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“Good,” he said. “Because I have to meet them at the dry dock in an hour and bring them out.”
“An hour?” she said, alarmed.
“I can stall if you need more time.”
She contemplated, chewing on her blood red lower lip, stirring up his Gretchen fantasies without trying. Or maybe she was. “I need atleasttwo.”
“I’ll take the snare-runner. Slow enough to buy you three hours.” He let his eyes fall into the temptation at her chest. “You uh… gonna be dressed in that?”
Her innocent surprise was anything but. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing, except his wife is very jealous of other women.”
“Oh really,” she said lightly, no doubt testing what sort of leverage that might get her. He despised that he only had bad assumptions with her. “Well, Neelo, I’ll change, of course. What about you?” she challenged and accused.
Fuck, here we go. “What about me, Petite Fyoo-rie?”
She suddenly did a rare thing andstruggledwith her words. “Areyoujealous?” she finally sputtered out.
Traps tilted his head, studying the ever-changing labyrinth before him. How many times he’d craved for a single thing to be jealousof. For eight weeks he’d fought for something, anything, and she’d fought him back, making damn sure he hadzeroto fight for. “Jealous ofwhat?”
Exasperation parted her perfect lips. “Jealous he might…likehow I look?”
She wasfuckingserious. Top notch unreal. Her little Farkle dice rolledbesweetassugarand sexy as fuck. Call it badtiming or hellish coincidence, but he’d already switched gears. There was no changing or shaping or even controlling whatever she was doing, and hesureas hell wasn’t running, which meant he’d take controlfromher, putheron the defense for a couple months, see how she liked that.
“Because he’sthoroughlyobsessed with hiswife.I doubt he’ll even notice you.”
She fired out a fake laugh and he grounded himself on their dirty playing field. “And willmyhusband notice, I wonder?”
Final round shit right there. She was getting desperate. But so was he. They were both on ledges and ifhefell or if shepushedhim, he was taking her with him on that plunge. “Noticewhat?” he muttered, moving past her before he noticed every part of her with his hands and tongue. “How you love to tease? And fight?” He made it out the door and hurried down the steps. “I’m used to your games,Farkle.”
“Oh, are you,Fatey?” she returned as he focused on the path. “And are you wearingthattonight?” she demanded from the porch.
“I’ll call you when I’m on my way back. If you need help with anything,textme.”
“What could I possibly need help with from you?” she yelled. “You think I can’tcook?”
His muscles nearly locked up at what he heard.Surelythat couldn’t be insecurity. “You have my number, Fyoo-rie.”
“I practically lived at the library all my life, there isn’t anything I don’t know,” she yelled even louder.
“I’m so aware that you know a little of everything,” he called back without turning, stressing thelittlewhile his cock reminded him how perfectly that word fit her. His ever-pissed Fyoo-rie.
The sound of the door’s window rattling from her grand slam put a grin on his mouth and victory in his steps. Fuck, he’d finally scored. The tides were turning. And not a day too soon now that she was down to playing as dirty as she could. It washisturn to play dirty. No, he needed to playfilthy.
Desperate Measures
Traps made his way to a black armored looking car jeep where Rowan and Fetch waited. She sat on the hood with Fetch between her legs, arms draped around his neck. The picture of intimacy filled him with a boiling envy that rivaled his growing rage. Her green eyes probed but it was the brilliant blue ones of his brother from many removed mothers that he felt into his bones. With every step toward the man-being, salvation gathered in his blood. His blue gaze glowed with all the answers he’d been clawing to get at for over two months. He hadn’t penned a poem in ages, but his serene, otherworldly lookingbrotherinspired him in ways that would require many pages to capture.
The possessive way he held his woman’s forearms draped over his chest again strummed every jealous fiber in him until the ache in his chest burned. Traps extended his hand as he approached, wondering if he was like his brother Kaphas with his touching ability. He had nothing to hide. In fact, he’d prefer he just read all about his problems in his blood or wherever they existed rather than putting his marital mayhem into words.
Fetch’s skin brought a hot rush as their hands met in a firm embrace. “Traps,” he mumbled, his grip seeking, maybe testing.
“Fetch,” he said, eyeing the green pair of eyes next to his, openly digging into him like a kid. “Rowan,” he remembered, before burying both hands in his leather coat pockets. “How was the trip?” Last he’d heard, travelling from the North Swamp tothe Dry Dock was getting more dangerous. But what did a being like him need to fear?
“Mostly uneventful,” he said, bringing Rowan’s exasperated snort.
“We were bloodyambushedby a group of thugs at a redlight,” she countered.
