Hold On (The 'Burg Series Book 6)

by Kristen Ashley

  “I hear you, but everyone’s young and stupid during their lifetime, Garrett,” Mike returned. “Part of life is figuring out how to grow up and not still be stupid.”

  His words were wise. They were also funny, so Garrett let out a chuckle.

  While he was doing that, his phone rang. He looked to his desk and was surprised to see it was a call from Cher.

  She texted; she rarely called.

  Concerned it was something urgent, he nabbed his phone and took the call.

  “Baby, all good?” he asked.

  “In the world at large, as far as I know, yes. Outside continued war and famine. The men who rule can’t seem to sort their shit out enough to sort that shit out, of course,” she responded and she didn’t shut up. “A woman had that job, shit would be smooth. But we bitches are too busy tearing each other down to worry about war and famine.”

  She was being a smartass.

  All was good.

  Garrett sat back in his chair, grinning at his desk as she continued.

  “In my world, also yes. I’m at work. Some guy is retiring and decided his party fare would be liquid, which means we got twenty-five people here and most of ’em are good tippers,” she shared, then carried on, “But in Ethan’s world, it isn’t, seein’ as Mom was supposed to take him and his bud to the game tonight, hang with them there, and bring them back to my pad for some gaming before I take Teddy home. But there’s a waitress sick at The Station and they’ve asked Mom to do a double shift. That’s time and a half plus tips, and in our world, you don’t turn down time and a half plus tips. Vi’s busy. Feb’s workin’. Meems has already got a sleepover with six boys she’s dealin’ with. Dusty’s bustin’ her hump gettin’ ready for that show she’s got comin’ up and—”

  Garrett interrupted her. “You want me to take Ethan and his bud to the game.”

  “Jessie can watch him,” she told him quickly instead of confirming. “But she’s declared she’s not goin’ to a high school football game unless she’s got at least one of her girl posse with her and no one is available. And Ethan might spontaneously combust if he misses a ’dogs home game. So, yes…”

  She paused and he knew she was pulling up the courage to go on, something unusual for her, when he heard the hesitancy in her tone as she finished.

  “I know this is a lot and it’s early with us, with you and Ethan. I probably shouldn’t even ask. But I like to give my boy as much as I can give him. And—”

  He cut her off again, saying quietly, “Cherie, I can take Ethan and his friend to the game.”

  There was another pause before, “Are you sure? You can say no. You can be honest. Anytime. With anything. I can talk to Ethan and—”

  Again, Garrett interrupted her. “Cher?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Shut up.”

  She surprised him again and did as told.

  “Gonna stop by J&J’s, get your keys,” he told her. “You need me to pick him up from school too?”

  Now Cher was talking quietly. “Yeah, honey, if you can. I was gonna get him and make him sit in the office here, but you lookin’ after him would be a lot better. When he has to sit in the office, he doesn’t bitch, but I can tell he’s not a big fan of being cooped up there. Is that gonna be a problem with work?”

  “No, but he’s gonna have to hang with me and Mike in the bullpen for a couple of hours.”

  Another pause, then, “Prepare to be freaked, but you do that, he’ll love you forever. And I mean forever. He might demand his best man mention you during his wedding reception speech, with the possibility of you being that best man, that kind of forever.”

  Garrett grinned again at his desk. “And that’s supposed to freak me, why?”

  “If you don’t know, not gonna tell you,” she muttered, then louder, “After I get off work, I’ll meet you guys at the game.”

  Garrett felt his brows draw together. “Do you wanna go to the game after a shift at the bar?”

  “It won’t be long. And anyway, I wanna relieve you from duty. I also gotta get into my house and you’ll have my keys,” she answered.

  “Watchin’ the Bulldogs play ball is hardly ‘duty,’ brown eyes,” he informed her. “Go home. Put your feet up.”

  “Merry—”

  He rolled back from his desk, leaned down, elbows to his knees, eyes to the floor, focus now entirely on his girl so he could reassure that girl.

  “Guys’ night out,” Garrett said softly. “I got Ethan. We’ll talk man shit and I’ll feed him and make sure he and his bud are good. I’ll get them home. You finish your shift, go home, relax, unwind, prepare, ’cause I want my girl rested and ready for our Saturday.”

  Cher said nothing.

  When this went on too long, he called, “Baby?”

  He heard her clear her throat before she told him, “I have a spare set of keys in my junk drawer in the kitchen. Ethan can show you. Could you drop them by J&J’s sometime before the game so I can get in while you guys are out?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She again didn’t reply.

  So he asked, “You okay?”

  “No.”

  It was a whisper and his focus sharpened.

  “No?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. “Ethan’s gonna love this. Guy time. Man talk. Showin’ you off to Teddy. And I love it, knowin’ I don’t gotta say he can’t have somethin’ he wants because I gotta work and I can’t find anyone to give it to him. So no, Merry, I’m not okay. This is not an okay feeling. This feelin’ is me bein’ fucking happy.”

  His throat closed, his chest tightened, and his first reaction was to disconnect the call. But at the same time, his gut had warmed because it felt so damned good just giving Cher that emotion and also doing it knowing she hadn’t had a lot of it in her life.

  He powered past his first reaction and told her, “I’ll walk down to the bar in a few to get the keys, babe. Yeah?”

  “Yeah, gorgeous. See you then.”

  “Later, Cher.”

  “Later, Merry…and thanks, honey.”

  “No problem.”

  He disconnected, straightened in his chair, and rolled back to his desk. He felt Mike’s gaze, so he lifted his to his friend’s.

  “Take it we got a ten-year-old for ride-along this afternoon,” he remarked.

  “If that’s gonna be a problem for you—” Garrett started.

  Mike shook his head. “Ethan’s a good kid. We’re in doin’ paperwork, so he’s not stopping us from doin’ shit we need to do. And not like he hasn’t hung with the guys before.”

  That was true. It hadn’t happened often, but on occasion over the years when Cher needed him because there was no one else to help, Colt had brought Ethan in.

  Garrett looked across the room.

  Colt was sitting at his desk, grinning at something Sully was saying, Sully sitting across from him.

  She hadn’t asked Colt.

  She’d asked Garrett.

  That felt great.

  And it made him uneasy.

  “Kid’s a good kid,” Mike said, and the change in his tone caught Garrett’s attention. “Woman’s a good woman. I believe in you, brother. Sittin’ across from me is a man who hasn’t had it all. A man who thought he did and lost it but learned different. Who’s watched his friends make poor decisions and bounce back. Who now has a shot at gettin’ it all and is old enough not to be stupid.”

  That meant a lot, coming from Mike.

  But Garrett wasn’t going to share that.

  Instead, he grinned and gave him shit.

  “You should be a therapist, Mike. Open your own clinic. Call it ‘Don’t Be a Dumb Fuck Treatment Center.’”

  Mike grinned back, returning, “You bein’ my first client, thinkin’ of adding, ‘How Not to Be a Smartass.’”

  “That might be a tougher addiction to kick,” Garrett told him.

  “You might be right. Though, this line of work, run into a lot more dumb fucks than
smartasses.”

  “Truth,” Garrett muttered.

  Mike’s phone on his desk rang.

  He turned his attention to it, so Garrett quickly called, “Yo.”

  Still going for the phone, Mike’s gaze swung back to him.

  “Thanks, brother,” Garrett said low.

  Mike lifted his chin.

  Then he answered his phone.

  * * * * *

  Late that night, standing at her door, Cher in his arms, Garrett broke the kiss that had started five minutes ago as a good-night kiss and became a make out session.

  He caught her eyes through her half-mast lids and whispered, “Late, baby. Gotta get home. Let you get to bed.”

  Her hands slid down from his hair to rest on his chest as her lips went slightly pouty.

  It was cute.

  But it was more sweet, her pout saying she didn’t want him to leave.

  “Okay,” she muttered but didn’t move out of his arms.

  “You dropping Ethan at his friend’s at five thirty tomorrow?” Garrett asked.

  She stayed in his arms and nodded.

  “Be here at six to take you to dinner. Be prepared to spend the night at my place,” he ordered.

  She grinned in a way that was not cute or sweet but something a fuckuva lot different.

  Before that grin made him hard, he gave her a squeeze and said, “It was a good night, baby.”

  She continued to look into his eyes as she pressed closer. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” he confirmed, because it was.

  Ethan was a good kid. Ethan liked him. And Cher had not been wrong. He’d soaked in guy time, man talk, and he didn’t hide the pride he felt having Garrett around and showing him off to his bud.

  It did not suck.

  It felt fucking great.

  Which, at the same time in his fucked-up head, was fucking terrifying.

  Because if he fucked this up, it wouldn’t be fucking over Cher, which was bad enough.

  It would be fucking them both.

  Again, he powered past that feeling and offered, “You need me anytime to step in with Ethan, if I can do it, I’m there.”

  Cher didn’t respond except to drift a hand up his chest to wrap it around the side of his neck and rub her thumb gently along the column of his throat.

  That said something, though.

  And her eyes said something too.

  They were warm and happy.

  He put that there. He gave her that.

  And that felt fucking great too.

  Just as it was downright terrifying.

  He focused on her look.

  He focused on her touch.

  He focused on her soft body pressed to his.

  He focused on the night he had with her boy, which moved on to a night spent with her, her boy, and his friend.

  He focused on how he and Ethan and Cher were getting comfortable with each other. How Garrett liked the way she teased her kid. How he liked the way Ethan’s friend looked at Cher like he wished he was twenty-five years older and could slide a ring on her finger. How natural it was for her to balance having her man there with giving her son and his bud their kid time, all this while giving Garrett attention, Ethan attention, and ribbing Teddy, giving him attention.

  And focusing on all that, he reminded himself not to be a dumb fuck.

  Finally, she spoke.

  “I think, you’re down with it, we should discuss another waffle morning. Maybe next weekend,” she suggested.

  He gave her another squeeze. “You’re good with that, you think Ethan’s good with that, we’ll do that.”

  She pressed closer and smiled.

  He dipped his head and kissed her again. Another good-night kiss that turned into a five-minute make out session.

  With effort, he ended it, touched his lips to her jaw, lifted one hand so he could slide his fingers along where he’d touched his mouth, and let her go.

  “’Night, brown eyes,” he murmured.

  “’Night, Merry,” she replied.

  He turned and pushed out the storm door. Once out, he twisted to see her in it, watching him go.

  He gave her a look.

  She rolled her eyes and did what his look told her to do. She locked the storm, stepped back, closed the front door, and he heard that lock go.

  Only then did Garrett start down the walk.

  Instinct made his head turn.

  When he did, he saw the guy he’d seen the night he’d come to take Cher on their first date. He was standing in his drive, leaned over a car that was running, arms on the roof of the car, attention to the driver’s side window.

  Two men were in the souped-up muscle car. Nissan GT-R.

  Big-ticket car for that ’hood.

  And a late-night discussion in the cold.

  The man could be saying good-bye to friends who were leaving after coming over and having a few beers.

  But it didn’t look like that and Garrett had been a cop a long time, so he knew it wasn’t that.

  And he didn’t like the feeling his gut told him it was.

  Garrett kept watching as he made his way to his truck at the curb.

  The guy must have felt eyes on him because he lifted his head.

  There was eye contact through the dark and Garrett didn’t break it.

  The guy did when he pushed back, looked down, said something to the driver, slapped his hand on the roof, and moved away from the GT.

  Garrett beeped his locks, rounded the hood, opened his door, and swung into his truck.

  He took his time with firing up his vehicle and putting it in drive.

  The GT backed out.

  Garrett memorized its plate.

  Cher’s neighbor stayed in his driveway like he was planted there. The GT was pulling away and the guy didn’t move.

  It was a statement.

  This was his turf, he could do whatever the fuck he wanted, and he wasn’t big on attention.

  Garrett hit the gas, keeping his gaze on Cher’s neighbor as he did, making his own statement. This meant he saw the neighbor watch him as he pulled away.

  He was forced to break contact when he lost sight of him.

  He stopped at the stop sign at the end of Cher’s street, saw it was clear, and made his turn.

  He did this thinking he’d get a plate on the guy’s truck, the number on his house, and run him and the owner of the GT on Monday when he was back at work.

  * * * * *

  Saturday Night

  Cher drove down on him and he had no choice but to close his eyes, losing the sight of her, naked and riding him, her back arched, arms up, hands lifting up her hair, just like he’d ordered her to ride him.

  He clamped his fingers into the flesh of her hips to pin her down as he grunted and exploded, shooting hot and deep into a fucking condom.

  She ground into his cock as he kept coming, and only when it started moving from him did he feel her tits hit his chest before the warmth of the rest of her pressed close, her face in his neck, her lips nuzzling his throat.

  Garrett was still coming down when he released his hold on her hips and trailed his hands in then up her back. He slid one around her at her shoulder blades and glided the other one into her hair, gathering it gently in his fist to keep her where she was because he liked the feel of her lips at his throat.

  “You good?” he asked, his voice thick from sex and gruff from taking most of her weight.

  It was a question he knew the answer to. She was good because she’d come before him, and from the looks of it, even if his orgasm had been phenomenal, hers was better.

  Fuck, but she got off on the way he liked to play.

  He liked control. He wanted what he wanted and enjoyed dominating the situation so he’d get just that.

  Most of the partners he’d had liked it too. But they were often hesitant or skittish, locked in their heads, hung up on shit that took time or training to get them past.

  He didn’t mind the time o
r the training, but considering none of them were women he intended to keep, both were eventually a waste.

  Cher let loose. Gave it all and gave it up readily. She was with him all the way from the start.

  He wanted to spank her ass, she took it, pushed it, came hard for him. He wanted to finger her on his dining room table and watch, she kept her arms over her head and gave it to him. He wanted her to perform by riding him with her body on display, hands in her hair, she took his cock and gave him the best show he’d ever had.

  His to toy with.

  His to dominate.

  Just his.

  His.

  On that thought, he felt that unease again sour his gut even as his arm around her tightened.

  She lifted up her head and caught his eyes. “I’m good, honey.”

  Looking into her face, sated, soft, happy, his hand drifted out of her hair to cup her jaw.

  “Thanks for dinner,” she whispered.

  Fuck, his brown-eyed girl.

  The unease loosened when warmth started to invade.

  “Stop thankin’ me for everything,” he ordered.

  Her lips tipped up. “Thanks for a fuckin’ awesome orgasm.”

  “You did all the work,” he pointed out.

  She ignored that completely. “Thanks for bein’ shit-hot in bed.”

  He shook his head on the pillow and felt his body start shaking too.

  “Would suck, you bein’ tall, gorgeous, and knowin’ how to skim walls but a terrible lay,” she remarked.

  His shaking turned to audible laughter.

  Through it, he asked, “‘Knowin’ how to skim walls?’”

  “That’s definitely big points on the guys-that-are-worth-it test.”

  He kept laughing even as he asked, “Seriously?”

  “Absolutely,” she answered through her smile. “Though, awesome orgasms are bigger points.” She pressed closer, tits to his chest, hips into his. “Much bigger.”

  “Just to say,” he started, “wasn’t me who put on the show tonight, honey. You took yourself there. I was just along for the ride. Or I should say, I seriously got off on a great fuckin’ ride.”

  She was still smiling, but he saw the pleasure of his compliment hit her eyes as she returned, “If you think straddlin’ you, ridin’ you, and watchin’ how much you like it didn’t have a part in takin’ me there, you think wrong.”

  Automatically, his hips bucked slightly into hers as he growled, “Fuck. I’m forty-two, haven’t banged a woman minutes after a woman banged me since I was in my twenties, and now I’m gettin’ hard again when I didn’t even go soft.”