The Closer You Get (Fidelity #1)

by Carter Ashby

  “So what, now? You want another date?”

  “This one ain’t over.”

  “Pretty close.”

  “Not even.”

  Cash laughed.

  Adam leaned forward. “You say you’ve got one-night stands in your personal history. That suggests to me you’re not really this difficult to get into bed. So let’s quit playing around, Cash. Come home with me. Now.”

  Cash leaned forward, his nose only inches from Adam’s. He dropped his gaze to Adam’s lips and Adam’s breath caught in his chest. The man smelled amazing. Adam wanted to bury his face in Cash’s neck, and he thought at last he might have the chance to do it.

  Then Cash sat back and chuckled. “You’re a real big shot, aren’t you? This what you want from me? A one-night stand?”

  “You know it isn’t.”

  “Then you’ll have to wait. I like you, Adam. I wouldn’t mind seeing where this goes. And so far I think you’re just trying to be all charming and cocky, and so far it’s pretty cute. But I don’t take to being pressured. Or dominated. So if you want this to happen, it’s going to be on my time. And in my own way. Got it?”

  Adam was all but drooling. No…he was drooling. “Apparently I don’t mind being dominated,” he muttered.

  “Say again?”

  “Nothing. Look, I’ll back off a bit. But I just need you to know I’m ready when you are. I’ll get on my knees and beg right now if it’ll be any help.”

  “It won’t. I’m not toying with you, Adam. I’m just being careful.”

  Adam smiled gently. He hated to think how long this guy was gonna make him wait. But he kind of liked the idea that Cash’s interest was more than skin-deep. Adam hadn’t been in a relationship since law school, and he sorely missed it. Having someone to depend on; someone to have sex with whenever he wanted; someone to talk to and sleep with. Yes, he could definitely wait for something like that.

  When Cora said she was hoping someone would hit on her, she hadn’t quite meant this.

  The evening had started out miserably enough, with Rye barely even glancing at her. Then watching him go out of the bar with Erica, and her coming back in with that satisfied smirk on her face. Rye hadn’t come back in, though. Cora was glad. She didn’t want to see him after he’d been doing…whatever he’d been doing with Erica.

  But then Les and Eddie Dunigan came in. They bellied up to the bar a few seats down from Cora and Lyssa. Lyssa gave Cora an eye roll. Everyone hated when those two showed up. They tended to be particularly nasty to Roux the bartender who pretended not to see them. Fortunately, Jack, the owner, always took care of Roux. He threw the towel he’d been using to polish the end of the bar over his shoulder and went to take Les and Eddie’s drink orders.

  As soon as Jack served them, he had to go to the back for a phone call. That’s when Cora heard Les say something about wishing the dyke would serve them their drinks. Roux didn’t look at him. “I wish he’d step in front of a train,” she muttered.

  “You should call Marshall,” Lyssa said.

  “He shouldn’t have to come running every time his brothers act like assholes…he’d never have a moment to himself.”

  “Hey, why are you girls all huddled together down there?” Eddie sneered.

  “Maybe they’re gonna make out while we watch,” Les said.

  Cora stood. “I’m going home. Lyss?”

  Lyssa glanced at Roux. “I hate to leave you alone.”

  Roux smiled. “Thanks. Jack’s just in the back. They don’t mess with me when he’s around.”

  Lyssa stood, and she and Cora turned to leave, but while they’d been talking to Roux, Les and Eddie had come up behind them. Cora found herself face to face with Lester Dunigan, and he smelled like a locker room. And weed. And whiskey. “Get the hell out of my way,” Cora said.

  “You look different tonight,” Les said. “You look kind of do-able. How about a dance?”

  “I’ve no patience for this. Move, now, or I’ll press sexual harassment charges and have you put in jail.”

  Les laughed. “You gonna hire your fag friend over there? I ain’t afraid of him. Come on. One dance and I’ll leave you alone.”

  “She said no.” Rye appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, at her side.

  Les narrowed his eyes. “You’re the asshole robbed me in the pizza parlor yesterday.”

  “Yep. Walk away.”

  Les and Eddie both sized him up before backing up a step. “Free country,” Les said. “I can talk to her if I want.”

  Rye cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders, his feet set apart in a wary posture. Les and Eddie backed down. They walked away, muttering insults under their breath. Rye sighed. Cora looked up at him, but he was watching the two losers as they hovered over their drinks at the end of the bar. “How much trouble are they?”

  “Don’t know,” Cora said. “Probably not much.”

  “They normally hang out here?”

  “No. There’s a little tavern down by the river where they usually go. But every once in a while they make their way up here. Jack doesn’t like them.”

  Rye frowned at Lyssa. “You okay?”

  She looked about to vomit. “He touched my breast,” she said, and then shivered.

  Rye’s expression went cold. “I will go break his hand right now,” he said.

  Lyssa smiled. “Thank you. But there’s no need to go to prison over it.”

  Rye looked over at Eddie, as though weighing out whether it would be worth it. “Bastard,” he muttered.

  Cora found herself smiling. So what if he was a man-whore? So what if he wasn’t interested in her? He was noble and beautiful.

  “Everything okay?” Adam asked as he and Cash joined them at the bar.

  “Yeah,” Lyssa answered. “Dunigans.”

  Adam glared at the two men.

  “We’re going fishing,” Cash said to Rye. “Adam says he knows a couple good fishing holes.”

  Rye’s face twisted in a comical mix of confusion and disgust. “That’s not some kind of sick euphemism, is it?”

  “No,” Cash laughed. “Jesus. We’re just going fishing. Do you wanna come?”

  Rye glanced at the Dunigans. Then he looked at Cora. She swallowed and quickly looked away. The eye contact was becoming searing. For her anyway.

  “We should stay with them,” Rye said.

  Cora felt her breath leave her in a whoosh. He was looking after her. A real protector. “Um. Thanks. I’m actually going home.”

  “Me, too,” Lyssa said.

  “All right,” Adam said. “We’ll stay until you’re on your way. Okay?”

  Cora and Lyssa paid for their drinks. They left the bar and split apart to go to their cars. Cora felt a presence behind her, but she knew it was Rye. She unlocked her car and turned to face him. “Thank you,” she said before he could say anything.

  He shrugged. “You wanna come fishing with us?” If only the man would exhibit some emotion, she might be able to tell what he was after.

  “Um. Thanks. But I’m going to head home.”

  “Okay,” he said like he didn’t care one way or another.

  “All right.” She turned back to her car.

  “I’m not asking you out,” he said. “It’s just, I gotta keep an eye on Cash, and if you wanted to come, then, I wouldn’t feel like such a third wheel.”

  She turned to face him again. She felt a little sick and a little excited. The thought of being near him in the dark on the riverbank sent her heart racing. But she reminded herself that there was professionalism to keep in mind. Not to mention that he’d gone off with another woman earlier this evening. “Did you have fun with Erica?” she asked. She did her best not to sound spiteful or jealous. She only wanted to remind him of who she was and who he was.

  He let out a bitter laugh and moved back a step. “Fun? Yeah, I had fun with her.”

  “Maybe she’ll go fishing with you, then.”

  His expression sobered. The
moon was doing crazy things with his eyes. “Yeah. Maybe she will. Thanks, boss,” he said. He turned and strode back to the bar.

  Cora swallowed down the inexplicable pain and disappointment, drove home, and went straight to bed.

  Cash loved fishing. It was peaceful. It forced you to exert calm and patience. And the reward, should you get lucky enough to snag a fish, was incredible—a surge of adrenaline, usually followed by disappointment when you saw the fish wasn’t nearly as big as you’d hoped. But occasionally followed by vast amounts of pride and satisfaction, as well as a big dinner. The entire experience could be a metaphor for life.

  Of course, that was when your fishing partner wasn’t as fidgety as a five-year-old, and the quiet of the night wasn’t punctured by the harsh laughs and squeals of your brother’s date. Not Erica. Some other woman. They were back in the truck doing God only knew what.

  “I think something ate my bait,” Adam said, for the tenth time.

  “Nothing ate your bait.”

  “I think it did because I felt a tug a minute ago, and I wasn’t sure that it was a bite, but then nothing happened…I’m gonna check.”

  Cash rolled his eyes and looked heavenward. God help us, he thought.

  Somewhere behind them, from in the pickup truck, came a sharp scream followed by Rye’s laughter. The woman cursed him out.

  “Jesus,” Cash muttered.

  “There, see? Bait…gone. Here.” Adam swung his hook over to Cash.

  Cash dug in the styrofoam cup of dirt and worms for another worm. “Mr. Fancy Pants can’t bait his own hook. Seriously, man.”

  “It’s disgusting. And I told you I haven’t done this since I was a kid.”

  “Obviously. Now if something tugs on your line, give it a jerk and reel it in.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Before he could cast out again, the woman came streaking out of the truck in her underwear. She splashed into the river, with Rye in his boxers on her heels. He tackled her and took her under. Cash sighed and reeled his line in. It started raining underwear as the woman flung first her bra, then her panties, then Rye’s boxers onto the gravel bar around them. “Are you going to do this in front of us?” Cash shouted.

  They were a few yards into the river, the water up to Rye’s navel. “Unless you leave,” he answered and then hefted the woman up on his hips. She wrapped her legs around him.

  “Shit,” Cash muttered. “You’re the worst chaperone ever!” he shouted again. He took Adam’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  They walked down a dirt path that followed the river. Cash kept hold of Adam’s hand. Adam was oddly silent. At last, he stopped, and Cash turned to face him. “Cash, your brother’s a pig.”

  Cash sighed. “Is this going to be a problem for you? Because tell me now, and we won’t go any further with this.”

  Adam pressed his lips together and looked away. “That’s the stepdaughter of a friend of mine. Her name’s Tracy. And granted, she is a slut, no doubt about it. I think she even wears pants with the word ‘slut’ written across the ass. But still….”

  “Why’s it bother you?”

  “Because it bothers Cora.”

  Cash frowned and shook his head. “You’ve known us two days. If you don’t like us, then let’s not hang out.”

  “I like you, Cash. But Cora’s like family. I’m afraid he’ll hurt her.”

  “Didn’t seem to me like she much cared about him.”

  “Well, that’s because you don’t know her. He’s done something to her. She’s been different since yesterday.”

  Cash shrugged again. “It’s not my problem. Not my business. You want me to take you back home?”

  Adam let out a long, dramatic sigh. “I wish our fishing spot hadn’t gotten ruined.”

  “You weren’t going to catch anything anyway.”

  “Hey! You don’t know that.”

  “I got a little, four-year-old niece I take fishing sometimes, and she sits more still than you do.”

  Adam shoved him playfully, and he laughed. He caught Adam’s wrist and brought him in close. Adam’s smile slowly faded. He slipped an arm around Cash’s waist. Cash reached up to touch his face, but Adam said, “Don’t touch me with those worm encrusted fingers of yours.”

  Cash grinned and shoved his hands in Adam’s hair.

  “Gross,” Adam whined.

  Cash laughed, grateful for the comic relief. He kissed Adam on the forehead and led him back the way they’d come. “Where are we going?” Adam asked.

  “I’m taking you home,” Cash said. “Before I do something I’ll regret in the morning.”

  “Oh, you wouldn’t regret it, baby.”

  Cash didn’t answer. He and Adam held hands as they strolled back to the beach. Rye and Tracy weren’t in the water, but they weren’t anywhere else, either. Cash gathered up the fishing gear, and they headed up the bank to the pickup. Tracy was sitting in the cab, looking pissed. When Cash went around to stow the fishing poles in the back, he found Rye sleeping in the bed…fully clothed, thank God. Cash shoved his feet until he rolled to his side and drew up his knees enough that Cash could close the tailgate.

  Adam had the passenger door open and was comforting Tracy. “Bastard called me Tonya,” she said. “Who the hell is Tonya?”

  “Shh,” Adam said. “There’s no Tonya. He just got your name wrong. Can we take you home?”

  She nodded. “I just really liked him.”

  “I’m sure he liked you, too. People do stupid things when they’re drunk. You’re gonna be okay.”

  She hugged him, and he patted her back.

  “How much have you had to drink, love?” Adam asked.

  “Just a few beers.”

  “Do you have someone at home? I hate for you to be alone tonight.”

  “I got my cousin staying with me.”

  “Good. Cash, are you okay to drive?”

  Cash had only had two beers and that was over an hour ago. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

  He drove Tracy home. He and Adam practically had to carry her up the stairs to her apartment. He drove Adam home where he refused to walk Adam to the door. Or give him a kiss goodnight.

  So Adam made him commit to another date, which Cash did more than willingly. Then he drove home and left his brother in the back of the pickup for the night. He showered the day off of him and slept soundly until morning.

  Rye woke up to the morning sun screaming into his eyes and indescribable pain in the arm he’d slept on all night on the hard metal bed of a pickup truck. He groaned as he pushed himself up and stretched out.

  He heard the sound of the heavens opening up and the angel chorus singing. Only it was actually singing coming from a church not too far away. He could see the steeple. The windows must have been open. But still, how was the sound carrying so far? It echoed off the hills like light fragments through a prism.

  Rye climbed out of the truck and turned to face the church. He started walking toward it, drawn to the music, so pure and ethereal to his foggy head. He cut through alleys between businesses, crossed Main Street, and followed the road that led uphill toward the massive steeple. The walk helped get his blood flowing to all the right places. The headache worsened, but his joints ached less. The steepness of the road gave his leg muscles and lungs a hell of a workout.

  The music grew louder until at last, he reached the top of the hill, and the volume tripled in intensity. The church sat in a little dip in the land, nestled in the hill like a baby bird in a nest. Its congregants had gathered outside, proceeding with their worship service in the warm spring outdoors. There were some chairs set up, mostly inhabited by elderly men and women and mothers with young babies. Everyone else stood or sat on the ground or lounged on large rocks or surface tree roots.

  Rye gaped. Ladies wore dresses as colorful as the spring flowers that had already begun to bloom. Men dressed in suits lent their bass voices to anchor the high trills of the women’s
song in the completely a cappella chorus. Most of them held maroon colored song books with matching ribbon bookmarks in their hands.

  As a child, Rye had gone to church with his grandma on occasion, just out of obligation and because he had no choice. But the memories were vague and nothing like this.

  The song ended and a tall, stern man who looked to be about a hundred fifty years old rose. He had on a black suit, white shirt, and bolo tie. His head was bare, and steel grey hair hung to his shoulders.

  “Welcome, church!” he shouted, his voice shockingly powerful given his slight stature.

  The church murmured in reply.

  “And welcome, sir!” the preacher said.

  It took Rye a moment to realize he’d been spotted and that the preacher was addressing him. Rye rather stupidly glanced around to make sure he was the one being addressed, and then he simply nodded and offered a salute.

  “Won’t you join us, young man?”

  Rye was standing a good thirty yards off to the side and thought that was plenty close enough. “Uh, thanks,” he said. “I’m good.”

  “The Lord says, ‘For where two or more are gathered in my name, there am I in the midst of them.’ God’s presence is here amidst this gathering. Join us.”

  Rye wondered if he was still drunk and maybe hallucinating. The scene was so surreal. But all those people were now turned to face him, and he realized he either needed to sit with them or turn tail and run. He was about to do the latter when a lone figure rose from the crowd. She wore a dowdy skirt that was too big for her and a blouse that matched but did nothing for her figure. Her hair was in a ponytail and her eyes were boring into him like twin drill bits.

  Cora McKay stepped through the crowd, approaching him steadily and with great purpose. Rye merely watched in awe, curious to see what that purpose would be. Her steps brought her before him, within inches. She moved, and for some reason he expected a soft touch. Instead, she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and jerked him toward her so that he was bent closer to her face. “For fuck’s sake, sit down and stop making a scene,” she hissed.