by Bex Dane
"Noticed that," I replied as I took another sip of my amber ale. My first fucking beer in two years went down sweet. I'd have to mug another dealer to buy my next one, but for now, this one was legit paid for, so I was taking my time enjoying it and listening to this guy talk.
We'd been shooting the shit for over an hour. What was his name again? Somethin' about bulls. Toro or some shit.
I hadn't told him jack about me, but when I asked where he was from, he started talking. Turns out he was an interesting guy. Retired Navy from Texas, ten years older than me, black hair, buff but not fat. Camo pants and a sleeve of tats under a black tee. Looked like one of Rogan's Army buddies.
We'd started talking horses and turns out he used to ride bulls for BRX. He had my respect then because I'd spent a fair amount of time around bulls and never had the balls to ride one.
"You gonna partake?" His question returned my attention to the girls across the bar.
A stacked redhead, a blonde with really long hair, not bad-lookin' girls. Fake as hell. I was aching to get some, but nothing about them was cute enough to motivate my ass out of this stool. Now, if Cecelia were sitting over there, I'd be all over it like a chimp on a jackknifed big rig spilling bananas on the freeway, but these girls… not worth the effort.
"Nah. I got a particular woman on my mind."
"Yeah? Who's that?"
"Her name's Cecelia."
He took another sip from his beer. He was on his second or third. "She on your mind or on your dick?"
"She's just on my mind right now. Working on getting her on my dick. You can have both those girls." The redhead giggled at her friend, thinking Toro and I were returning their attention.
"They aren't my type."
"What is your type?"
He stared at a spot on the wall. His voice grew deeper and he spoke in a darker tone. "The kind with no garbage attached. Like to take what I need and move on. Girls like that don't let you walk out after a fuck. They want to be held and shit, want to give you their number, start balling if you don't give them the baby treatment. I gave up on that a long time ago."
"I hear ya."
He set his drink on the bar and stood from his stool. "What was your name again?" he asked me. Maybe it was his fourth beer because he was a little unsteady on his feet.
"Zook Guthrie."
"Zook. Pleasure." He held out his hand for a shake. As I took it he said, "Torrez Lavonte."
That's right. Not Toro, Torrez.
"You Mexican?"
"Brazilian, Puerto Rican, and little French. Purebred mutt."
I liked Torrez. He was personable and humble.
"I'm a white-as-all-fuck cowboy from Idaho. Possibly a little inbred since my family was big on kissin' cousins."
He laughed at that but it was totally true.
"Well, I gotta be on the job site at the butt crack. So, I'll see ya."
"Jobsite? What kind?"
"Residential construction. Interviewing a new foreman. Lost my man last week. Got no time for this shit."
Ah, he was drinking his stress away tonight. I could help him with that.
I stood too and leaned in close to make sure he heard me. "I work residential. Custom builds, tracts, anything you need."
His shoulders pulled back, and he stared at me for a long time. "You lookin' for a job?"
"Just so happens, yes. I'm between builds right now." Like two years between, but he didn't need to know that.
He pointed at our empty bar stools. "Sit."
We returned to our seats and talked for three more hours. I told him I was an ex-con. He didn't seem bothered. Didn't ask details. He said he usually hired veterans, but he'd make an exception for me.
He offered me two grand a month, paid in cash. He asked me to act as foreman and live in the house while it was being built.
"I can do that." Very easily since I didn't have a place to stay right now and no money.
"You got sprawl?"
"You tell me what sprawl is, I'll tell you if I have it."
He chuckled. "Sprawl is the itch to work. Energy to act fast. You ain't got sprawl, you're a lazy slowcome-pokum."
"In my parts, we call that a pile."
He raised his eyebrows.
"Guess it's like a pile a shit."
He laughed. His eyes became serious and searched mine. "I need the details of our arrangement to be on the down low."
"Not a problem." I spent my life keeping secrets. Course I also used those secrets to bring a man down, but he didn't need to know that.
"Okay. I like you, Zook. You finish this build on time, I'll raise your salary and start you on five more homes just like this one."
"Oh, I'll finish it. You better hold up your end of the deal."
"I will."
"Where's the property?"
"Province Bluffs." I'd heard of the town where celebrities spend their summers. "New seaside estate home. Wall safes, escape routes, high fences, top of the line products and quality."
"Could build you a place like that with my eyes closed."
"Then it's a deal. You're my new construction foreman for the Province Bluffs build. We're working against a clock. You have until the beginning of June. I need someone I can count on to make this happen."
"I can do it. So, two thousand bucks a month for nine months?"
"Yes."
I shook my head slowly. "Not enough."
"You getting greedy on me?"
He'd made an incredible offer to a stranger, but I had to push it. "I have dreams. Big ones."
"Shoot."
"I'm gonna make a million dollars in the next year."
He whistled a high pitch that slowly decreased to a low hiss. "You set the goalpost high on your first season out of the locker room."
"I'm not dead. I survived prison with all my limbs. I fine-tuned my skills while I was in there. Now I'm gonna use them to my advantage."
"I like that, but in my business, a man has to prove himself before he can ask for favors. This first house is critical for you. No fuck ups, no overruns, no excuses. Get it done right and on time. Then we'll talk about profit share to earn your first mil."
"Alright."
"You come through for me, I'll put you in touch with my associates."
Wait. Stop. Red light. I knew this was too good to be true.
"What kind of associates?"
"The kind that take your back." Oh shit. I'd heard talk like that in prison.
"Listen, I appreciate that. But I'm a loner. Plan to be running my own operation within a year. Don't wanna get tangled up in any kind of family business." Hopefully that was general enough to cover any gangs, mafia, or syndicates he was involved with. If he had criminal ties, I wanted to steer clear of it.
"You'd make money faster if you had my kinda friends on your side."
Yeah, I knew those kinds of friends. So, I'd use Torrez to get started then move on before his friends sunk their claws into me.
"I've made a choice for my life. Nothin' illegal." Not anymore.
"I respect and understand. Wish I'd made that decision when I was faced with it." He nodded and stood again, this time more steady on his feet. "I'll make sure to keep you clear of that side of my business. You just manage this build for me."
"No problem."
"Good. I'll bring the architect's plans here in the morning, and we'll go over them. I'll take you to the site and get you started."
"Deal."
With our handshake, I had my first job in the outside world, a place to live, and a new boss with money to blow. Not bad for my first week out of the slammer.
Chapter 5
Cecelia
"No, Tessa. He didn't show today."
"Stay a little longer." She'd said the same thing every morning when she called to check and see if Zook came to meet me at the library.
"It's been two weeks and we haven't heard anything from him." I'd memorized every inch of stone and glass around the door as I waite
d here for the student who never came.
I shouldn't have offered to tutor him. I couldn't get too close with anyone while I was here in the States. Soraya and I had to follow the family rules. We were here to earn diplomas and nothing else. Once we finished, we'd return to Veranistaad and assume our duties as royal princesses. Duties that suffocated us and robbed us of all our dignity, duties that were forced upon us and beaten into us since we were fifteen. Duties we could not shirk because the consequences would be unbearable. Ivan regularly threatened to torture and kill us and anyone we cared for if he found out we had crossed the line with a man.
We shouldn't have even been at Siege the night I met Zook, Tessa, and Rogan. Soraya came up with these audacious ideas that we should date adventurous and brave men, soldiers or policemen with guns, so they would fight the family for us. She was even dating the guy she met on the dance floor, Cage. He was a Marine, but didn't seem like the kind of man that would risk his own life to save ours. I'd never ask that of someone who cared for me anyway.
"He's being stubborn," Tessa said. "His pride is holding him back, but he could—"
A man in a cowboy hat approached the door. "Oh my god!"
"What?"
"He's walking in!"
Zook sauntered into the library and paused to examine the three-story bookshelves on either side of the lobby. His face remained nonchalant, unaffected by the grandeur of one of the oldest libraries in the country.
"Gotta go." Setting my phone on the desk, I gulped down the sudden lump in my throat and stood to face Zook.
I gave myself the pep talk again. The one Soraya had been pressuring me to give up. Just tutoring. Nothing else could happen. The risks were too high. Ivan would send Maksim after me, Soraya, and Zook. We'd all pay for my selfishness. I couldn't stand it if something happened to Zook.
My heart melted when I saw the notebook he gripped in his left hand, dangling it casually at his side. He had saved it and brought it to the library. A small thing, but to me it meant I'd made the right decision at Siege by offering to tutor him. This could work out for him… For us… No. Just tutoring.
The slacks and dress shoes he wore the last time I saw him had been replaced with black jeans and pointy-toed leather boots. A new shorter leather jacket with a zipper covered his white button-down shirt. A midnight black suede cowboy hat hid his eyes from me.
More stubble dotted his angled jaw than last time and, in this setting, under these lights, next to the towering book stacks, he looked like a giant. A tall, strong, confident giant. He must be at least six-foot-five, maybe six-foot-six? The books he couldn't read didn't intimidate him. In fact, the three-story stacks quivered in fear at Zook Guthrie's arrival in the Hale Library. That may also have been my hands shaking.
His lazy perusal of the books turned into a scan of the room. When his gaze landed on mine, he grinned and strolled deliberately toward me.
With each step he took, a nervous tickle jumped in my belly. By the time he reached me, it was like a swarm of grasshoppers bouncing off the walls of my stomach.
He slowed and dropped the notebook in front of me. "Hey." His lips quirked up in one corner.
"Hey."
My fingers fiddled with the pencil in my hands. The hat darkened the blue of his eyes, but there was no missing it. Zook Guthrie was hot as hell. Lord, give me strength.
Just tutoring.
"Did you get a new hat?"
"I did. Gen-u-wine Stetson." He adjusted it back and forth, but it landed in exactly the same position. "Felt. Better for the fall weather."
"It looks, um, really good on you." And it did. I'd never seen a sexier cowboy, even in the movies. "Did you practice your lettering?"
When I reached for the notebook our fingers touched. He kept his hand on mine and caught my gaze, focusing those baby blues all on me. Powder blue clouds surrounded his pupils and cobalt ringed the edges of his irises. Faint amber streaks twisted from top to bottom like the color trapped floating inside a marble. Gorgeous.
I coughed and opened the notebook. Flawless lettering filled every page, upper and lower case, front and back. "This is amazing."
"Ain't nuthin'."
"Are you kidding me? Half the students here would kill to have penmanship like this. Precision is a rare skill. You'll learn fast. Sit. Please." I sat and looked up at him, but he didn't move. "You do want me to teach you now, right?"
"Yeah. I was just enjoying watching you getting all excited about that notebook. I can show you a few other things I'm really accurate at."
Oh my god. He didn't waste any time starting the flirting up again. I took a deep breath and tried to sound convincing. "Listen, Zook. Before we start. A few ground rules." One eyebrow rose and a corner of his mouth tipped up. "Just tutoring. No flirting. No inviting me back to your hotel. Strictly schoolwork, okay?"
By the time I finished my speech, both his eyebrows were up and his smirk had grown into a wicked smile. "Sure."
Dear lord, he did not sound like he meant that at all. Either way, I had him here, so I'd better make the best of it. "Let's finish up the alphabet and phonics. Then we'll put the letters together to make words."
"Alright." He pulled the chair out from the table and spread his legs wide as he sat down and leaned back. His posture was so manly and commanding, my eyes were drawn between his long legs.
"So, uh… We talked last time about A. Remember the bad avocado?"
"Yes." Was he smirking at our avocado joke or did he catch me staring at his belt buckle? A stunning gilded stallion rearing up on his hind legs.
I pointed to a row of perfect Bs he'd lettered in the notebook. "And the B says buh, like baby."
His eyes teased me, but he didn't sing the song. He straightened up and forced his attention to the notebook. "Buh." He kept his voice flat. No jokes.
"Good. Let's carry on."
As we proceeded through the alphabet, he maintained his serious demeanor and picked up phonics easily. I kept expecting him to sing again. His lips twitched a few times, but he held back the obvious puns as we went through O and P.
"And the Z says zzz like zebra."
"Zzz."
"Excellent. Let's put it together now and do some CVC words."
"CeCe words?"
"Consonant-vowel-consonant."
"I like CeCe words better."
Okay, one joke in twenty-five minutes of hard work was forgivable.
"You'll sound out each letter and try to make a word. Try this one. D-O-G."
"D-oh-juh."
"If I told you G at the end this word makes the guh sound, how would you try again?"
"Doh-guh. Dog!"
"Yes! Write it down."
He lettered out dog on a sheet. "Dog."
"Dog," I repeated.
"I did it." He sounded surprised, but I expected he'd do well based on his lettering alone.
"I knew you could. You're smart. Just needed someone to sit down and take the time. One more…"
"I've got one." He poised his pencil and threw me a naughty wink. Oh boy.
"You do?"
With one elbow on the desk and his head down, he slowly wrote S-E-X. As he finished, he looked up at me with an adorable grin. "What's that spell?"
I giggled and looked around, as if anyone could see what he wrote. "Of all the words, this is the one you know?" I whispered.
"I know this word. Seems like people like to spell it out. I've never written it down before. Have you?"
"Have I what?"
"Written sex down?" His voice was deep and sexy and oh my, we'd just crossed a line from tutoring to flirting.
I fiddled with the button of my cardigan as the heat spread up my neck and burned in my cheeks.
"Do you have any more classes today?" he asked me.
"No."
"Let's go." He held out his hand, palm up, waiting for me to take it.
"Where?" I stared at his long fingers, the callouses on the pads beneath them, the wrinkle of his life li
ne. Where would his life take him?
"Field trip," he answered.
I shook my head and looked at my lap to avoid his eyes. "No."
"No flirting. It's strictly educational."
"You promised to keep this platonic."
"It'll be completely chaste. I swear." He crossed his index and middle finger and placed them over his heart. "Totally nonsexual."
"I need to go." Gathering papers helped to distract me from his searching gaze. I tapped the stack on the desk a few too many times.
"You said you didn't have any classes."
Oh shoot. I did say that.
"I have to study. I forgot about a pop quiz tomorrow."
He grabbed the handful of pencils I was holding and slid off his chair, one knee bent. He tapped the eraser ends to an imaginary beat on the table. His lips sputtered, and strong puffs of air from deep in his throat made a syncopated "ch" sound.
"What're you doing?" A quick survey of the lobby showed the librarian wasn't looking and several students at the other desks hadn't noticed him. Yet.
He paused and smirked at me. "Beatbox."
"What?"
"Oh, Cecelia. I'm begging you please to come… come with me."
Okay. Despite the fact his voice and beatbox sounded incredibly good, the Hale Library was one of the most hallowed and historic places on campus. One did not sing songs in here or play beatbox with pencils.
"Oh my god. Stop."
My pleas only made him smile and project his voice more! "Oh, oh, oh, oh…" His percussion echoed through the lobby. Now he had the attention of the students and the librarian.
I leaned down so our faces were close and used my quiet-but-severe teacher voice. "Stop."
He laughed, pausing the ruckus for a moment. "Only if you come on a field trip with me."
I hesitated. He raised his pencils and took a deep breath, ready to belt out more Ohs.
"Alright. Okay. Just stop singing that horrible song."
"It's not horrible. It's a classic." He stood and handed me the pencils. I stuffed them in my bag, and he flipped his palm up as he had done before.