"What? So I stalked your Instagram. I needed to make sure you weren't the kind of guy who might kill my sister and keep her eyelids in a jar next to your bed."
"Why her eyelids?"
"See? That's how I know you're not the type. An eyelid-peeler would have tried to deny it. So, see you at six-thirty? Awesome. Okay. Byeeee!" she said, turning and disappearing before I could get my wits about me to decline the offer.
And damn if I wasn't grinning as she walked away.
Part of it was because she was just such a fucking trip.
The other part, though, there was no denying what it was.
It was excitement. Anticipation.
Because, no matter how hard I had talked to myself about needing to stay away from her, the drive to see her was still there.
And I just couldn't seem to rally the determination I would need to stay away.
So... I went.
SEVEN
Autumn
"I'm not being like Mom!" I objected, offended to the core, as she knew I would be when she hurled that little ditty at me. "It's just... it would have been nice to know you were having a friend over a little more than half an hour before they show up. I'm a mess. The house is a wreck. And Coop could use a bath."
Growing up, our mother had always had this weird rule about never allowing us to bring friends over to the house unannounced. It didn't matter that the house was always immaculate - which we knew it was since we were the ones who had to clean it, followed by a white-glove inspection.
It also never mattered that she was always put together because she rose before our father to put a full face of makeup and a dress on, and carefully tame her hair. We were pretty sure that the man had never seen her without makeup on. Because we always saw her sneak out of the bedroom late at night, go into the bathroom, and come out with a fresh face.
And, well, she was a freak about getting our dogs groomed, so they were never in need of a bath.
She just had a rule that made absolutely no sense whatsoever.
In this instance, I thought my arguments were fair. I had gotten home around five-thirty after handing off the store to my night girl and guy duo, then promptly ripped off my bra through my sleeve before I was even halfway in the door since the damn thing had been poking at me under my arm since fifteen minutes after I left the apartment that morning. I had gone into the bathroom, throwing on an old Good Vibrations! Tee that I had picked up at the first sex store I had ever gone to, and a pair of flannel PJ pants. I had even swiped off my makeup, sure that no one but Peyton and Coop would be seeing me the rest of the night.
And the apartment was just due for a scrub that I had been too tired to give it. It was clean enough with just some shoes thrown about, a couple piles of books of Peyton's here and there, and a bit of an accumulation of dog hair in the corners.
But, whatever, I guess.
Peyton's friends dropped in here and there all the time. Sometimes the apartment was still smelling of floor cleaner. Other times, it looked like a bomb detonated in the living room. They wouldn't care too much.
I was making a big deal out of nothing.
Truth be told, I was just in a crummy mood.
And, yes, if you must know, it had a lot of everything to do with a man who had amazing blue eyes, inky black hair, and lips that could set a woman's panties on fire.
I hadn't been able to move from the spot leaning against that wall for an almost embarrassingly long time. My legs felt wobbly, my head a little woozy. It just seemed smart to stay in that spot until the aching need between my thighs eased enough to make clear thought possible. Then I walked myself back to my store to sit for another fifteen minutes before I started getting emoji messages from Peyton that had pictures of peaches and cucumbers. Of tongues sticking out and Spock fingers. Of a hotdog and a bagel.
Then and only then, having a small chuckle, I grabbed Coop and made my way home.
Where, well, I spent some quality time with various devices I had bought from my own store. You know, for research purposes.
None of it helped.
If anything, I felt even more frustrated afterward.
Then I tossed and turned, sweating through my sheets as I had vivid sex dreams about having my pants yanked down and fucked hard and dirty against a wall down a side street.
Then I dragged myself back into work after too-little sleep to discuss BDSM with a pair of new enthusiasts. I had to clean up the coffee he had brought the night before.
Then darn Coop dragged me down the side street where it all happened. Because I needed that.
The butthead.
So my snapping at Peyton had nothing to do with the house being a bit messy and me looking a wreck. Her friends wouldn't care. They were the most chill group of men and women I had ever met. They'd have to be to hang with my weirdo sister.
I just needed to get a grip.
Hell, maybe seeing some people would get my mind off things that it had no business contemplating.
"Sorry," I said, stirring the spaghetti with the slotted spoon, realizing it was a poor excuse for a meal to serve guests, but I had only been planning on feeding it to myself when I started cooking. "I'm just in a mood."
"You're in a dude-mood," she agreed, ducking into the fridge to grab the veggies she had sautéed up for lunch. "Mix these in the sauce," she instructed, and I did since it was a vast improvement in the way of making it actually seem like dinner and not a pity-me meal. "That is some good old-fashioned blue tubes you've got going on."
"Why do I tell you things?" I asked, shaking my head.
"'Cause you loooove me. And you know I'm just thinking of your health here. Orgasms make you live longer. It's science."
"I have orgasms."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Poor BOB isn't getting a break lately. Garlic bread?" she asked, reaching for what was left of the crusty bread we had bought for lazy day sandwiches.
"You're really going all out," I observed, looking for the colander.
"So?"
"So, I once saw you serve your friends Ritz crackers and vodka."
"I'm hungry!" she objected, something in her tone I couldn't quite make out, and completely didn't trust.
"Alright," I said, brows drawn together as I strained the pasta and tossed it back into the pot, mixing in the veggies and sauce as she slathered butter and garlic into slices of the bread. "Whatever. I'm going to go put Coop in my room so he doesn't hurt anyone with his enthusiasm."
I was just coming out of my bedroom when there was a knock at the door followed by Peyton's voice going all sing-song and calling out, "I'm cooooming!"
My brows drew together as I moved into the doorway of the living room. Peyton's friends had a tendency to just burst in since more than a few of them had keys in case of late-night drinking and needing a place to crash.
"Oh! Wine!" Peyton cheered, making me smile. She was a sucker for a decent - or cheap - bottle - or box - of wine. "Come on in. Hey, Autumn, Doggy-Daddy is here!" she called, obviously unaware that I had come back out.
Doggy-Daddy?
Doggy-Daddy!
Even as the implications of that settled in, she was moving out of the doorway, and there he was.
There he was.
Looking like a goddamn male model in dark wash jeans and a lightweight navy blue sweater that hugged his perfect body way too nicely. I mean, you could make out some abs there. Or maybe that was my imagination. My filthy imagination, full of sex dreams of his naked body.
"Hey sweetheart," he said, spotting me before he even took a step inside.
His smile was sweet as his eyes dipped to give me a once-over.
In all my bralessness.
In an ugly old tee.
In baggy PJ pants.
With no makeup on.
And, because I think this part bears repeating - without a bra.
"Your sister didn't tell you she invited me, did she?" he concluded even as my head turned to shoot daggers at Peyton who was just g
rinning at both of us.
"She failed to mention which friend she was having over."
"Of course she did," he said, giving her a raised-brow look.
"What? It totally must have slipped my mind!" she insisted, not even trying to sound convincing. "But you're here now. And we have spaghetti with mixed veggies and garlic bread. And this lovely, lovely little girl right here," she said, stroking her hands down the fancy red wine bottle. "So you might as well stay. Or she will totally let me drink all of this myself. And when I drink whole bottles of wine myself, I tend to drunk-dial exes. That is never pretty."
"Aw, honey, who the fuck would be dumb enough to give you up?"
"Save that silver tongue there, Hottie Mc Death Row," she said, digging through a drawer to find a corkscrew, seeming completely unfazed by the charm.
Meanwhile, he hadn't directed a word of that at me, and I felt lightheaded.
That was Peyton, though. She didn't get all fluttery over compliments or sweet talk. It's why nine out of ten of her relationships failed. She hated the superficial. She needed a depth of which none of the men she had ever met seemed capable of.
"And use those big, manly muscles instead," she went on, handing him the wine and corkscrew. "Oh, yeah, slide into that glass you dirty little slut you," she cooed at the wine as Eli poured it into the three glasses she supplied. "Oh, dear Lord. What is this? I need a lifetime supply of this," she informed him as she turned away, sipping, and leaning down to check the progress of the garlic bread.
I had been watching her, still giving her the evil eye, and I had somehow missed Eli picking up one of the other glasses and making his way across the room toward me.
One second he wasn't there. The next, there he was. Right in front of me. I got to learn right then, too, that he not only looked good, but he smelled amazing as well. It wasn't overpowering either. Whatever he had on, be it cologne or just a good deodorant, it was subtle, making you want to lean in close and get a better whiff. Maybe while you licked his neck and...
Oh, God.
Okay.
I needed to shut that down.
"I wouldn't have come if I didn't think she'd cleared it with you," he offered, holding out the wine glass toward me. My hand rose, fingers curling around the glass, but he didn't immediately release it, his fingers brushing mine.
"She's a pain in the ass like that," I agreed, voice an airy whisper.
"Would you have had me if she asked?"
God, yes!
But also, maybe not.
I was way too mixed up about the whole situation.
"I don't know," I admitted.
"That's fair," he surprised me by saying, giving me a small smile as his hand dropped. "She likely wouldn't have taken no for an answer anyway."
"You are getting to know her pretty quickly," I agreed with a small smile.
"Oh, my ears are ringing," Peyton declared, slamming down the baking sheet onto the top of the stove. "Dinner's served!" she declared, going right ahead and loading up her own plate. "So I was thinking a little slashy-slashy fucky-fucky for a movie, but Autumn here is pretty hardcore against the slashy-slashy part." She took her plate and wine over to the accent chair, balancing the plate on her thigh, holding the wine in her hand, and reaching for the remote. "So... what? Comedy? I guess we could all use a little comedy. Especially with that crummy mood Autumn has been in all day today."
I was going to kill her.
She wouldn't have to watch any slashy-slashy.
She was going to friggin experience it for herself as soon as he left.
"Sorry to hear that," Eli commented, looking at me, and his eyes were full of regret.
"It happens," I brushed it off, moving past him toward the kitchen to put food onto plates for us, mostly because I wanted something to do. I wasn't the least bit hungry anymore.
"Oh! This one looked hilarious. Buddy cop, oh wait, maybe this is the wrong audience for that."
"I have no problem with cops," Eli surprised us both by saying. At our gazes moving in his direction, he took the plate from me and shrugged. "I did something wrong. They arrested me. That's their job."
"Ah, right," Peyton said, brows low. "Except what you did was right. Any who, okay. Let's watch a remake of a classic and tear it apart instead."
Eli and I took our plates and wine toward the living room, Peyton's placement so conveniently meant that Eli and I would have to sit on a somewhat petite couch, ensuring that our legs and arms would brush almost constantly.
"And here we go," Peyton declared, hitting play.
And there we went.
After an awkward fifteen minutes, I began to relax. I was pretty sure the wine had a hand in that since I didn't drink often, and I had been doing nothing but pushing my food around my plate.
Peyton knocked the movie which, to be fair, was absolutely dreadful. We ate. Drinks were refilled. Then Peyton's phone started buzzing, taking her attention for a good ten minutes before she declared. "Um, I'm heading out. Doggy-Daddy, nice seeing you again. Thank you for the awesome wine."
"Peyton," I called as she moved toward the door, in such a rush to leave that she slipped into my shoes which were a whole size too big for her. I knew she heard the warning in my voice. But, as my sister, she chose to ignore it. "You kids have fun now!" she called, wiggling her brows at me as she disappeared.
"She's... subtle," Eli commented as soon as the door clicked closed.
"Yeah, no one would ever accuse Peyton of being dull," I agreed, standing, collecting the plates, and moving toward the kitchen.
I busied myself scraping plates then running water over them.
And I didn't hear him move.
But he did.
Until his front pressed into my back.
His hand slid across my belly, just a subtle pressure.
"That was a dick move last night."
I hadn't expected to discuss it. Let's face it, many - maybe most - men weren't great at communicating at all, let alone initiating conversation. Especially when that conversation was about their fuck up.
"It's fine. I... understand," I comforted him, knowing it must have been hell for him to walk away after so long a spell of celibacy.
"I don't think you do," he countered, resting his chin on my shoulder as his other hand reached out to shut off the faucet.
"I'm a good listener," I offered, wanting to extend an olive branch.
There was so long a pause that I was sure nothing was going to be said, that we were just going to keep standing there somewhat intimately as I tried my best not to think of how things could escalate.
"That night," he started suddenly, voice low, but somehow painfully tortured as well. "When I did the things that got me sent to jail a while later, that wasn't the first time I raged-out like that."
The pause was long enough for me to wonder if I should speak. "Okay."
"My brothers and I, we were raised to be different than most other kids."
"Different how?"
"Our violence was encouraged. Because my parents knew that one day it would be necessary."
Pacifist by nature - self-defense classes aside - I couldn't understand that in the least. "Why would violence be necessary?"
"For the family business," he hedged, and I was pretty sure that whatever the family business was, it was not like the military or something. It was likely something criminal. Which, well, made a lot of sense. "My Pops got his leg-up in the business world by starting loansharking back in the eighties before we were even born. He expected us to follow in his footsteps."
"So you did," I figured.
"We did. Me and Hunt, it never came natural to us. We were both I guess just... softer. Couple years before I went away, he took off, wanting to get away from it all, but seeing no way out. He didn't get to stay away though. Because you don't walk away from this shit. Not in this town. Not with such a fragile balance between the syndicates. If word got out that one of Pops' own sons ran off, it wouldn't look go
od for him. And while loansharking isn't the easiest organization to run, there are absolutely men willing to step in and take Pops down if they saw enough of a weakness there."
"What happened to him?" I asked when he trailed off, wanting to keep him talking, wanting to understand.
"Shane, one of my other brothers, went up and brought him back. Then he got the only thing he could get if he truly wanted out for good."
"What's that?" I asked, though I was pretty sure I already knew thanks to all the new gang and prison type shows I had gotten into over the past few years.
"A beat-out."
Yep.
That was exactly the phrase that had been in my head.
"By your father?"
"By all of us."
The brothers.
Geez.
My back pressed into his chest slightly as I took a deep breath. "I'm sorry you had to do that."
"It was, as horrible as this sounds, just part of the job. Like all the other men I had needed to visit in the past when they didn't make a payment. But the thing is, I couldn't control it. I wasn't like my old man or my brothers. I couldn't stay connected and get the job done. I fucking... I raged-out. It was like a switch got flipped and the normal, rational, self-controlled me wasn't there anymore. Usually, when I went on a job, one of my brothers always came with me to pull me off."
Well.
That made a helluva lot of sense then, didn't it?
Sad sense, but sense.
"That was what happened the night with the woman getting beaten?"
"Exactly. Once I saw her, the switch flipped, and I wasn't even really aware of anything until a long time later when the shooting pain radiated up my hands. I have been beating people for a living since I was eighteen. Nothing ever made my hands hurt anymore. I guess that was what snapped me out of it. The man was just broken bones and blood. The woman was sobbing in a corner. And there was a small crowd."
"So you ran off."
"I figured it would blow over. The cops would take one look at the woman and agree it was one of those rare, fair eye-for-an-eye situations and put no effort at all into tracking me down."
Eli (Mallick Brothers Book 4) Page 9