Shane (The Mallick Brothers Book 1)

by Jessica Gadziala

  I shook my head with a slightly embarrassed smile. It was one thing to dirty talk to a lover or explain something to a friend or even get paid to say things to a man. It was a whole other to explain a sex act to a potential employer.

  But, this wasn’t any normal potential employer. This was a woman who had herself worked as a phone sex operator. And she damn sure didn’t want to hear a sugar-coated, PG version of the act.

  “It’s when you’re getting fucked from behind and the guy hooks the insides of your cheeks and pulls you backward by them so he can get deeper.”

  Fiona did a silent clap, a big smile making her green eyes warm up. “That was pretty good. Alright. Sure. I like you. The first night, we will do a trial run. We record calls for security purposes. I will let you do your thing in one of the cubicles while I’m in my office. When you’re done, I will review one or two of your calls to see if you have the chops. Though, I think you will be an old hand at it.”

  “Fee, I swear to fuck I am going to murder your ass,” a deep male voice called just seconds before the owner of it came swaggering into the room and, in doing so, seemed to pull all the air out of it. He simply overpowered the space. First, because he was a giant. Second, because he was very possibly the best looking man I had ever seen in my entire life and I wasn’t exactly unaffected by that.

  I mean, really, was there anything hotter than the tall, dark, muscular, chiseled-face, blue-eyed, tattoo-covered type of handsome? I was pretty sure there wasn’t.

  And Fiona, well, she somehow seemed completely unaffected. The freak.

  “What’d I do now, Shane?”

  “You’re the reason Ma has this bug up her ass about us all bringing dates on Sunday. You bringing your fine, crazy ass into Hunter’s life and thereby setting standards for the rest of us and making Ma and Pops get their hopes up about a dozen more grand babies.”

  “It’s not my fault you guys are acting like a bunch of horny teenagers and refuse to settle down and grow up.”

  Shane took her coffee out of her hand and took a long swig, seeming to be completely oblivious of my presence. “Where the fuck am I supposed to find a convincing date for Sunday dinner in two fucking days?”

  “That’s a good question. Maybe you can go ask Eli, Mark, and Ryan where they are getting theirs and get one for yourself. I am in the middle of a job interview,” she said, gesturing toward me and making me wish I’d had a chance to flatten my hair a bit before his eyes landed on me.

  And they landed on me.

  I swear there was physical impact.

  The light blue gaze took in my face for a long second before traveling downward, not lingering overly long on any one place, but somehow making me feel flushed all over anyway.

  What can I say? He was hot. I hadn’t had sex in months. Months. I mean, it had been a choice. After the shitstorm of my last relationship, I had decided that I needed to not fall into bed with hot bad boys just because they were hot bad boys. That, in fact, I needed to not fall into bed with anyone for a while. As such, I had done the absolute unthinkable. I had stopped shaving. I might have found it hard to not give into my libido at times, but let’s just say that being unkempt down there was like having a hair chastity belt for me. No way was I going to let a man all up in that.

  So yeah.

  I was horny.

  Shane was ridiculously attractive.

  And he was looking me over.

  No big deal or anything.

  “You’re gonna trash talk some horny losers for a job?” he asked, that deep voice of his somehow even sexier when it was addressing me.

  “Don’t try to discourage her. I can’t do the night shifts anymore. And don’t think I don’t know it was you who helped Hunter last night by getting Becca and Izzy’s hair in knots with greasy makeup all over their pillows and icing on their faces before bed.”

  “You wanted us to watch them, we watched them… get all sugared up and painted like cartoon characters,” he added with a boyish smile that denoted a definite soft spot for the girls in question. “Now, got any suggestions for where I can find a girl?”

  “Have you tried the corner of Fifth Street?” Fiona suggested and I heard myself snort. I lived on the crossover for Fifth Street and it wasn’t exactly a secret that some gang known as Fifth Street ran girls on that corner. Meaning prostitutes.

  “You’re a pain in the ass, Fee,” he said warmly. “I’ll catch you Sunday.”

  With that, he was gone.

  The air seemed to return to the room and my lungs with his absence.

  “My brother-in-law,” Fiona said when he was gone. “Anyway. Okay. Tomorrow night. Nine o’clock, for your trial call.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I agreed, feeling a little bit of hope swell up inside, but reminded myself to not let that shit grow. Nothing good ever came of it.

  “Great. We can discuss all the specifics between calls. I’ll see you tomorrow night, Lea,” she said as the mousy girl from the front desk walked up and tapped a little hesitantly on the door jamb.

  Dismissed, I walked out of the building feeling a little less nervous than I had been going in. Because Fee seemed like she would be a great boss. I had only spent a couple minutes with her, but I found us to be pretty similar in temperament and ideas. And I was pretty sure I had given her a decent first impression. All I had to do was ace the call and I was in.

  I stepped out onto the sidewalk to find Fiona’s brother-in-law, Shane, sitting on top of his bike right behind my car.

  I don’t know where it came from, how the thought even formed in my mind that fast.

  But I was opening my mouth before I even mulled it over.

  “Hey,” I called, making his head snap up

  “Hey baby,” he called back, giving me a smile that was meant to melt panties and I was pretty sure that mine had started dripping too.

  Honestly, it was probably a stupid move. But my empty cabinets were begging me to understand the need to get inventive. Even if I got the job, I wouldn’t get a paycheck for at least another week. I couldn’t go a week without food. “I’ll be your date for your mother’s dinner,” I said and his brow started to raise, a smile toyed with his lips, before I went on, “for two-fifty.”

  “Two-fifty?” he asked and there was humor in his smile. “You know, there are plenty of women who would be happy to be on my arm. For free.”

  “Really?” I asked, making a show of looking around the empty street. “Where are they?”

  To that, he chuckled, the sound deep and oddly sensual, as he nodded. “Alright, baby. You’re on. Sunday, five o’clock. Where can I pick you up?”

  See… I was willing to take the risk of going out with him, mostly because I knew Fiona would be there and that was its own kind of safety, but I wasn’t stupid enough to let the man know where I lived.

  “Right here,” I said, gesturing to where we were standing.

  “Alright. But none of that silk work casual blouse bullshit, alright?”

  Yeah, well, I had to agree it wasn’t my best look. “Got it,” I said, nodding.

  “Your name, baby?”

  “Lea,” I said, ignoring the way my belly fluttered a little at the endearment. It had been so long since I heard one.

  “Shane Mallick,” he said, pushing his helmet on, turning over his bike, and peeling away.

  It was the smoothest freaking exit I had ever seen outside of a movie.

  With that, I got in my shitty car that I had to try to start three times before it turned over, and headed out of the industrial part of town and into the seedy part. Home sweet home.

  My building was a four story one, all ugly sand-colored brick with broken fire escapes and no upkeep whatsoever. I pulled into the lot behind the building and climbed out, quickly moving away from the fence to the junkyard that was next door. It was the dominion of three huge, fierce, growling, snarling dogs whose sole existence seemed to be to scare the bejesus out of anyone who got near. The problem was that the fen
ce between the parking lot and the junkyard was chainlink and old as dirt with that shitty green privacy plastic stuff woven into the links. But most of the plastic was chewed away and anytime one of the dogs jumped on the fence, the entire God damn thing wobbled ominously.

  In general, I liked animals. But me and the types of beasts that were behind that fence, we had history. I had a nine inch scar down my thigh as proof. So as soon as the snarls started, I literally ran from my car to the back door of the building.

  On a sigh, I pulled the door right open, noticing the lock got busted again for the third time that week and realizing it looked beyond repair that time. I had rigged it up to work when I first moved in. Then when it was broken again, I had seen another of the tenants working on it. But it was shattered finally.

  The common area was a mess. It was always a mess. There were dust bunnies that I’d swear had been reproducing since the seventies. The front windows were covered in so much grime that the light barely shined through. And there was an odd, mismatched array of furniture piled around as if when people got up and left, their shit just ended up relegated to the lobby.

  “Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be living in a place like this with no man,” Barney greeted me the same way he often did. He was standing in the lobby, ashing his dime store cigar onto the ground with an aura of smoke around him. Barney was old as dirt with charmingly wrinkled dark skin, keen brown eyes, and short-cut gray hair. Back in his day, he had probably been a really strapping man. In his age, he was charming and sweet and reminded me of a grandfather everyone should be blessed to have. I hadn’t been quite so lucky.

  “I’m tougher than I look,” I reminded him as he took another drag. The entire building was smoke-free, but that didn’t stop anyone from smoking in their apartments: cigs, cigars, pot. But Barney said his wife couldn’t stand the smell so he spent a good part of his day smoking in the lobby.

  “I’m sure you are, darlin’. How did the job hunt go?”

  “I have to go in tomorrow night and sort-of tryout for the spot. But if I kill it, it’s mine.”

  “It’s not a pole you’re trying it out on, is it?” he asked, face going serious. “I can’t have a pretty, nice girl like you on a pole. Not on my watch. No, sir.”

  “It’s not a pole. Or a corner,” I added with a smile, enjoying his protective vibe.

  “Good. No worries, girl. You’ll kill it,” he said with a firm nod.

  “Here’s hoping,” I said with a smile as I passed to go toward the stairs, having learned on my first day that the elevator was sealed shut.

  There was a certain apathy about the disrepair of the place. I felt it myself as well. I couldn’t expect a five star resort for the pittance I was paying in rent. Sometimes you had to sacrifice. And I hadn’t been lying to Barney; I was a helluva lot tougher than my looks suggested. I’d had to be. And I would just continue to be.

  I unlocked my door and my deadbolt and let myself inside, giving the room as a whole a giant shrug. Really, there was nothing more you could give it.

  The walls were a dingy yellowing white. The windows had cracks that I had covered in duct tape. The kitchenette had counters that were a God-awful pink color. The linoleum was worn and peeling at the corners in a mint green color. There was no living room and the carpet in the bedroom was mauve and no matter how much I had vacuumed it and rented a carpet cleaner from the grocery store, I never felt like it was clean enough. My full bed had a decent set of sheets and a comforter that I had bought at a ten-below store in a cute, if a bit cheesy and girly, blue and yellow paisley pattern. Almost directly beside the bed, there was a door that led into my small bathroom that had more of the same pink counters and old linoleum as the kitchen, like the builder had gotten the shit on a song and intended to use every bit of it, no matter how hideous it was.

  The whole apartment was about five-hundred square feet of ugly. But it was mine. It was maybe the only thing I had in my life that was ever fully mine.

  Or, at least, it was fully mine so long as I managed to make rent.

  My stomach growled loudly and I put a hand over it, willing it to relax until dinner, a dinner that would consist of cottage cheese, a couple crackers, and half of the apple I had left. But it was temporary. I would get the job and have a steady income. Until then, I had the two-fifty coming to me from Shane Mallick. That would buy me a good stock of groceries and help pay the rest of my rent.

  Everything would be alright.

  It had to be.

  Because there was no other option for me.

  THREE

  Lea

  I hemmed and hawed my outfit for an obnoxious amount of time. He said not to wear my work-type clothes. Of which I had very few to begin with and had only bought for the purpose of interviews. My style generally ran toward the blue jeans, tee or tank, boot kind of thing. But I figured faded jeans and an old Rolling Stones tee wouldn’t be appropriate judging by Fiona’s wardrobe so I grabbed at the couple of dresses I kept for such occasions and spent an hour trying them all on with various jewelry and hair styles, the kind of primping I generally hated.

  I wasn’t one of those chicks.

  Eventually, I chose a simple black tank top dress with a square-cut bodice and a hem that went just a tad bit longer than mid-thigh. And while I was tall and generally stuck to flats, Shane was a wall of a man and I could pull off the five inch scrappy heels I had never even taken out of the box and still not tower over him.

  Finished, I mussed my hair, lined my eyes, put on a hint of lipgloss, and headed out the door.

  I was more nervous than I thought I would be even though I had taken the time the day before when I saw Fee to let her in on my plan. She had, thankfully, thought it was freaking hilarious and declared that she had my back in creating a lie that Helen, Shane’s mother, would believe about me and her son.

  The nerves, I realized as I drove my car back toward For A Good Time, Call… Inc., were less to do with telling a good lie and earning my two-fifty, and a lot more to do with the man who would be paying it to me. Why? Yeah, that was a good question.

  I had just opened my car door and moved my legs out when I heard the rumble of a bike pull up behind me. With a small thrill in my belly that I was choosing to ignore, I got fully out and stood, facing him as he took off his helmet.

  The engine quieted and his head tilted as he did a slow inspection, top to bottom, that made every inch start to tingle. He let out a small whistle that somehow managed to warm me as he reached behind himself for a God-awful hot pink open-face helmet.

  “Um, hell no,” I said as he held it out for me to take. With that, I walked around to the trunk of my clunker, unlocked it, and popped it open.

  “What’s wrong with it? It’s pink.”

  “Therein lies the basis of my objection to it,” I said, rolling my eyes as I reached into he depths of my trunk to find my own helmet. I turned with it, a matte black full-face helmet with genuine street graffiti on the sides. “It’s meant for a crotch rocket, not your Harley, but I’m not wearing that hideous fucking helmet. I don’t care that you’re paying me.” With that, I slammed my trunk and made my way over toward the side of his bike. He reached for my keys, slipping them into his pocket and watching as I pushed the helmet over my head.

  “A crotch rocket, huh?”

  “Yeah, you know… a street bike…”

  “Baby, I know what a fucking crotch rocket is. I’m just surprised you do is all.”

  “Right, because I’m such a shrinking fucking violet,” I said with a smile as I slid down the wind guard and cut off the invitation or anymore conversation.

  I moved back a foot, putting my hand on his shoulder so I didn’t topple over in my heels, and swung a leg over, suddenly painfully aware that a skirt was maybe not the best option that night. But it was too late to change as I slid into the seat and felt the insides of my thighs brush against Shane’s slacks.

  “If you know about crotch rockets, helmets, and Harleys, you
know you’re going to want to hold on,” he said as he started the engine.

  I took a slow breath, willing my lady bits to not get any wild ideas, reminding them of their unruly state, and pressed my upper body against his back, my arms folding across his stomach that, of course, felt strong and cut underneath his black dress shirt.

  I said a silent ‘thank you’ to the universe for choosing the black dress after all seeing as Helen Mallick’s Sunday dinner demanded her sons get dressed up.

  We took off and my belly had an immediate pitch that made me aware of how much I missed my bike, along with most everything I owned, and everyone I loved, I would never see again.

  We drove for fifteen minutes, going into the ‘burbs then the slightly more upscale part of the ‘burbs where we pulled up and idled in the driveway of a large two story sand-colored stucco building with perfect landscaping over a large plot of land. It hadn’t exactly escaped me that all the cars in the driveway were of the expensive variety either.

  Apparently the Mallick family had money.

  “You gonna let go, baby, or are you planning on clutching me all night? I mean, not that I’m complaining…”

  At the teasing humor of his voice, I jolted backward and released him. He moved to stand and I quickly swung my leg to one side so I didn’t flash him when he turned. I sat as he stood, working off my helmet. Once it was off, he reached for it and hung it from one of the handlebars as I fluffed my hair back up.

  “Spring break mistake?” he asked oddly and then I felt his finger stroke over the skin of my upper arm, touching the slightly raised pink scar from seven treatments of tattoo removal. That was where the lion’s share of my money had gone when I left. I needed it off. It felt less like a symbol of love and loyalty and more like a cattle brand.

  “Spring break? No. Mistake? The scale of which I can’t even begin to explain,” I admitted before I could stop myself.

  Shane’s head tilted a little, his gorgeous blue eyes working. In the end, though, he said nothing, just trailed his finger down to my elbow, causing way too much chaos for such a casual touch, before falling away. “You ready to earn your money?”