By the end of the night, I’m revising my opinion of her. She’s not a stuck-up rich bitch. Mostly, she seems like a smart-as-hell chick who just got caught up in a life that doesn’t really fit her. Like an expensive suit three sizes too big that she’s afraid to throw out.
Ember shifts on the couch, lying back further, and slides her legs onto the back cushions. One thing I know about her by now is she doesn’t do this shit to tease. She just simply doesn’t know how fucking hot she is. Those yoga pants she’s got on are almost worse than nothing at all. I’m aching to slip my hand under the thin fabric, to find her soaking core. I want to make her throb, hear her whimper and moan. I want to see those dark eyes of hers flutter closed as she begs me to make her come.
I spend the last hour trying to talk my dick into seeing reason, and reminding myself I promised Tank I wouldn’t screw this up for him by fucking his lawyer. Somehow I make it to midnight, when Jude texts me right on time to let me know he’s outside for his shift. By then, I almost want to send him home. Not because I’m worried enough about Ember’s safety to want to do the job myself.
But because I don’t want to leave her company.
I do a once-over of the first floor, making sure all the doors and windows are locked. I say goodnight to Ember and Bert, and remind her to call Jude or me if anything strange happens.
Then I go home, sit in the dark on my living room couch, and pour myself three fingers of whiskey into a lowball glass.
Even with the lights out, the contrast between my living space and hers is striking. Ember told me she’s not much of a housekeeper, but to me her house is immaculate. Everything is in its place, set up like a professional decorator took care of the whole thing. I suppose a lot of women would be proud as hell of a house like that, but she barely seems to notice it. She’s not attached to the house itself, that much is clear. It’s more like she’s just perched in it.
A bird in a gilded cage, who hasn’t noticed the door’s open yet.
My living room, on the other hand, is still the same hot mess it was when Tank came to see me. The mail he threw on the couch is still sitting here next to me. The only difference is that I’ve added a few more days’ worth to the stack.
Bills are piling up. I still have electricity, and water, but I wonder if they’re gonna be shut off soon. Pretty sure I’ve seen some “final notice” language on a couple of these envelopes. It ain’t that I don’t have the money to pay ‘em. Though maybe I don’t, I don’t know. I haven’t really checked my bank balance lately, either.
It’s that I don’t fuckin’ care.
Squinting, I survey the room I’m in. There’s enough moonlight and street light coming through the window to show me the empty takeout boxes, the half-drunk coffee cups, and a couple overflowing ashtrays. This is the house of a loser. A fuckin’ has-been.
Which means I’m the loser.
I look down at my glass, which I’ve somehow emptied without even noticing. I lean forward and reach for the bottle, then pour myself another two fingers.
“You’re out of control, brother.”
Tank’s voice echoes inside my head.
Fuck. He doesn’t know the half of it.
The two fingers of whiskey go down as fast as the first three did. When the glass is empty again, I push up off the couch and stand. I have a choice right now: either go to bed right now, or keep drinking. And I know that if I keep drinking, I’ll be useless as tits on a boar tomorrow morning when I gotta take over for Jude.
I owe it to Tank to make the right choice for once.
And as much as I hate to admit it, I’m looking forward to seeing Ember again. Somehow, I don’t want her to see me hung over and hard up. So I take my lowball glass into the kitchen, set it on the counter, and call it a night.
That doesn’t mean I go to sleep right away, though. Ember’s in my head too much. Her scent, her flashing eyes. Those lips. The way she doesn’t seem to realize she makes me hard on the rare occasions when she rewards me with that throaty laugh of hers.
A laugh that makes me want to do filthy things to her. Make her gasp. Make her moan my name.
Fuck…
The whiskey isn’t enough to dull my desire for her. Not nearly enough. I lie in bed and finally give in to what I’ve wanted to do all night.
My cock is throbbing, even before I fist it. Even before I start stroking, slow as I can stand it.
In my mind, I’m leaning her backwards over the kitchen island. Her head falls back, throat exposed. Those lips part as he eyes close. Her legs fall open.
I plunge myself inside her hot, wet pussy. She cries out.
My balls tighten. I stiffen.
Then, I explode, Ember’s name ripping from my throat as I shoot. I come so hard I see stars.
Off limits. She’s off limits, I remind myself as I drift off to sleep.
13
Striker
A few days pass. We get into a rhythm, Ember and me. She stops bitching about the Lords guarding her, even though I know it still pisses her off. And I pretend I’m just doing it for Tank, and not because I want to be near her.
One morning, right before eight a.m., I show up for my shift and find Jude in the backyard with Ember. He’s turning on the charm, like the fuckin’ asshole that he is. And even though I know he’s too young for her — even though I don’t see any flirtatiousness in the way she talks to him — it pisses my shit off.
I move Jude’s regular shift back a couple hours, from ten at night to six in the morning. Just in case.
The new schedule means I have to be up early as hell. But this way, I get Ember pretty much all the time when she’s awake. Which means I’m there every day when she comes out of the house to take Bert for his morning walk.
I don’t ask myself too many questions about why I want that. I just do it.
On Sunday morning, Ember comes out of the house at her usual time. In one hand is Bert’s leash. In another, a travel mug of coffee. She comes down the walk and starts down the sidewalk in their usual direction. I fall into step beside her.
“‘Morning,” she greets me absently.
“‘Morning back. You want me to take the leash?” I ask.
She hesitates, then hands off Bert to me. “Thanks. I didn’t sleep very well last night,” she admits. “I’m dead on my feet.”
“Any particular reason?”
She blinks. “Not really, I guess. I’ve just never been a very good sleeper. Sometimes I take a pill to help me, but I don’t like doing that unless I have to.”
Now that I’ve been doing it a few days, walking Bert with Ember feels kind of nice, even though I’m usually dead asleep at this hour. The air is still cool and crisp, and there’s hardly any car traffic, so the neighborhood is quiet. It’s just the three of us, our footsteps in a soft patter that’s starting to sound familiar to me.
“By the way, I have a thing to go to today,” Ember says.
“What’s that?”
“I’m going over to Margot’s house for brunch. You know, my assistant? To see her and my nephew, Benji. Well, ex-nephew. Sort of,” she corrects herself.
“Okay.”