Icing on the Cake (Close to Home) (21 page)

He’d challenged her to step up and admit something had built between them. She’d sent him off to enjoy Candy’s services. Rejection didn’t get much clearer than that. Except he’d seen the truth in her glassy eyes. In her faltering lips before she got her patented
fuck-you
mask in place.

“Yeah, this’ll do,” he said, stepping inside the room.

“Awesome.” Candy’s voice was as perky as her tits and ass. She closed the door behind him and moved to a massage table large enough to accommodate two bodies. No subtlety in this place. “Massaging you is going to be a treat.”

He snorted. “Sure it is.”

She laughed, a light, natural sound that would’ve been nice under other circumstances. “You think I say that to all the guys I put my hands on?” She licked her lips while checking him out. “Well maybe I do. But I mean it about you.”

He’d say this much—Candy had a way about her. Not just her pretty face and smokin’ hot body, she had people skills. She’d managed to put him at ease. Relax him, despite the insanity of the situation.

“You’re good.”

“Honey, you have no idea. But you will, if you get the VIP package.” She bent her toned body over the edge of the table under the guise of smoothing the sheet. Her cutoff shorts rode even higher in this position, providing him a primo view of toned ass and a hint of pussy when she stretched farther across the mattress. “Eighty for half an hour, one hundred for forty minutes, one-twenty for an hour. Full service. Front or back, however you like it, as much as you want within the time.”

No explicit mention of sexual services. She
could
be talking about an actual massage, even though they both knew she wasn’t.

“Do they teach you to use that wording, just in case you get an undercover cop in here?”

She laughed again while walking toward him. “Is that what this is…?” She hooked her finger under the armhole of his sleeveless t-shirt. “Your über-casual, undercover disguise?”

“You know I’m a cop? How, did Sara mention me?”

Candy’s pale-brown eyebrows lifted. “Sara? Well, well, well. You know our sexy receptionist’s real name. That adds an interesting layer to things. No, Sara has never mentioned having a hot cop boyfriend. Sorry to break your heart, handsome, but if you came back here to make her jealous, I don’t think it’s going to happen. However,” delicate fingers slipped beneath the waist of his shorts and curled around his cock, “I can make you forget all about her for a while.”

For what had to be the first time in his life, he didn’t get instantly hard from having a woman’s hand on his dick. He laughed, deep from the gut, crazy and fucked-up as that was. Then extracted her hand from his shorts.

She gave him a look that was two parts pouty and one part confused. She probably didn’t get a lot of guys peeling her hand
off
their dicks.

“I’d say it’s not you, it’s me—but it’s you.”

“Because I’m not her. Don’t worry, honey, I get it. Sometimes a broken heart has to heal before the cock gets its appetite back.” She motioned at the table. “You know, I’m pretty fabulous at a straight-up massage. Take off your shirt and hop up. Since you’re going to have to pay me anyway, you might as well get something for your money.”

Little did the blonde know, he already had. “Nah, save your hands for a guy who’ll appreciate them.” He pulled out his wallet and handed over eighty bucks. “But you’re stuck in here for the half hour, and we’re going to talk, so grab a chair.”

“Get paid to talk to a handsome man for half an hour—I’m down with that. But mind if I stretch out on the table since you don’t want it? My kid had a nightmare that kept both of us up half the night.”

Not much surprised him anymore, but that did. He motioned for her to take the table and he dropped into a leather club chair. “That’s shitty. How old is your kid?”

“Almost five. I’ve been trying to get her to sleep in her own bed lately. You know, in case I actually meet a guy I want to fuck for free one day. But every time I put her to bed in the other room, she has nightmares. She says she can’t sleep in that room.” Candy propped her head on her hand. “Any advice? Do you have kids?”

Talk about a lot to take in. This wasn’t the discussion he’d meant when he told her they’d be talking, but hijacking the conversation would be rude. Even if he had paid eighty dollars for it.

“No kids here.”

“That’s too bad. A good-looking guy like you should procreate. And make sons, if possible. Populate the earth with future generations of hot men.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Way the hell in the back. “But I do have a suggestion about your sleeping predicament.”

“Awesome. Shoot.”

“For years when I was a kid, my younger brother and I shared a bedroom. Then my folks did some renovations on the house and moved my brother into his own room. I was pumped. My little brother, not so much, even though he got the cool bunk beds and I got stuck with a plain-old twin. He just couldn’t sleep in there, kinda like your daughter. He’d always end up in my bed. So I started sleeping in his new room. After a few weeks, I’d creep out once I could tell he’d fallen asleep. It was a process, but it worked. Turns out it was the
falling asleep
part that scared him.”

How weird was this, sharing an intimate piece of his childhood with a total stranger? One who would’ve fucked him for money, no less.

“I’m going to give that a try, Curtis. Thanks.”

What the hell? “How’d you know my name?”

“Confession time. Sara has mentioned you. I knew who you were the moment I saw you standing at the front desk.”

“Yet you solicited me. Guess that means you and Sara aren’t friends.”

“I’d like to think we are, even if our shared time here is the extent of it.”

“Then why hit me up as a client?”

“To survive and thrive in my line of work, you have to become a master at listening and reading people. Among other things.” She winked. “You’re the
only
guy Sara has mentioned in her four months here. That makes even the smallest, random comment significant. And only a lobotomized person would miss the chemistry between the two of you. Holy shit, I thought the lobby was going to go up in flames a few times there. I mean, clearly you’re both stubborn idiots, but you have passion. Figured I’d up the ante, force one of you to go all in.”

“Or fold.” As Sara had done.

“Well, yes.” Candy gave him an apologetic frown. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure she’s cutting you loose because of her job.”

“I’m not thrilled about her working here, that’s for sure.”

“I bet. I’ve known girls who tried to maintain a normal relationship while working as massage attendants. Haven’t heard a successful story yet.”

“But Sara doesn’t do the massage stuff.”

“Not until next week…” Candy’s voice tapered off to a whisper. “Oh, shit.”

Oh, shit
didn’t begin to cover it. He gripped the arms of the chair so hard, he thought he might puncture the leather with his fingertips.

“She didn’t tell you she was moving up.”

Moving up. What a fucking joke. “No,” he said between gritted teeth. Not only had she not told him, she’d been adamant about her strictly receptionist duties. And he’d believed it. The joke was on him.

“I thought you wanted to talk for the half hour?” Candy’s question followed him as he stormed from the room.

Damn right he wanted to talk. He wanted to haul Sara out of here and demand some fucking answers. The whole truth for a change. Hard to do that when he couldn’t even look at her.

He strode past the desk. Her dark hair registered in his peripheral vision. His back bore the weight of her stare as he pushed through the building’s outer door.

Over and over, she’d told him they’d never work out. That might have been the truest thing she’d ever said.

*

Packing her stuff had taken longer than Sara expected. The result of getting too comfortable at Curtis’ condo. Stupidly, she’d stowed stuff in his drawer and hung a few things in his closet. Her toiletries had all found homes in his bathroom.

Yes, she’d been actively looking for a new place to live. No, she hadn’t been terribly disappointed that the search was taking longer than expected.

She’d known that staying with him would mean having phenomenal sex. The rest of it had surprised her. Curtis didn’t smother her, but he wasn’t afraid to show affection either. He touched her a lot. Simple touches, like catching her hand as she walked past his end of the couch. Stroking her hair while watching TV—a thing he did after pulling her close. They laughed a lot. Sometimes they simply orbited one another in comfortable silence. Contentment and peace had snuck up on her at Curtis’ loft. A dangerous combo.

Now it was over.

Candy had shared what happened inside the massage room. All of it, including the part where she accidentally told Curtis that Sara would be swapping the front desk for a massage table. No wonder he’d looked ready to explode when he blew past her.

She didn’t blame him for his reaction. For any of his reactions earlier. She’d calculated every word for weeks and deliberately deceived him.

Safe to say he wouldn’t chase after her anymore. She stepped inside the apartment she’d almost forgotten in the course of a few weeks. Small, worn and dreary, just the way she’d left it. And all hers—until the end of the month. That gave her under a week to figure out what came next.

She flopped on the futon and pulled her laptop from the duffel bag. Her fingers breezed over the keyboard, clicking on the document she’d left open. A book nobody knew existed until last night.

Now somebody had
read
it. As furious as she was that Curtis had made himself at home going through her personal files, her heart had a little side dance going. He’d told her the story was good. The man wasn’t an editor or literary aficionado, but he also wasn’t a bullshitter and he didn’t mince words, positive or otherwise. His praise meant more than he’d ever know.

A little over a month ago, she’d walked into the wedding rehearsal determined to be the best maid of honor possible. To be a better sister and friend. She’d promptly—and repeatedly—fucked up on all counts. Curtis had been there each time. Pissing her off with his domineering righteousness. Saving the day. Making her laugh when inside, all she wanted to do was cry and run away to live the rest of her life under a rock.

Their first night together, she’d told him she didn’t do relationships. He’d been on board with her stipulation they keep things brief and strictly physical. If she hadn’t crossed paths with him that afternoon at Nia and Conn’s house, she could have stuck to that plan. She wouldn’t be lamenting the loss of an almost-boyfriend she hadn’t wanted in the first place.

The best thing she could do was focus on other things. Finding a new job. Somewhere to live. Steering clear of trouble, despite its magnet-like pull. If she had to move back to her parents’ and beg one of their kindly, longtime friends for a minimum-wage job, that’s what she’d do. Not very exciting, but it might be the smartest option. For multiple reasons.

Being far away from Nia would suck. No doubt Lindsay would swoop in and make another run at best-friend status. But Sara wouldn’t be up there forever. Once she got her shit together, saved some money and moved back here, she and Nia would pick up as if she’d never left. Curtis would be a snippet in her memory banks by then, and she’d be even less in his. The way things should already be.

She set the laptop on the steamer trunk that served as her everything table. Time to make some calls. She pulled her cell from her purse and cued up Nia’s number. Before she could stab the call button,
Sonny and Cher
sweetened the air in the dingy apartment. The screen lit with Nia’s cell number. Reading Sara’s mind, probably. Their connection had gotten a lot stronger over the past year.

Sara brought the phone to her cheek. “Hey. I was literally just about to call you.”

“Oh my god, are you okay?”

“Fine. Why?” Sweat beaded on her forehead. She hadn’t been sure if Curtis would go to Nia after he left Lucky’s this morning. Obviously he had. Bastard. He’d just made it that much easier not to miss him.

“Are you at Curtis’ place?” Nia asked, ignoring Sara’s question.

“No. My apartment.”

“Stay there, I’m on my way over. Don’t freak out. We’ll wait together. It’s going to be okay.”

How was she supposed to
not
freak out after hearing all that? Nia never came here. Sara had forbidden it after watching the cops wrestle an armed man to the ground in front of the building the week she moved in. “Wait for what?” Silence filled the line. The thick kind, not dead air. “What the hell is going on?”

“You haven’t seen the news?”

“I don’t have a TV. Or internet.”

“But you’ve been staying with Curtis…”

“That’s over. Whatever it was, it’s over.”

“Why?” Nia spoke softly, forcing Sara to press the phone tight to her ear.

Because she was an idiot, that’s why. Because she’d let him in, almost all the way in, before pushing him out hard. One mistake after another. “Because it’s for the best this way.” God, she was getting tired of that phrase. “Now tell me what’s going on.”

“Shootings at the university. Reports say the gunman has a semi-automatic rifle and he’s on foot somewhere on or around campus. Dozens of police have converged to seal and sweep the area, and…”

“And what?” Sara barely found her voice to whisper.

“Two officers are down. That’s all it said on the news. No details or names have been released.”

Curtis was working right now. And he might not be at his sharpest after what happened this morning.

She dropped the cell on the futon and ran for the bathroom. Breakfast and lunch came up in a rush, followed by bile and dry heaving that morphed into sobbing. She slid to the floor, curling into the tightest ball possible. Stupid. She’d been so stupid.

Never again. She had to get out of this city, away from everything that’d happened since she moved here. As soon as they heard about Curtis—one way or another—she’d hug Nia goodbye and pack the car. Anything that didn’t fit could sit here and rot.