And Mom hasn't been responding to the medication they gave her.
"Okay," I tell her. "I'm okay."
"You don't sound like it. How was work?"
I choke on the smoke and start to cough.
"What happened, Rett?"
Ah fuck it. "I got fired."
Her sharp intake of breath strikes me as funny. Maybe because she finds this so terrible, when it's just par for the course for me. I dunno.
I swallow the rest of my scotch, give the fucking world another salute and slam the glass back down on the counter. "It doesn't matter."
That's what I tell myself, too. It doesn't fucking matter.
"Was it because you stayed with me at the hospital all day?" she asks. "Did they fire you just because you were late one time? That's not fair."
"Nothing's fair in life, princess."
"Don't call me that." She's quiet, and I can picture her chewing on her lip and twirling a lock of hair on her forefinger.
It makes me smile. How fucked up is that?
"Listen," she says, "I had a thought."
My smile widens. "You did? Don't hurt yourself."
"Shut up!" But I can hear a smile in her voice that matches my own. "I have to tell you about it. Are you doing something tonight, then? Going out?"
"Nah, I'm at the apartment."
She doesn't ask why I said I won't go to her, why I didn't call.
She just says, "Then I'm coming over to you."
Chapter Thirty-One
Gigi
I'm done doubting Jarett. He's shown his true colors time and again, most of all today, with his thoughtfulness and kindness.
And God, the way he acts with my mom, his respect, the wistfulness in his eyes when she talks to him … it's not a romantic thing. It's not sexy. But it touches me in a way nothing ever has.
It tells me I want to keep him.
Why didn't he stay over? I thought after the connection we shared today he'd come to my bed. I'd hoped … yeah I'd hoped he wouldn't ever stop coming over.
That he'd stay with me.
I stop the niggle of worry from growing too much as I hop into a cab and head over to his place. Last night he didn't come over, either, and he was okay. Maybe he's just tired.
Or he had gang business to attend to-and that's another thing I don't want to worry about. Not when I'm so happy that Octavia had the baby and they are both fine, that Mom's ankle isn't broken and that Rett was there, right there with me, with all of us. Part of the family.
Did he like them? Does he want to stay?
I climb out of the cab as the drizzle that has been falling all evening turns into rain. I run to the building entrance and text him that I'm there.
A few seconds later, the door buzzes open, and I rush inside the building to take the elevator up to the second floor.
Memories assault me on the slow ride up. Of the times I was here, how he pissed me off, how he turned me on.
The things we did. His hands in my hair, his lips on mine, his cock inside me as he held me up against the wall …
My heart is thumping hard by the time I'm standing outside his door. I lift my hand to ring the bell, and the door swings open.
Seeing him hits me square in the chest, in the heart, every time, and today's no exception. He's in worn jeans, an old black hoodie with holes in the sleeves, and gray socks. His jaw is scruffy, his hair a mess, sticking up in all directions, as if he's been tugging at it.
He looks exhausted. Bruised.
And sexy. Only Jarett could pull that combo off.
"What happened now?" I reach up to touch his face, and he lets me, his eyes haunted. "Can't leave you alone for a few hours before someone tries to hurt you?"
"Guess you shouldn't leave me alone," he mutters, catching my hand and pressing it to his bruised jaw, even though it must hurt. "Ever. I could get into trouble."
"I think trouble follows you."
He draws me into the apartment and closes the door, then presses me against its smooth surface, molding his strong body to mine. "Maybe that's my middle name. Trouble."
"Very funny." I'm all breathless, his scent turning my knees weak, the hot length of his hard-on poking me in the belly. "Is it?"
"What do you think?" He catches my face in his hands, eyes zeroing in on my mouth. "Fuck, I need you, Gigi. So bad. More than I ever thought I could need anyone, and … "
I kiss him. Can't help myself. His full mouth is so close, and I've been dying to touch him again. He tastes of bitter tobacco and smoky alcohol and sugar.
He kisses me back, and the world fades. His palms tighten on my cheeks, rough and cool, as his lips move over mine, as his teeth nip and his tongue sweeps into my mouth, stealing my last scraps of reason.
I'd tried to ignore how I missed him, even those few hours we were apart, how I can't get enough of his touches and kisses. I need that connection to him. He probably doesn't see it that way, but to me that's a promise.
The greatest promise of all: how we hold each other, and bring each other pleasure, how our desire strips us of our control, and how our feelings turn those touches gentler.
Unless it's just me. Those feelings … am I the only one who has them? What he did for me, for my family today, he was just being kind, or does he care for me?
We move toward the sofa, losing our clothes on the way, stumbling and somehow never breaking the kiss except to pull off a sweater or a T-shirt.
By the time he rolls me on the cushions, I'm tossing off my bra and he's also naked, gorgeous and aroused, his slick cock sliding on my thigh as I open my legs to let him between them.
"Fuck, condom." He fishes blindly by the sofa for his pants and his wallet.
I keep distracting him, kissing his mouth, his jaw, his neck, his chest, his arm. I've never been fascinated by a man's body so much, tracing the veins under his skin, the bulging biceps as he braces himself on the backrest, his small, taut nipples, the ink flowing over his ribs and arms.
"What does it mean?"
"What?" He glances up, the torn package of the condom in his hand, gaze unfocused.
"Your ink. These." I caress the knights and warriors and castles tattooed on his smooth skin. "Battles and medieval armor and walls."
He looks down at himself as if he forgot all about his tattoos. "Oh that. It was something Connor said. Back when I lived with him. That every day is a battle. That we're fighters, you know? And after he died, I just … " He shrugs, a roll of those powerful shoulders. "It's all I have left of him."
My eyes well up. My fingertips skim over more drawings, inks and watchful eyes and skulls. "And these?"
"He said that the dead watch over us." He shivers when my hand trails over his ribs.
"And this one?" It's a smirking devil drinking from a bottle on his shoulder.
He goes cross-eyed, squinting down. "Dunno. I was drunk for that one."
I laugh, and the somber mood is broken. "What about this, then?" I put my hand around his cock, and he hisses through gritted teeth.
"That's … great." The condom falls from his hand to the floor, and I doubt he's noticed.
I love watching his face as I stroke his hard-on, the way his lips part, his lashes flutter, his jaw slackens, the way his body tenses up and those delicious abs clench.
He's beautiful.
I brush my hand over his cock and it jumps. His breath comes out in a gasp.
Then he's on top of me, his pupils blown huge, his mouth crushing mine, and his cock is pushing into me, stretching me open.
I cry out, and he swallows the sound, thrusting deeper, until I don't think I can take anymore. I can't breathe, so full of him, my pussy stretched to its limits, my body unsure if it's feeling pain or pleasure.
"Fuck," he breathes suddenly. "Condom."
"I'm on the pill."
He groans in response, a sound of relief and need rolled into one. He shifts, pulls back an inch or two, pushes back inside with a roll of his hips, and it's all pleasure.
I arch up, helplessly moaning. He tugs my lower lip between his teeth, rocking again, startling a cry from me. The pleasure is like lightning, striking all my nerve endings, burning me from the inside out. I have current in my veins, and with his every thrust, my body seizes and the pressure in my belly becomes unbearable.
I need to come.
He moves over me, in me, faster and faster, sweat slicking his skin, making his ink glow as his skin catches the light. His hair sticks to his temples, his forehead, and his mouth seeks mine again, the hard planes and ridges of his chest rubbing on my boobs, on my sensitive nipples, setting off more sparks of pleasure in my core.
It's starting, I feel it uncoiling deep inside me, I feel that trickle that's about to turn into a flashflood and take me under.
I kiss him back desperately, my hands slipping behind his muscular back, drawing him closer to me, deeper, and we rock together. His breath catches, and somehow he swells bigger inside me. It feels good, frigging amazing, and …
Oh God.