Ash to Steele (4 page)

   Giving the needy, gorgeous man one last wink, she flashes me her mischievous smile, “It’s the truth, girl.”

   Watching as Jess turns down yet another request for her number with her uncanny skill of leaving the poor man feeling like he is still walking away after the best night of his life instead of being publicly rejected, I ask, “How come you two are still friends if you have personal experience?  From what you told me, he has a woman once, then never looks back.”

   Jess grabs four bottles of beer, dangling them in the air just out of reach from two questionably aged patrons, “IDs boys, and they better be real or Jason over there is going to personally throw you out the door on your asses.”

   One of them hesitates before reaching for his wallet, and Jess zones in, “Nope, no need.  Out now, or I call Jason in two seconds.”

   It takes half that time for them to head towards the door. 

   Turning her attention back to me, she gives a slight shrug, “We have history before our
history
, so I guess I’m the lucky one, or the unlucky one.  Depends on which way you look at it.”

   Another group hovers at the bar and Jess mixes their drinks while I finish mine.  Feeling slightly buzzed, I decide it’s time to go home and get a few hours of sleep before I have to be at my first job.  I catch Jess’ attention and wave.  She gives me her puppy dog eyes look which normally suckers me to do what she wants, but I’m immune tonight.  “I’m tired,” I call over the noisy crowd.

   “You have no idea how to party.  I’m a complete failure of a friend for not rubbing my live it up lifestyle off on you yet!”

   “I won’t hold it against you,” I tease, steadying myself when I stand up too quickly.

   “Damn lightweight,” she laughs, “I’ve got to work on that, too.”

   “Another night,” I yell to her before pushing my way towards the door.  The cold night air slams into me, and I wrap my sweater tighter around my shoulders. 

   “Going home already?” Gavin asks. 

   Before I have time to answer, a fight breaks out in line. 

   “Break it up!” Gavin yells, stepping in between the two men and grabbing them both by the collars of their shirt, giving a vicious shake.  “You two shake hands now and play nice, or I’ll kick both your asses before sending you home.”

   The noisy crowd becomes silent while all eyes are fixated on the two antagonists being helplessly manhandled at Gavin’s will.  The man in Gavin’s left fist swallows his pride first, giving a small nod, and his opponent follows his lead. 

   Easing his grip, Gavin releases the men.  “Shake!” he demands. 

   The men immediately comply. 

   Turning his attention back to me, Gavin grins, “Let me call you a cab.”

   “I’m alright,” I assure him, “I only live a couple of blocks down.”

   “Damn, woman, you really aren’t from here are you?” he scolds, pulling his cell phone out and making arrangements for a cab to be sent to the bar.  “Stay put, it’ll be here in a few.”

   I’m a little leery of arguing with him after what I just witnessed, so I thank him instead and silently wait for the cab to take me home so I can shed this dress, fall into bed, and forget this night ever happened.

Chapter Two

   Imagine Dragons is busting my drums, and I’m lost in the lyrics as I step back, scrutinizing my work with squinted eyes and a chewed lip.  Deciding more crisp green is needed, I begin to mix the colors when the flash of light and shaking vibrations of my cell catch my attention. 

   “Where the hell have you been?” Jess yells when I answer the phone.

   “Painting.”

   “Damn, Em, the world could go into triple-apocalypse and you wouldn’t even know it if you were in front of one of your pieces of art.  I’ve been trying to reach you since midnight.”

   “Sorry,” I mumble, still studying my half-finished painting, “whatcha need?”

   “I forgot my keys at home and Jason left for his pansy-ass weekly poker game to throw more money down the drain before I had time to ask him to leave his keys.”

   I can tell by the way her earlier agitation is softening that she’s getting ready to ask me to bring my copy, so I beat her to it while suppressing a sigh at having to stop painting, “I’ll be there in a few.”

   “I knew giving you a copy was genius of me.”

   “No, not forgetting yours once or twice a month would be genius of you,” I counter, “then you wouldn’t have to stash a spare with me.”

   “I’ll make it up to you,” Jess promises.

   “I’d rather you not,” I laugh, “the last time you made it up to me, I ended up having to sweet talk our way out of a night in jail.”

   “From the looks of that cop, I would’ve let him handcuff me anytime he wants, repeatedly.”

   Rolling my eyes, I can’t help but smile, “I’m on my way.”

   “You’re the best.  Love ya!”

   “Love you, too.”

   Glancing at the clock, I let out a loud groan.  It will be almost 1:30 a.m. before I get back and I really wanted to finish this painting before going to bed, not to mention that I have no desire to return to the place that left my head reeling from new, unwanted emotions last night. Chastising myself, I know that I can’t blame it on the place when the guilt actually belongs to the person who was in it. 

   The cool night air sends a shiver up my spine as I briskly make my way the two blocks to the Dark Hole.  Wishing I’d changed from my usual painting attire, the wind seeps through my threadbare jeans, leaving a rosy tone to the exposed skin where holes are worn in the well-loved denim. 

   Despite the late hour, there are still a few stragglers at the door hoping to get in before the last call of the night.  Not wanting to cut line again, I use the key to go in through the side door down the alley where I’ve met Jess the other times she’s forgotten her key, and I wish I had enough intelligence to have thought to bring the key last night.  Sending Jess a quick text, I let her know I’m here so she can meet me outside. 

   A few seconds later, Jess returns the text, asking me to come inside and meet her in the hall.  Thoughts of Breck snake their way into my brain as I lean against the wall next to the room where he was getting his jollies off last night, and irritation mixes with my already formidable frustration of not wanting to be here right now.  His audacity is appalling, rubbing me the wrong way with his ‘I’m God’s gift to anything with breasts and a thong’ attitude. 

   The buzzing of my phone pulls me from my unwanted thoughts of Breck, but not from my irritation, when Jess sends another text, this time asking me to bring the key to her at the bar.  Glancing over my completely inappropriate bar attire, I again wish I had taken the time to change out of my paint splattered t-shirt and run a brush through my unruly locks that are currently haphazardly thrown into a messy ponytail.  Sucking it up, I quickly make my way to the bar, stopping dead when I see Jess talking with none other than the infamous skirt hound himself.  Entertaining thoughts of various, ingenious ways that I can kill her fill my head before I witness her rigid spine and the pleading look in her eyes as she’s engrossed in her conversation with the so called sex-god. 

   Someone grabbing a handful of my rear drags me away from my indecision of whether or not to interrupt Breck and Jess’ conversation or just put the key behind the bar and get the hell out of here.  Shooting a scathing glare at the man copping a feel, I push through the crowd to the far side of the bar and slip behind the counter, tucking the key on the hidden wedge of metal between the cabinet and the drawers below.  Typing the fastest text of my life, I duck back into the crowd, not giving Breck a second glance and earnestly praying that he doesn’t see me. 

   The bitter wind is welcoming as I burst through the side doors into the alley.  Shoving my arms into my jacket, I zip it all the way and tuck my chin inside the collar, already dreading the impending winter weather.  The sound of the door closing behind me causes me to spin around, thinking it’s Jess. 

   “Sorry ‘bout your ass,” the man who is now intimately familiar with it slurs.

   Glancing over my shoulder, I seriously rethink my decision of taking the dark alley back to the street.  “All forgiven,” I mutter, quickening my pace.

   “Wait.” I hear him call out directly before hearing the sound of a loud thud. 

   I’m torn between sprinting the rest of the way to where I know people can be potential witnesses and stopping to make sure the man’s alright, but my bleeding heart wins.  The man struggles to stand, so I hesitantly return and help him off the ground.

   “You are an angel,” he states, showing his gratitude with a wide, lopsided smile. 

   By the aroma of alcohol on his breath, he’s definitely overly-indulged tonight.  “You alright to make it home?”

   “That depends; are you offering to take me?” he grins, “because I’d love to feel that ass with nothing covering it.”

    Clare Booth Luce is once again correct about punishment following good deeds.  “You touch me again, I’ll break your wrist,” I warn, reaching for my phone. “I can either call you a cab or call the police. Which would you prefer?”

   “Damn, I’m sorry,” he apologizes, moving towards me.  “I’ve had too much to drink tonight.  I didn’t mean to offend you.”

   Taking a step backwards, I scramble to find a good read on his actions as I continue to fumble for my phone. 

   “Name’s Derrick.”  He extends his hand to me.

   “Emma,” I state a little leery, shaking his offered hand. 

   “Why don’t you let me buy you a cup of coffee while I sober up?” he asks, his grin widening while he continues to hold my hand, effectively keeping it from reaching my cell that I had tucked into my back pocket.

   “It’s late.  I need to go home,” I reply, trying to slip my hand from his.

   Instead of letting me go, Derrick steps closer.  “You have the most engaging eyes I’ve ever seen. I swear it’s just like looking at the clearest summer sky.  I could get lost in them, and in other parts of you.”

   Taking another step away, my back hits the brick wall.  My pulse quickens, worrying if the man holding my hand, and pinning me against the wall, is a just an overly flirtatious drunk or someone who deserves a good knee to the nether regions.  Remembering what Gavin told me, I decide to not find out as I pull my hand a little harder this time, “Gavin is waiting on me.”

   Derrick places one hand against the bricks, flush to my cheek, as he lets out a low chuckle. His lips inch closer to mine, overwhelming me with the poignant smell of liquor, “Gavin isn’t here.”

   “No, he’s not, but I am,” Breck’s ominous voice reverberates through the alley as he steps next to me, gently taking my arm in his hand and pulling me towards him. 

   I’m not quite sure if Breck’s action is protective or possessive, but, at the moment, I don’t care which it is.  The breath I didn’t realize I was holding eases out as the pounding in my heart slowly starts to subside.  Glancing at Breck, I see how his threatening gaze is locked on Derrick’s as he slips in front of me, providing a large, firm, nicely muscled barrier. 
What the hell
? Breck’s presence seems to have this uncanny ability to deactivate my God given good sense, not to mention all forms of competence.  He’s the type of man that drips with masculinity.  Justin is handsome and strong, but Breck has this undeniable sexual strength that turns my insides to writhing mush.

   Moving his hand away from the wall, Derrick takes a step back, “Sorry, man, I didn’t realize you’ve already claimed her.  I wouldn’t have pursued her if I knew she was one of yours.”

    I would be thoroughly pissed off and repulsed by the Neanderthal comments if I weren’t so shaken up at the moment. 

   “She’s not, and she’s not going to be one of yours either.”

   Hello!  I’m not ‘one’ of anybody’s, thank you very much! 

   “Stay away from her, Derrick,” Breck commands, the menace in his voice lethal, completely opposite from the rest of his demeanor as he calmly stands in front of me.   

   Despite his relaxed position, the authority in Breck’s presence is daunting, and I step a little closer to him, presuming he’s the lesser of two evils.

   “Yeah, sure, man. Sorry,” Derrick relents, not even glancing my way again as he leaves. 

   Breck pulls me next to him, giving me a quick cursory once over, “You alright, Emma?”

   I nod.  Suddenly shivering, I wrap my arms around my chest, not knowing if it’s from the cold, an internal defense mechanism from the realization of what could’ve just happened, or because I’m self-conscious of how I look right now.  Quickly debunking the last option, I try to reassure myself that I don’t care what Breck thinks about how I look in no make-up, messy hair, and ratty clothes. 

     “You really are innocent aren’t you?” Breck barks, his earlier concern vanishing.

    
Innocent
? Stunned by his outburst, and confused by his accusation, I hesitantly meet his admonishing glare. 

   “You can’t just trust a complete stranger.  Derrick had you pinned against the wall and, in less than thirty seconds, he would’ve had his hand down your pants,” Breck yells.  “Maybe you’re not innocent, maybe you’re just stupid!”

   The confusing mix of emotions rioting inside quickly morphs into anger, “Thank you for what you just did, but I don’t think the insult was necessary.”

   Glaring at me, he takes my arm, leading me down the alley towards his Hummer.  Absently wondering why anyone would need such a large vehicle in Boston, I’m struck by how the anger in his eyes is a stark difference to the rest of him; his touch is definitely authoritative but it’s also gentle.  Clouded with too many emotions, I allow him to guide me without a well-deserved protest.

   “Get in; I’ll take you home.”

   “You just yelled at me about not trusting strangers, but you want me to get into the vehicle with you,
who I just met last night, and, if I’m not mistaken, who made it very clear that
you
do want in my pants?”

   The anger in his eyes subsides, replaced by what looks a little like amusement as he leans against the vehicle, casually crossing his arms as he stares at me with those infuriatingly captivating eyes. “That’s a valid point.”  Closing the door, he presses the alarm as he steps beside me, “I will walk you home, then.”

   “That’s not necessary,” I spout, not wanting him near me, or knowing where I live, and certainly not wanting him studying me with his steely blue gaze anymore.

   “Oh, you more than just proved that it is with your stupid ass move to take a dark alley, in the middle of the night, outside of a bar full of drunk, horny men.”

   Any legitimate response to his accurate accusation eludes me.

   “Which way?”

   Sighing, I reluctantly resign and point to the right.

   The first few minutes are blessedly silent, but it’s not too long before Breck ruins it by opening his mouth.

   “A preacher’s daughter hanging out in a bar, living in the slums, and walking the streets at night.”

   Unamused, I wait for the punch line, arching my eyebrow and glaring at him.

   “Does your daddy know how far you’ve fallen from grace?” Breck asks, his smile making it hard to differentiate if he’s being serious or only teasing.

   “Does yours?”

   I immediately realize I should’ve kept my mouth shut.  His eyes turn hard, cold, but, thankfully, not angry this time.

   “Grace was never mine to begin with,” Breck almost whispers before quickly changing the subject. “You do realize that this isn’t exactly the safest place in Boston to be walking by yourself, especially late at night?”

   Shoving my chin further inside my jacket, I try to keep the bitter air from freezing my tongue when I speak, “It’s not that bad here.”

   “Tell me that after you’ve been mugged, raped, and had the hell beat out of you,” he chastises.

   “Are you always this pleasant?” I smirk.

   “Nah, you’ve just caught me on one of my good days,” he winks, flashing a killer smile.

   Wow, he certainly is capricious.  “Thank you for walking me home,” I force myself to say.