“You must mean Gavin. I don’t think he’s seeing anyone. At least not that I know of.”
“Realllly,” she says, arching a brow with increased interest. “I’ve always thought it’s only polite to make sure your best friends get laid on your birthday, too. Maybe it’s a Southern thang and Olivia was raised the same way.”
I laugh outright. “Or maybe it’s a Ginger thang.”
“Even better,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows. “Ginger thangs are always a good idea.”
“I’m beginning to see how you’d think so.”
She nods and winks at me. “I like you. And you’re smart, too. Two things I require in a friend. You and I are gonna get along just fine.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Ginger leans across the couch like she’s going to tell me a big secret. “I don’t know if Olivia told you, but I give great advice about sex, so if you get hold of that hot piece of ass and don’t quite know what to do with it, don’t be afraid to call. I’ve always got some ideas.” She nods as though she’s done her good deed for the day.
Ginger’s public service message.
“If he gives me any trouble, I’ll be sure to call.”
“Girl, if he doesn’t give you trouble, he’s not half the man he looks to be. That one, the rough one, looks like he could tear a woman to shreds with just one look. I’d be highly disappointed if he didn’t turn your panties inside out and your world upside down.”
I wonder for a second if I should tell her that he’s already done both of those things, but then I decide against it. No matter how funny I think she is or how much I think I’ll like her, Ginger is a stranger to me. And I’ve still got enough discretion bred into me to be inclined to keep my mouth shut. So I do.
“I’ll keep you posted. How’s that?”
“Fair enough, but be warned that I like details, so if you call me, be prepared to tell me everything. Besides, I work better if I have the full picture of what’s going on. And I’m a huge pervert. We can’t forget that.” She winks at me again.
“I doubt I’ll be forgetting that any time soon.”
“Good girl,” she says, patting me on the knee.
Yep, I like this woman. How could I not?
NINETEEN
Nash
After a frustrating morning, I’d hoped my day would get better. Only it hasn’t. I’m just as frustrated now, driving back to Marissa’s, as I was when I left this morning.
I followed Gavin to the club, mostly just to make sure he didn’t decide to pay a return visit to Marissa. It’s not like I’m jealous. I’m not that guy. I don’t get jealous over women. I can take them or leave them. There’s always another one just around the corner. No reason to get too attached to any particular one. So I know it’s not that. I think it’s primarily that he messed up my morning. And I just don’t like the thought of that Australian ass**le hitting on Marissa. It pisses me off. I don’t like him and I don’t want him around. Period.
Cash had been taking Olivia to school, so once he returned, he and Gavin got down to taking care of some club business. Nothing I had any interest in. Once I was sure Gavin was thoroughly occupied, I took off.
My inclination was to go back to Marissa’s. And that’s exactly why I didn’t. It’s too soon. I shouldn’t want to go back to her yet. Not even for sex. So I didn’t.
But that hasn’t stopped me from thinking about her every few minutes all day.
For the same reason, I purposely stayed away all evening, too. I texted her a few times, just to make sure she’s okay. I used the same two words each time.
U ok?
And her response was the same single word each time.
Yes.
It’s the responsible thing to do, especially considering that she’s only in this mess because of my family. The least I can do is make sure she doesn’t get herself killed.
But that doesn’t mean I have to stay with her every minute of every day. And it’s the fact that I sort of wanted to go back that kept me from doing exactly that.
I don’t like feeling weak, and there’s something about her that’s starting to make me feel weak. I think about her too often, even when I try not to. It’s like I might not be in complete control of the situation. And that’s unacceptable. So I avoided her.
I spent most of the afternoon and evening in Cash’s “Nash” condo looking through law books. No, I haven’t been to law school, but I have enough gray matter to be able to read law and interpret it, especially when I have an Internet connection and access to all the reference materials I might need for clarification purposes.
What I’ve managed to discern is probably pretty much what both Cash and Marissa already knew—there are a lot of pieces to a RICO case. While it’s definitely doable, in our case, it would require the cooperation of more than one person. And what I know from extensive past experience is that you can rarely count on other people to do the right thing.
Which is why I wanted a plan B. And C. And D. As many as I can get, in fact.
My plan A is and will always be to put a bullet in Duffy and any of the other involved parties I can identify and get my hands on. It’s not like I’ve never had blood on my hands or dead men on my conscience. But, considering the consequences should I get caught doing it on American soil . . . I wouldn’t mind if we could get them the legal way, either. It’s not exactly my dream to spend my last days in prison.
My anger returns, anger that I’m even in this position to start with. And with it, frustration. And the desire to stop thinking for just a little while.
I press harder on the accelerator. I remind myself that I’m not speeding toward Marissa per se; I’m speeding toward a much-needed distraction. Nothing more.
Anticipation curls in my stomach and I feel blood rush south as I think about sinking into her soft, warm body. I mean, sex is sex, but I have to admit we have damn good sex. Damn good!
I feel a frown pull my eyebrows together when I pull up out front and have to park behind a Mercedes. It could belong to anybody, but I don’t like that it’s here, whoever the owner is. Most likely it’s someone from Marissa’s old life, the one she hates and wants to escape, so I automatically dislike this person.
It’s an E-Class, sleek and black with tinted windows. I have no trouble imagining that it belongs to some polished douchenozzle of a lawyer.