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“Thank you,” I say, standing at last. “For saving me from that club. For listening. And for letting me get to know you a little better.” I point a finger at him. “Try not to be too concerned about the Seafarer. Remember my Skee-Ball career rests on its success, and I take that very seriously.”
His eyes smile back at me but he doesn’t say another word. I turn on my heel and walk toward the street, feeling his gaze on me and letting the singer’s lonesome words carry me home.
CHAPTER NINE
NICK
I wake up late on Saturday morning and spend close to ten minutes just staring up at the ceiling. I don’t think. I’m in a meditative state that I really don’t want to leave. Sweet nothingness where weakness doesn’t exist and emotions don’t dare tread.
But try as I might, I can’t keep Evie’s beautiful blue eyes, wide with concern, out of my mind.
I groan with the force of a cannon’s blast, turn over, and squeeze my eyes shut. I’d really bared my soul on that park bench last night. I have no idea what came over me. Talking about Jack? About my dad? My childhood? All those memories, not exactly secrets, but definitely not something to be shared, had just come rushing out of me with honesty people usually reserve for therapists and priests.
All she’d had to do was ask, and I was completely hers.
I don’t allow other people to have that kind of power over me. Especially not women. Especially not women who technically work for me. And despite all these rules, I know for a fact that if Evie hadn’t ended the night early I would have thrown her over my shoulder and carried her back to my apartment for a wild fuck that would have lasted all night.
Instead, she’d been smarter than me, and now I have to wake up faced with the reality of my own obvious weakness for this woman and a half-hard cock that’s getting stiffer the longer I think about her.
I reach beneath the covers and grab my length. Evie… Her smile… Her eyes… The way she’d run through St. Mark’s holding my hand… Her laugh as she kicked my ass at Skee-Ball in high heels and a party dress… Her ass in that party dress… The feeling of her lips brushing my cheek with feathery softness…
I come hard, grunting as I fuck my hand and wish that it was her. Then I lie back, not nearly as spent as I should be, still tense and agitated. Like it or not, fantasy will never be able to satisfy me. I need the real thing. Am I only going to be able to get back to myself if I fuck her? Doubtful. I’m certain that once I get a taste of Evie I’m going to be coming back again and again like an addict.
And we can’t fucking have that.
I pull myself out of bed, shower, dress in a dark gray suit, and go out to hunt for a different problem to distract me. Thankfully there’s always one close at hand.
Jack is sitting on my couch, looking hungover and watching a cartoon.
“Aren’t you a little old for Saturday morning cartoons?” I ask with a grunt.
“It’s Rick and Morty,” Jack says, like I’m supposed to know what that is.
“Never heard of it,” I say. He doesn’t rush to fill me in.
I walk around the side of the couch and look at him. His eyes are red. Of course he’s high. I’m not sure why I’m surprised.
Jack knows I’m watching him, but his eyes stay fixed to the screen. I grab the remote from the coffee table and switch the flat-screen off.
“Man!” he says, throwing up his hands. “Why’d you do that?”
“We need to talk,” I say, crossing my arms.
His face falls. “Look,” he starts, “I’m sorry I wasn’t up front with you about last night.”
I wave him off. “I don’t care,” I say.
“We had a really good time,” he adds. “Thanks a lot.”
I also don’t care about that, but I’m not so much of an asshole that I say it. Instead I ignore it and say, “Now you’re going to have to fill your end of the bargain. I want you to have a job by Monday.”
That gets his attention. He sits up straight, almost stands but then looks at my expression and thinks better of it. “Monday?” he repeats. “I can’t get a job by Monday.”
“Yes, you absolutely can,” I say. “Start going door to door. There are a ton of restaurants within a single subway ride. One of them will hire you with your experience.”
“Yeah, washing dishes,” Jack complains. “You know serving jobs are too competitive in Midtown.”
“I don’t see anything wrong with washing dishes,” I say. “We both did enough of it at Dad’s. It’s not exactly backbreaking.”
