Disorderly Conduct

by Tessa Bailey

  I ignore the distant voice in my head, shouting from the back of the class to agree with him. Against my will, memories rise from that afternoon in the bar. When we met and kissed. I must have imagined the relentless sense that something huge was happening. It must have been the stupid romance of the rain or a trick of light. All he really wanted was a hookup. That’s still all he wants from me.

  “I’ve made my mind up, Charlie.”

  He’s in front of me before I can blink. Big, frustrated, confused, turned-on male. His eyebrows are knit tight, his breathing heavy at my lips. He presses me into the counter, his fingers digging into my waist before his right hand drops to hook beneath my knee. That thumb of his, the one that has brushed my nipples and strummed my clit countless times so skillfully, makes circles on the inside of my knee. And then out of nowhere, he jerks my knee up around his waist with a groan. My neck loses power, my head falling back. He’s hard, the shape of him mouthwatering against my stomach. Pressing, pressing, thrusting. “Unmake your mind,” Charlie rasps into my neck, a thread of desperation twining with seduction. “Ever . . . please. I wanted you to ride me today, cutie. That hot as fuck way you do it, all bouncing tits and shaking legs. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to feel me crammed up into your wet pussy?”

  Oh shit. Yeah. He knows all my weaknesses and when to exploit them. I’m feeling exploited enough right now to need an underwear change. It would be so easy to say, yes, Charlie, and let him round out my afternoon with another one of the best orgasms life has to offer, but I know I’d be disappointed in myself when he left.

  Although, I would be so satisfied . . .

  Eyes on the prize, Ever.

  “Charlie, stop this.” I push on his shoulders twice before he budges. He stumbles back, his features tight, swiping a hand over his mouth. “I like you,” I breathe, horrified over the wobble in my voice. “I think you’re great. But we’re not in the same place anymore. I can’t give my full effort to finding someone if I know you’re going to show up and take me to bed. My . . .” Heart? No way. “My energy won’t really be in it.”

  His hands are back in his hair, looking as if he might yank it out by the roots. “You’re really doing this,” he enunciates, going from shell-shocked to angry. “You’re going to be one of those girls who drags her boyfriend shopping, parades him in front of her friends at brunch and ends up with joint custody of a yellow Lab when it all goes south six months later?”

  “I don’t know,” I say honestly. “That sounds awful, but I won’t know until I try, will I?”

  Charlie opens and closes his mouth about eight times, but can’t seem to decide on what to say. “We have the perfect thing going here.” His finger stabs the air with a jerky movement. “You’re going to realize it the first time some chump asks you to split the bill.”

  “At least there will be a bill to split.” Shit. Why did I say that? I need him to leave now. All these suppressed desires for our nonrelationship picked a really inconvenient time to reveal themselves. “See you around, Charlie.”

  He plants both hands on his hips and looks down at the floor, staying that way for a few seconds, then moving toward the door. When he opens it and stalks out into the hallway, he doesn’t look back. “See you around, Ever.”

  The door slams.

  Chapter 5

  Charlie

  One week has passed since I walked out of Ever’s apartment.

  Life is good. Great, actually. I feel like I can take a deep breath for the first time in ages. Birds are chirping. I’m seeing everything through clear eyes. My world is full of color! Exploding with the light.

  Just kidding. I want to die.

  Jack told me to go out and find a new girl. Which went really well. I made it to my building’s lobby before I got the urge to vomit. That’s normal, right? Missing your nongirlfriend enough that you almost paint your shoes with stomach sauce? I mean, I barely know a damn thing about her. She’s the hottest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. That’s a given. She’s got a great sense of humor—at least, that’s what I’ve gleaned from our short banter sessions that preempt sex. Her culinary skills seem tight, though I’ve never actually tasted her food.

  And that’s it. I shouldn’t be sitting on the last stool of a dive bar on Bowery—still in my training gear—trying to erase her voice from my head. Christ, she was moaning most of our acquaintance. So why can I only remember the times we actually talked? I keep playing that ridiculous conversation about lavender water over and over in my head, like it holds the secret to life. She was just so . . . unguarded in those moments. What else would she have said if we’d talked longer? Why had I shut her up with my mouth so many times?

  “Another, please?” I ask the passing bartender. Without responding, he uncaps a Heineken and sets it in front of me. “Thanks.”

  All right. After this beer, I’m done. No more wallowing. No more obsessing over how well her turn on the dating scene is going. I don’t want to know. Don’t want to think about other hands settling on her hips. Or other ears listening to jokes about quinoa. Or maybe a guy getting to the bottom of what spooked her about relationships in the first place. I’d never gotten that far.

  And I shouldn’t have. I don’t want a commitment. They eventually land you in dank, smelly-ass bars with a layer of dust on the whiskey bottles, don’t they? Or pouring yourself twice as tenaciously into a job, the way my father did when Mom left.

  Guilt twists in my belly, remembering the silence in my childhood house.

  Yeah. No commitments for me. I just want my uncomplicated, nonrelationship with Ever back.

  As if my words floated up to the atmosphere and danced right into God’s ears, a girl clomps into the hazy bar. I recognize her right away, which is a relief. My training isn’t going to waste. I’m meant to be a cop. Ask both members of my family.

  Loosening the tightness from my throat, I watch Ever’s roommate—Nina, I believe—hand a dollar to the bartender and ask for change to pay the parking meter outside. There’s a restaurant supply place next door—see? More capable police work—and she’s probably picking up kitchen equipment or catering gear. Jesus, is Ever with her? I almost jump off my stool and sprint out of the bar to go see, but manage to remain seated like a normal human.

  Nina had been with Ever the day we met. Thanks to my Ever-induced tunnel vision, however, I didn’t speak to her and I haven’t seen her since. But I remember two observations about her from that day in the packed bar. She’s a redhead and her hand gestures are dramatic. As her gaze cuts down toward me at the end of the bar, I see recognition dawn. Yeah, I doubt she would forget the guy who mauled her friend’s face in a packed bar, right? Somehow, just having someone acquainted with Ever acknowledge me makes me less nauseous than I’ve been in a week. I lift my beer bottle in greeting and after accepting the coins from the bartender, she comes toward me.

  “Hey,” Nina says, a huge sigh pushing the words free. One of those conversation openings that alerts one party that the other party has been through some rough shit since waking up that morning. “I don’t have a lot of time, but I guess if I get a parking ticket, you can get it dismissed.”

  I smile into a sip of beer. “Not until I graduate.”

  Nina falls down onto a stool, propping both elbows on the bar. “You know what?” She wiggles her fingers at the bartender. “Jameson, please. Neat.”

  “Shit. That bad?”

  “The worst.”

  Join the club, I start to say. But it might get back to Ever that I’m miserable. I want her to think I’m living it up, right? No. Shut up, Charlie. God, I hate this version of myself. This version wants to ask Nina about Ever and her activities over the last week, but I can’t do that. Women tell each other everything. But maybe I can come at it from a different angle. Nina and Ever work together, right? So . . . “Is this a work-related problem, or . . .”

  “Man related.”

  Uh-oh. Abort mission. If there is one guarantee in this life an
d the next, it’s that I will probably put my foot in my mouth. I have no experience with comforting words because I’m surrounded by men who’ve either sworn off women or go through them like water, never settling on one in particular. My roommate Danika doesn’t count, because as far as I can tell, she operates like us dudes, emoting about as often as an eclipse takes place. “A man, huh?” I’m stuck. I have no choice. “You don’t say.”

  “My boyfriend broke it off this morning.” She screws up her face, nostrils flaring. “Through a direct message on Twitter.”

  Okay, I don’t need experience with ending relationships to know that was fucked up. “No way.”

  “Yes way.” The bartender sets the drink in front of Nina and she tosses it back in one go, following it with a satisfied ahhhh sound. “He’s seeing someone from work. I’ve suspected for a while, but . . . I thought he was losing interest because I was working too much, so I tried to be there more.” She shakes her head. “Turns out, he wanted me there less. Never. Gone. Replaced.”

  “He shouldn’t have done that to you. It’s not your fault, either, Nina. It’s his.” I pick up my bottle and gesture at nothing in particular. Because I’m not seeing anything but Ever. Haven’t seen much else in a week. “Sometimes people, you know, they grow apart. One minute everything is fine—it’s fine—and the next, you’re being offered lavender water and blurting the names of the royal family.”

  “Why do I get the feeling we’re not talking about me anymore?”

  My sigh blows a napkin off the bar. “I’m sorry, Nina. I’m not usually this self-centered. At least, I don’t think so.”

  She looks me over with sympathetic eyes. “I think day drinking in sweaty gym clothes earns you a pass. Don’t take this the wrong way, but it does my heart good knowing there’s at least one man with the capacity to be torn up over a girl.” Her lips pinch together, fingers drumming on the bar. “I tried to be the bigger person. I tried to make it work. I went camping for that douchebag. In the end, I think I deserved some respect at the very least.” She blows out a shaky breath. “Maybe this makes me sound like an evil villain, but I wish there was some way to make him suffer. Payback.”

  Man, the more this girl talks, the more anxious I grow to help. I might not be a relationship guy, but I sure as hell wouldn’t two time someone, then cast her aside like she never mattered. What if someone did that to Ever?

  My fists curl beneath the bar. It could very well happen to her if she throws herself to the sharks, couldn’t it? Oh, shit. My esophagus is on fire, and there aren’t enough Heinekens on the island of Manhattan to douse it. I never paid attention to the cut throat singles scene before, but now I’m forced to think about Ever ending up heartbroken like Nina. Fact: There sure as fuck isn’t a man in this city good enough for Ever. So the odds of her ending up with some ass face who doesn’t appreciate everything she has to offer? Astronomically high.

  Next month, it could be Ever getting a break-up DM on Twitter. What if it makes her cry? Jesus, am I having a panic attack? Sweat rolls down my spine as Nina watches me curiously, but my mouth is too dry to speak. Because now I’m picturing even worse scenarios. Growing up in a law enforcement environment means I’ve heard terrible stories. The ones that always punch me in the gut involve women getting hurt. Physically.

  There are too many bad people out there. I can’t chance Ever ending up with one. She might be smart as hell, but she barely reaches my shoulder. If someone took advantage of Ever or harmed her, I wouldn’t be able to live with it.

  “What if you could? Get payback on your ex?” I’m speaking before I realize it, my words sounding scraped and raw. An idea is forming, and my concern for Ever doesn’t allow me to consider it might be a bad one. Or an intrusive one. “I’m not an officer yet, but I grew up with half the force.” I tilt my head at Nina. “Might be nice watching your ex go crazy on Twitter tomorrow because his car or bike got impounded, right?”

  “God yeah. Can you even impound a bike—” She points a finger at me. “Wait a minute. I know when a man is up to something. This is about Ever.” A beat passes. “Start talking, buddy.”

  Suddenly I’m being strangled by a giant. “Has she gone out with anyone yet?”

  Nina rears back with a gasp, eyes wide. “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Blink once for yes, twice for no.”

  “Charlie.” She gives a grudging sigh, looking like she wants to smack me. I don’t blame her. But I also want to hug her when she blinks twice.

  Relief rushes through my veins like I’ve been hooked to an ice water IV. All right. No dates yet. What do I do with this information? What do I want more than anything?

  To go back in time. To the days Ever and I greeted each other naked. When I could lose myself in the feel of her, making sure she got lost in me right back, with none of the entanglements. When I could have her all to myself while maintaining my star recruit position at the academy. Add in this protective drive to keep her safe from the Shitheads of Manhattan and my next move is a no brainer.

  Ever just needs a gentle nudge back in my direction. If I can accomplish that—safely—she’ll come back to me in no time.

  I turn in my stool to face Nina, folding my hands together. My let me level with you pose. “Nina, I vow right here and now to make your ex’s life a comedy of non-life-threatening tragedies, if you give me details about Ever’s first date. One,” I rush to add. “Just one and then I will leave you alone.” I tilt my head and give her the eyes. Over the years, these blue eyes have gotten me out of detention, girl trouble and once bumped a C grade to an A in trigonometry. “I’m having a hard time moving on and . . .” So far, I’m not lying. “I think if I just have some concrete proof she’s over me, maybe it’ll be the kick in the ass I need.” Okay, now I’m lying.

  Nina squeezes her eyes shut and groans. “I’m being played and I know it.”

  I have this sudden vision of me, Ever and Nina hanging out together. Eating pizza out of a box while we watch a movie in their apartment. Maybe Nina has a new fella over, and we’re checking him out for new boyfriend approval. Why am I thinking of this? “Just consider the possibilities,” I murmur cajolingly. “It would be a shame if your ex received a delivery of roses to his apartment with a thank you for last night card. Especially if his new squeeze is over cooking risotto.”

  “You’re the evil villain.” A glint sparks in Nina’s eyes. “I kind of like it.”

  “Do we have a deal?”

  She scrutinizes me. “I’m either being an awful friend or a really good one here. I guess we’ll find out.” She sounds thoughtful. “Ever is going speed dating tonight. It’s in that converted church on the Upper East Side. The one that used to be a club—”

  “Then they made it a Thai fusion restaurant? Yeah, I know it.” Christ, this news is like a blow to the ribs. I’d envisioned Ever on a date with one guy. Some ex-frat member shithead with a tiny dick and no game. Instead, she is literally throwing herself to a room full of them. Not happening. “Thanks for telling me.”

  Nina takes my Heineken and drains a few inches. “I told her it was a bad idea. Speed dating. It’s a shit show.” She plunks the bottle back down. “I mean, she got so many hits on DateMate.com this week, she probably set some kind of record—”

  “Thanks for that.”

  “Bottom line, she definitely doesn’t need to speed date.” Nina sighs and hops off the stool, then pokes me in the shoulder. “Don’t make me sorry, Charlie.”

  I hold up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

  Nina snorts on her way out of the bar. The moment the door closes behind her, I’m all over this information like a detective interrogating a perpetrator. I call Jack. When he answers, there is a woman giggling in the background. I have no idea if she’s real or if he answered the phone while watching porn. And I don’t want to know. “Charlie boy. What it do?”

  “I need a favor. You near the academy?”

  Another giggle. “Does it sound like it
?”

  “No.” I stand, pulling my wallet out of the back of my pants, riffling through it for enough to cover my drinks and throwing it on the bar. “Well, pull out and get there. Round up as many guys as you can. Tell them there’s fifty bucks in it for each of them. I’ll be there soon as I can.”

  Chapter 6

  Ever

  Oh my God, I’m so nervous. Dating is cannibalism. I’m sure of it and I’m not even in the building yet. There are people lined up waiting to get in, as if the original Hamilton cast reunited and they’re doing one show only. Everyone is eyeballing each other up and down, appreciating or discarding. I have a serious urge to turn tail and make for the closest drinking establishment. Where people meet naturally and aren’t trying to find their perfect match. They’re just trying to find one that’ll do for a good conversation and maybe a beer-flavored kiss or two.

  All the women in line are dressed in business-casual attire, carefully concocted in an Ann Taylor LOFT dressing room. I’m wearing ripped jeans, a faded Wilco tank top and flip flops, because hello, it’s hot as hell. I have no time for single button blazers in this weather. I smell like cinnamon and chocolate, though, so I have that going for me, right?

  “Shit,” I mutter, twisting my hair up so I can fan my neck. “This is going to be terrible, right?” I say to the girl in front of me, hoping for some commiseration.

  “With that attitude, it will be,” she answers without turning around.

  Great.

  I breathe in the humidity and blow it back out. An NYPD vehicle rolls by through evening traffic on Third Avenue, and there I go again. I’m thinking about Charlie. What if he swaggered past right now? What would I do? Probably something bad. Very bad. I haven’t had sex in a week, which is by no means a long time. I’ve gone for stretches that lasted nearly a year. But when you’ve been getting it as good as Charlie gave it to me? A week is a century. A millennium. God, the way he used to go down on me, as if he’d been strategizing his tongue maneuvers all day . . . there’s no way to recreate that kind of ingenuity with a vibrator. I’ve been trying all damn week.