Page 21

DIESEL

I ’m not particularly surprised to wake up to an empty bed. Symphony strikes me as the hit-it-and-regret-it kind. We got a little wild there.

I’ve got to hand it to her. She rises to an occasion. I’ve never met someone who met me tit for tat.

And then some.

Damn.

I rub my eyes. Everything has felt off since I met her. The wedding. The side action. Missing work. Bailing on the bar again last night.

Nothing seems the same.

I swing my legs around. The only evidence that she was ever here is the condom wrapper on the floor. I snatch it up to throw away in my bathroom.

Then I realize—how did she get home? I drove her here.

I dig my phone out of my jeans. It’s dead. I plug it in and walk across the hall to toss the wrapper.

The house is quiet, but I take a quick walk through it to make sure nobody’s here. Symphony could have decided to hang out in the truck with her friend.

But the living room and kitchen are empty. I peer out the front window. The truck’s been moved to Merrick’s drive. So, that’s it. He took them back.

I wonder when that happened. Normally, I sleep like I might get shot in the night. I used to have to guard myself against exactly that.

And normally, I don’t relax to that level with the women I get entangled with. Hell, we rarely use a bed at all. They certainly don’t come here. Last thing I need is my safe house to be infiltrated by the regulars of the Leaky Skull.

But I did all that. Brought her home. Used my bed.

And slept through her leaving.

My phone dings from the other room. It’s charged enough to send a notification.

I dash back to my bedside and pick it up.

Merrick: Took the girls back around 3 a.m. You were out cold. I may never recover after seeing your flaccid junk.

Then about an hour later.

Merrick: You always had the smaller dick.

My breath huffs in a laugh. Motherfucker.

Me: Too bad yours is useless.

Merrick: You’re up. How did two grad school brainiacs bring down our damn bar?

It’s a good question.

Me: Not the usual hos.

I cringe after I type it. Where is that coming from? I’ve called out more hos than Santa. It’s a staple of the regulars at the Leaky Skull.

But it’s all wrong for someone like Symphony.

Merrick: I screenshot that little ditty in case I need to blackmail your ass with your sweet piece of upper crust Miami.

Upper crust. He has no idea what Symphony really is. A survivor.

Me: Fuck you.

Merrick: Not kidding, tho. Had to shut down at 1. Got out of hand.

Me: But they weren’t there.

Merrick: Ripple effect.

Me: Fuck. Hope it’s done before we open tonight.

Merrick: It will be. New day, new pissing match.

I drop the phone on the bed and hit the shower. What an absolute shitshow.

Girls like the bachelorettes rarely show up at our bar, and if they arrive by accident or on a dare, they’re gone inside of five minutes. They definitely don’t dance on the bar or flash the crowd.

But I’d been the one to shame Bailey and her crew into hanging out that first night. I don’t know why the fuck I did that.

Bullshit. I know exactly why I did.

Symphony.

I lather up, cursing myself for letting anybody, let alone someone like her, with a degree and a future, get under my skin. She has plans. All I can do is fuck them up.

But just thinking about her gets my cock hard. Goddamn it. I’ve felt it since I saw her in that red dress the first night, slamming shots, the neon flashing on her blonde hair.

I should have fucked her in that bathroom and refused to take her to the wedding.

That would have been the proper thing to do.

Now it’s all tangled. The wedding. My family. And getting her naked twice in two nights.

My cock rages with the scenes in my head. I want between those thighs again, right now. Fuck.

I stroke hard and fast. Just rub it out. Get on with things.

But even when a rope of jizz melts into the suds going down the drain, the urgency to see her again isn’t close to easing.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I switch the water to ice cold. Take that, motherfucker. She’s not for you. It will only cause you trouble. Her, too. She’s tied up with the family. She’s got classes and proper work to do. The make-a-difference kind.

But I can’t get her out of my head. The hair. The smile. The way her eyes cut to me when she knows I’m full of shit.

And that pussy. God. It was made for me. I picture her face blooming red when my hand was on her neck. How she wanted it again. She said yes to everything I wanted. I can hear it now in the quiet. Yes.

Scene after scene flashes through me, and goddamn, I’m hard again. What the actual fuck?

I shut off the water. This boner will have to go fuck itself. I’m ignoring it. I stuff it into a pair of boxers and towel my hair dry.

What the hell has gotten into me? She’s just a woman. There are a billion of them on the planet.

I return to my room and pick up the phone again.

And I see her name.

God help me, I feel like a fucking kid who got a puppy for Christmas. My chest is full of sunshine and shit. I want to smile. Right here in a goddamn empty room. Smiling just to fucking smile.

I scan the message.

Symphony: Hey, it’s Symphony. Sorry for bailing. I had to make sure Marietta was all right. Merrick was waiting on us to…be done. He took us back to the car. He thought it would be a good idea if I had your number for when I cornered Bailey on what the Pickles know about your bar.

Okay, so it’s just an information message. Nothing personal.

I start punching a reply.

I intend to say something pseudo-professional. Like, thanks for whatever intel you can gather. Or maybe, yeah, let us know what you figure out.

But when I hit send, it’s an entirely different message my fingers have tapped out.

My cock jumps reading it.

Me: I don’t want to wait for that. I want to fuck you at the next possible opportunity.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Who knew a dick could type?