as we walk the hall and stop in the main part of the shop.

  It smells of antiseptic in here, clean and perfect. Under that is the smell of ink. I know most would say that’s not accurate, that the ink is tucked away in bottles, and therefore not permeating the air, but I still say I can smell it. And what’s more, I can smell the difference between red and blue, black and green.

  Perhaps it’s because I already have so much of it on my body, or that my father did, too, when I was conceived. For whatever reason, I have this extra sense that makes a tattoo shop my home away from home.

  Having a best friend who works in one is just the icing on the cake.

  “I think that you saying I put your dick in my mouth is what makes it all a little weird.”

  Em steps out from under my arm when we reach her cubicle. Setting her coffee on the desk she rarely uses, she drops her keys beside it, and her phone beside that. Then, walking across the shop, she snickers as she passes me and I reach out to grab her. She sidesteps my hands, flicks the lights on, and makes an already light room that much brighter. Coming back, she slithers past my reach, fires up her laptop, and bends over her desk, giving me the best view of her ass.

  She hums under her breath while her fingers fly over the keys, and when she realizes the oppressive silence but for her own voice, she grabs a black remote and points it at a soundbar they have set up on the back wall.

  While using the computer, she navigates to her Spotify app, chooses something a little girly – Alessia Cara, a name I know only because it’s on her screen – then she navigates to the software she uses for drawing, and pulls up the image I’ve been planning in my head for years.