But Mindy hadn’t brought any stuff with her. With her it was different. Fuck and run. All business, no drama. That was Mindy.
It turned me on so much I was ready for a second round by the time I came out of the bathroom. Unfortunately, by then she’d left.
The traffic light at 82nd street flashes from green to yellow to red without so much as one car making it through. The entire block honks in frustration. I roll down my window and crane my neck to look up the street. Some men in hard hats cross it and I catch sight of a crane.
I curse again. I should have checked for construction before leaving the office. I’d been distracted, though, and therefore stupid.
It’s not usually like this. Zack and I have been sharing girls for a few years now and some have been better than others. That’s without a doubt.
But even the good ones come with problems. If it’s not emotional issues from their past, then they often want more from us, be it time, expensive gifts, or just the chance to be arm candy and visit club openings on the VIP list.
You’d think any woman willing to fuck two dudes at once would be a little wilder and not looking to settle down, but you’d be wrong. More than once a woman has agreed to a threesome in a manipulative effort to get closer to me.
I don’t do that shit, and I don’t put up with anyone who plays games. The last thing I’m looking for is a commitment. At twenty-eight, life is as good as it’s gonna get. Somehow I’ve whipped myself together in the last eight years and have done things I never dreamed of. I’ve got the greater New York business consulting industry in the palm of my hand. Magazines and websites call me up all the time asking for interviews. Last year I got on one of those Thirty Under Thirty lists, the bullshit glamour ones where a major publication profiles young up and comers. They’re cheesy as fuck, and completely pander to readers.
But they’re great for business.
And they’re great for getting women.
Not that I needed much help in that last department before starting my company, but the publicity boost sure doesn’t hurt.
With the world at my fingertips, the last thing I need is a needy girlfriend dragging me down.
Mindy, though our first time having sex was great, gave off the impression that she didn’t give a shit about anything more.
Her blasé attitude made me want her even more.
She swept out of Zack’s apartment without any promise of coming back, but I know it’s only a matter of time before she’s on her knees in front of us again.
The way she writhed on the bed, the way she wrapped her lush lips around my cock and sucked it for all she was worth… The woman loved what we did to her.
There’s no fucking way she can stay away.
The traffic light changes again and I give the car a little power, edging the front against the bumper of the taxi ahead of me. We head across the intersection and the taxi suddenly speeds up and clears several yards. I go for the gas but suddenly there’s a new car in front of me, a black Camry turned in from the corner.
The new car blocks the space, not leaving me a spare inch of room.
“Fucking shit,” I growl, palming the horn. At this point I might as well turn around and head back to the office. It’ll be time to start the next day’s work before I even get home.
An arm flies out of the car now ahead of me, its owner shooting me the bird. I hit the horn again and stick my head back out the window.
“Learn to drive, asshole!” I yell out the car, hoping the man hears me over the other cars honking.
The Camry’s door pops open and a guy with a buzzed head and tight shirt steps out, his face red. I snort. The guy, though buff, has that ratty look on his face that tells me he’s got no clue what he’s doing. He’s all brawn and no balls, the kind of dude who spends all day lifting weights in a gym but wouldn’t know how to fight a field mouse if his life depended on it.
He marches up to my window. “You got a fucking problem?” he yells in a thick Jersey accent.
Adrenaline courses through my veins and pumps into my fingers, making them curl into fists. I smirk slightly. “That depends,” I coolly answer. “Are you going to apologize for what you just did?”
I evenly stare at him. Of course he’s not going to apologize. Saying ‘I’m sorry’ would be akin to turning in his man card right then and there.
If I know his type, he’s going to curse and whine some then head back to his car. If I’m wrong, I might be in for a fight.
The guy’s upper lip curls and I crack my knuckles. A fight is just fine with me. Not since I first punched a kid in the face in seventh grade have I backed down. You’d think growing up on Madison Avenue and going to an elite prep school would make a pansy out of a guy, but it did the opposite with me. When kids made fun of me for my embarrassing school uniform I settled the score by popping them one.
Jersey Shore juts his chin at me. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll apologize all right. Step outta that fancy car of yours and I’ll give you a nice old apology.”
The car right behind us honks. “Get them cars out of the way!” someone yells. Other shouts chime in, reiterating the first cry, but I barely hear them.
The sounds around me are blurring together, the only real thing audible is the pounding in my ears. I tug the handle and step out, rolling up the sleeves of my dress shirt as I stare my opponent down.
The guy shuffles a little bit towards me, a poor imitation of Rocky. “Now what was that you were saying?”
I guffaw. “Your car is going to get towed. Are you sure you don’t want to climb back in and move it along?”
His beefy face wrinkles. “What, you afraid of a fight?”
I keep my voice low. “Get the fuck out of here,” I breathe.
He lunges at me, going to push me, but I knock both his hands to the side. Before he can lift them, I’ve got one of them in a tight grip. I twist them behind his back, bending him over. He yelps in surprise and steps on my foot. Hard.
I gasp. My grip slips. The man slides away from me and pulls his arm back for a punch. I block him again and land my knuckles against his jaw. His head whips to the side and he staggers.
Pleasure courses through me. It’s turning out to be my lucky day. Maybe not only will I get to put an asshole in his place, I’ll also work out some of this pent-up sexual energy.
Someone’s yelling at us to stop, and a couple people move quickly out of the corner of my vision, but my attention’s not on them. Nothing matters but where my hands go next. I keep my eye on what’s important, at the man gaining his footing. His face is a deep red where I hit him, and his purple cheeks bulge with rage.
He comes at me again and this time it’s too easy, taking candy from a baby easy. His fury is making him irrational. I step to the side and trip him. He stumbles to the asphalt and a chuckle escapes my lips.
Someone grabs my shoulder and tries to tug me away. “Hey, cut it out guys!”
I plant my feet and don’t budge. This shithead got me out of my car. No fucking way am I letting him off easy.
The idiot stands with his shoulder to me and shoots me an evil look.
“You ready to leave yet?” I ask.
He takes a side step towards me, preparing himself to spin around and toss all his weight into me. Again, it’s too easy. I read each future move the second he plans it.
His fist rises in the air and I slam my palm into it, halting its path. My other arm goes down to intercept whatever it is his other hand has in store, but I lose my balance a little bit. There’s a whoosh of air as his hand slips under my forearm and then there’s a tearing noise followed by a sharp pain.
Heat floods my torso.
The man grins wickedly. My limbs are shaking, shock from whatever just happened hitting them. There’s still adrenaline in me, though, and I use the last of it to knee the man in the nut sack.
It’s a dirty move, the kind I almost never use. I’m pretty sure he just stabbed me, though, so playing clean is off the table
.
He goes down, crumpling into a ball with a howl. There in his right hand a small knife shines, fresh red blood staining the blade. I take a quick few steps back, my palm going to press against my abdomen.
I steel myself and look down. The circular blood stain is growing, soaking my shirt.
Someone near me gasps. I drop back against my car, my head feeling light, but don’t keep my eyes off the man still laying in the street.
A whir of sirens permeates the air. I wince. “Shit.”
Too late to get in my car and drive away. Not that I could really successful do that in rush hour traffic.
Someone is shouting at the man who stabbed me and then a police officer rushes up. I growl and open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Cars and people spin, the whole scene turning into a merry go round.
I brace my hand against the hood of my car and work on standing up straight. Suddenly someone is in my face asking questions. I shake my head and squint my eyes, not sure what I’m hearing or seeing.
An ambulance arrives and I’m ushered into the back of it.
“My car,” I manage in a garbled voice as the ambulance’s back doors slam shut.
A medic presses something against my side and I drop my head back against the soft seat. “My car,” I repeat, knowing it’s probably half way to the towing compound by now.
I fumble in my pocket for my phone. I need to call my assistant. I need to let him know what happened, need to get him to retrieve my Maserati. I just got the car a month ago.
Damn, I love that car so much.
It’s all I can think. Over and over. I love that car so much. I love that car so much.
A paramedic stops my searching with a hand on my wrist.
“Don’t move,” she tells me.
In response, I mumble something even I don’t understand. She looks away, busying herself with something, and with my free hand I manage to find my phone. I send my assistant, Michelle a text, though I’m not entirely sure I picked out the right letters. The lights in the ambulance are too bright and it’s getting harder to see.
The ambulance pulls to a stop and I’m guided out and through some automatic doors. People scurry around, some of them in scrubs and some in street clothes.
“Ethan?”
I start and blink heavily. A familiar face appears in front of me, its edges blurring away.
“Ethan?” the voice asks again.
No way. I’ve got to be imagining it. Hallucinating, is more like it. Did the paramedics give me some drugs I’m not aware of?
“Mindy?”
She takes my elbow. “Come on. Sit down.”
I do as I’m told, wondering the whole time how a fight on Broadway turned into a wet dream. Mindy cuts my shirt off and then pricks me with something that numbs my skin. She and another nurse get to work doing their assessment.
“It’s just a flesh wound,” Mindy announces, glancing up at me. “It’s small enough that we can take care of it right here. You won’t need too many stitches. Because you’ve lost a bit of blood, we’ll have one of the attending physicians come and check you out as soon as they can, just to be safe.”
She’s talking like a real life nurse, like she’s not a girl my best friend and I just fucked only hours ago. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she smells like coconut, which is amazing considering we’re in a hospital full of sick people and cleaning products.
“Wait,” I say, my vision starting to right itself. “Where are we?”
“Bronx-Lebanon,” she says with a tight face.
The other nurse looks at her in interest, then at me, before quickly lowering her face once more.
“You look good,” I say to Mindy.
She keeps her face down as her lips tighten. After a second, though, one corner of her mouth twists up a bit. “You need to rest.”
“This is my wet dream,” I thickly say, leaning back against the table and closing my eyes.
“Wet dream, what?” the second nurse asks.
“I have no idea,” Mindy answers.
4
Zack
I exhale heavily and look around the waiting room. The nurse on the other side of the counter types slowly and methodically, staring at her computer screen like whatever is on there is so boring it’s about to put her to sleep.
“Ethan Wilkes,” I tell her for the third time, for lack of anything else to say.
She looks at me like I’m not only stupid, but also a pain in the ass.
“He’s getting treated now,” she says in her robot voice.
“Still?”
She doesn’t answer.
I straighten up and spin around then march away from the desk. “Jesus,” I whisper to myself.
The second I got the call from Ethan’s assistant I jumped into my car and headed over to the hospital. The only thing Michelle could tell me was that there was some kind of ‘scuffle’ and Ethan was hurt. Apparently, Ethan called Michelle from the ambulance, though he for sure knew I’d be the first one showing up to clean up after his ass.
The scuffle part didn’t surprise me at all.
I fold my arms and look back at the desk. A patient walks up to it, stealing the surly nurse’s attention. Without taking time to think about it, I book it down the hallway. Big doors to rooms with multiple curtains fly by my side. I peek in each one of them, looking for my friend.
Finally he appears, reclined in a bed near the door and staring at the wall with bunched eyebrows. His blonde hair is an unruly mess and there are bags under his eyes.
“You idiot,” I spat, entering the room.
Ethan’s eyebrows knit closer together. “That’s a nice way to greet an injured man. I almost died, by the way.”
“I know without a doubt that you deserved whatever happened to you.”
He goes to sit up then winces and puts a hand at his side. The hospital gown covers whatever lays underneath it, but I can take a few guesses as to exactly what it might be.
“Asshole stabbed me,” he mutters.
I sigh and cross my arms. “Why?”
Ethan shrugs then winces again. “Because he cut me off in traffic.”
“Right. Why do I feel like you’re leaving out a crucial part of the story?”
As clipped as my conversation is, I’m beyond relieved that my best friend is all right. It’s been less than a month since I’ve been in a hospital and it’s felt like no time at all. After the morning where I finally said goodbye to my father, I prayed it would be many, many years before I had to walk into one of these places again. Though I knew the whole drive over that Ethan will likely be just fine, getting the call from Michelle still has me worried. Ethan has no fear. He’s the kind of friend you look at and know is not going to leave this earth from natural causes.
“My damn car...” he mutters.
“Michelle is taking care of it.”
“Good. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
I stare at him. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“What, you think I’m just going to stay here?”
“Until you’re released, yeah.”
“Relax. It’s just a flesh wound.”
I rub my palm across my face. “Yeah, and you’re damn lucky it’s not more. You just can’t keep it in check, can you? You have to go and...”
“The guy cut me off,” he growls.
“It’s New York! Everyone is cutting everyone else off!”
Someone coughs and shifts in the bed on the other side of the curtain and I remember that we’re in the close vicinity of others. I take a breath, trying to compose myself.
“People need to learn,” Ethan says.
“Yeah, you’re telling me. You need to learn how to control your temper.”
“Like you’ve never been in a fight before.”
“I’d like to think I know how to pick them.”
His nose wrinkles. “I guess you didn’t hear me when I said it’s just a flesh wound.”
&
nbsp; I start to repeat my point about the potential for the whole situation to have gone very bad, but then change my mind and just shake my head. With Ethan there’s often just no point. He’s going to do whatever he’s going to do.
“I need my phone,” Ethan says, looking all around himself. “I need to text Brent.”
Brent, Ethan’s lawyer, is on speed dial. No doubt the two of them are already figuring out just how much it’s going to cost to clear Ethan’s name of this one without them so much as showing up to court.
I cross my arms. His phone is on the flimsy side table next to his wallet but I make no move to grab it. “It’s nice to be able to buy yourself out of any situation, huh?”
Ethan wickedly grins. “You should know. Are you ready to go?”
I lift my chin. “I’m not leaving here and taking you to Brent’s office at the snap of your fingers. What else did the doctor say? How long are they keeping you for?”
A sly grin sneaks onto his face. “It’s the nurse you should be asking about.”
I grind my teeth in frustration. “Answer the damn question, Ethan.”
“She said I can go tonight, but then it’s a week’s rest, all right? But you know damn doctors. They’re always too cautious. It’s the sexy nurse that you want to be...”
“Jesus, can you just be serious for a minute?”
Ethan purses his lips, his eyes twinkling.
“You must be high on painkillers.”
“Yeah, can you find out what they gave me and get some to take home?”
“You’re not going home.”
“You’re not stopping me. And as much as I’d like to stay here and play doctor with Mindy...”
I interrupt. “Wait, what?”
He grins. “You didn’t know she works here?”
My heart constricts. “No. I didn’t.” Though she’d told me she was a nurse now, I hadn’t bothered to ask just which hospital she worked at.
Two Billionaires Next Door: A Dark Bad Boy MFM Romance Page 2