Under Locke (38 page)

The words meant more because they came from Dex. Dex who wouldn’t spout crap for the sake of being nice.

So when I sat up abruptly a minute later, letting his hand drop back to his lap, I inhaled this suffering, shuddering breath. I curled my lips behind my teeth and took in the dark scruff lining his jaw, the hard clench of his mouth, and I gulped.

“Would you mind giving me a hug?”

His mouth opened for a split second and his eyes flashed to mine, a trace of something in them. He was silent though, unmoving. I noticed a nerve under his eye twitching. 

Dex’s pause had me feeling like a jackass for a minute. If I really thought about it, he didn’t strike me as the hugging type. Plus, I mean, who asks for a hug?  Who—

“C’mere,” he urged in his low voice.

I looked at him for a heartbeat, still feeling a little pathetic, but when he shifted onto his hip and lowered his chin to give me this look...I stopped caring. I shuffled forward and just went for it. Arms around his ribs, my forehead to his cheek.

It took a second but his arms wound their way around me. One band over my shoulders, the other around the middle of my back. And he squeezed. Dex held me to him, the faint smell of laundry detergent and Dex filling my nostrils. Warm skin, warm body, warm, warm, warm.  So much warmth, this wild choke lodged in my throat.

I took a deep breath and shut my eyes.

He didn’t say anything either, but I felt the deep breath that inflated his chest before he let it out over my ear.

Chapter Twenty-One

"Would you quit looking at me like that?"

For the last five minutes, Dex had been sitting across the counter from me, staring. With his coffee cup raised just over his mouth, those dark blue eyes had been locked in my direction. At first I'd thought that there may have been maple syrup smothered somewhere on me but I'd touched all over and there was nothing there.

Those sleepy eyes were
curious
and way too intent. And it was probably because I hadn't slept so well after the long crying jag I'd thrown myself into, that it took me what felt like forever to figure out why he was looking at me with so much attention.

"I'm not going to spontaneously burst into tears, Dex," I finally advised him, rolling my eyes before shoveling another
spoonful
of
oatmeal
into my mouth.

From the sides of the coffee mug, I could see his lips tilt up just the slightest. What was up with that look in his eye? So. Weird. "Oh, I know you're not," the smug jerk said.

Both my eyebrows went straight up. It was impossible to understand what it was about his little challenges that had started baiting me every single time. "How do you know that?"

Those pink corners of his mouth tipped up even higher. "I told you last night you weren't gonna anymore."

This man. Good
l
ord. I wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or amused. My gut was going with amusement. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's not how it works."

"Yeah, it is."

I blinked at him. "No, it's not, but thank you for hanging in there with me last night." By last night, I meant almost all night.

After the longest hug in the history of the world, he'd turned on the television and we watched what was left of Stargate in silence. Right next to each other, thigh to thigh.

"Whatever, babe," he shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal at all.

But to me it was. To me, what he'd done had been what had kept me up all night. It wasn't the newfound knowledge of my father's indiscretions, or my brother's lies, but Dex. Dex who'd been the complete opposite of The Dick at the bar. How the hell one man could change his colors so quickly was incomprehensible.

That was just Charlie Dex Locke though, I guess. One contradiction after another.

"Whatever," I mocked him in a husky voice, winking before I even realized I'd done it. What the he
ll
had gotten into me?

His gaze was impen
e
trable. All that cool, gem-like blue zeroed in on me, making me just a little breathless.

I forced a smile onto my face. "Thank you anyway. It was really nice."

Still, he didn't flutter an eyelash as I widened my smile. The only thing he did was lower the coffee mug onto the kitchen countertop, his head tilting to the side. "
Baby, j
ust 'cuz you're cute doesn't mean I wasn't bein' serious about spankin' your tight little ass for doin' dumb shit, Ritz. You do it again, and you're gonna get it."

And
…
my smile came crashing down.
Do not think about him referring to your butt as tight, Ris. Focus!

"Just because I've never hit another person in my life doesn't mean I won't make you the first." I blinked coolly. "Charlie."

What did the man do? He laughed.

"I'm serious," I insisted, earning another laugh from him.

"I know, babe," Dex chuckled. "I heard all about you sellin' off the rights to my kneecaps."

Oh crap. There may have been a gulp that was processed in my throat. "About that..."

He leaned forward over the counter, elbows propped up on the edge. "Sooner or later you'll figure out that eventually I find out everythin', Ritz."

That suddenly sounded like way more of a threat that I hope he'd intended it to.

~ * ~ *

"Get that ugly shit out of my face," Blake snapped at Slim.

I—who had a hummus sandwich an inch away from my face—choked on air, right before gasping, "That's what she sai
d
," like there was a fire beneath my ass.

Slim tipped his head back and laughed, loud, pulling the sheet of paper he'd been shoving into Blake's face away. "Ah, shit."

"Sorry," I apologized, looking over at Blake. He was shaking his head, still tearing away at the baked potato he'd been eating. "You
asked for it."

He waved his fork-less hand in my direction. "Sure, smart
ass."

I waggled my eyebrows over at Slim, referring to the ugly shit Blake had been cawing at. "Not that my opinion matters, but I think it's awesome."

The piece of paper he'd been holding up against Blake's face was a design he'd finished last night. The artwork was of a bright blue dragon with huge black wings,
firing
out a spray of rainbow colors. I mean, co
n
sidering my name meant rainbow
,
I had a fondness of them. Plus, it was epic.

"You want me to save this one for you?" he asked a little too quickly.

Like I wouldn't remember he tried at least once a week to get me to agree to a tattoo. It wasn't like I hadn't thought about it regularly. I did. I loved the tattoos that the guys and Blue did, but there was only one place on my body that I could instantly think of
where
I'd want one at. That one place was the only location I couldn't have done.

The inside of my arm.

But I didn't want to hurt Slim's feelings and have him think that I didn't want his work since I'd kept shooting him down each time he brought it up.

"If you could tattoo over some scar tissue I have, I'd tell you let's do it right now. You can't though, right?"

The redhead nodded slowly, frowning. "Not a good idea." He tipped his head in question. "Where at?"

That wouldn't give away too much, would it? "My inner bicep." Well, what was left of it.

"Is it a lot?" Blake asked, narrowing his eyes.

Crap, I forgot how observant he was. "Yeah."

He pursed his lips. "Is that why you're always wearing long sleeves?"

Of course he'd notice. Of course. I mean, I did happen to be the only person I could think of that wore long-sleeved clothing every day. Sure most of the material was light, but the fact was, in Texas heat, I'd stick out like a sore thumb. Someone was bound to notice it at some point.

Most girls my age were usually trying to take clothes off instead of putting more on. That seemed to be the story of my life. When some people my age were
worrying
about certain things, I'd be stuck tackling a whole different
type of
monster. Oh well.

I wanted to touch my arm but I had to fight the urge so that I wouldn't draw more attention to it. "Yeah. It's pretty
big
."

Blake glanced down at the wrong arm before shaking his head, smiling just a bit. "Girl, we all have stuff wrong with us. You see these ears?" He pointed at them and for the first time, I noticed that they looked just a little bit larger than they should have be
en ideally proportional
. "Kids used to call me Dumbo."

Slim snorted really loud. "I can see that."

I elbowed him in the side. "That's so mean."

The redhead shrugged. "They used to call me Gingervitis." He paused. "Cinnamon dick." He looked up at the ceiling as if in deep thought. "Once, some
shit-nuggets
pulled down my pants in gym class to see if—," he sent me a sidelong glance, "the carpet matched the drapes."

"Holy crap," I started laughing, not able to help it.

Slim nodded, grinning. "Yeah. I was a late bloomer, so you can only imagine."

Blake covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking. "You had a little tonsil tickler, didn't you?"

"I hadn't hit puberty yet!"

"Be honest, that really happened like last week, didn't it?" Blake snorted.

By some miracle, right before I face-planted the desk from how hard I was laughing, I caught Slim shooting the middle finger
in
the bald man's direction.

"Fuck you, Dumbo. I was just trying to make Iris feel better." He cocked his head to look at me with an expression that showed how hard it was for him to not bust an amused gut. "Did my Little Red make you feel better about your arm?"

I didn't even have to think about it before nodding. Most of my life, my mom and
yia-yia
had told me that the imperfection gave me character, that it wasn't a big deal. And it wasn't. Really. It was ugly, but I'd managed to hide it as well as I could because frankly, more than the looks of disgust, the pity faces I got were what truly bothered me.

Most people thought that the cancer made me into some weak, broken thing. The only thing I'd sacrificed along the journey of four different surgeries was physical strength. My left arm would never be as strong as my right for obvious reasons. I
’d lost most of the muscle over a decade.
But that was it. The doctors had worried that I'd lose mobility but thankfully—
thankfully
—I didn't. It was just a little smaller and weaker. Big deal. I couldn't ask for more when the prognosis could ha
ve
been so glum.

I wasn't built out of glass. I'd been healthy and strong my entire life except for those stages throughout my childhood and teen years. It was me who had kept my family afloat when things had withered. No one needed to feel bad for me because of my arm. I was made of tougher stuff than that.

And in that moment, it struck me that I'd felt bad
for myself
. I didn't need to hide my arm to know what I was capable of, what I was made of.

Because like Blake and Slim had tried to point out, we all had our physical nuances. Blake's ears didn't make him any less friendly or creative. Slim's hair was probably his signature now that he didn't have to deal with a bunch of immature douche-bags.

I felt... renewed and grateful to them.

I couldn't help but smile over at him. "You definitely did," I snorted. "Pippi Longstocking."

To his credit, Slim waited almost a minute before tossing the balled up napkin at my face.

“I think I liked you more when you didn’t talk.”

I tossed the napkin back at him before collecting my leftovers. I opened up the fridge to put my stuff up and spotted Dex’s bottles of Nesquik lined up neatly inside. Snatching one up, I pressed the cold bottom of it to Slims’s neck as I walked past him and made my way toward the front. The office door was closed and so was the private room.

Dex was at his station with a client when I walked by. He happened to look up at the right time, so I held the bottle up and gave it a swirl, mouthing, “For you.” I tipped my head in the direction of my desk and grinned at him.

The smile that came over his face before he mouthed back, “Thanks,” made my chest constrict.

What was happening to me?

~ * ~ *

"You gonna make it all the way home?" Dex asked as we made our way out of Pins that night.

The last three hours had been painful for me to get through. Having such a fitful night of sleep the day before on top of the two hours I spent at the YMCA when Dex had dropped me off that afternoon, and then working, had paid a toll on my body. I'd caught myself falling asleep once or twice at my desk.

I nodded at him after waving goodbye to Blake. "Yeah, I'll be okay." At least I hoped so.

He gave me a weary glance like he wasn't entirely convinced I wouldn't fall off the back of his bike halfway to his house. It'd be his fault though. After I'd told him that morning that I wanted to have a swim at the Y, he'd insisted on driving me there and picking me up. It made more sense to me to drive myself there, and then work, but the man was relentless.

He had shit to do at Mayhem like always.

That shit to do was why I found myself back on his bike, bordering on delusional. So I'd blame the fact I was delusional on how I ended up in his bedroom just minutes later.

Yes, in his bed.

It’d been hard enough to keep my arms wrapped around him so that I wouldn’t fall off the bike. Dex’s warm body and the mind numbingly loud roar of his motorcycle were like a potent sleeping pill. It was only an intense fear of falling off and getting run over by a car that kept me hanging onto him for dear life through my drowsiness. The moment he parked in front of his house, my brain stopped working altogether. There weren’t any cars to run me over in his driveway, thank goodness.

I remember Dex pulling me by the hand across the circling driveway, into the house and past the living room before swiftly pushing me into his bedroom and closing the door in my face with an insistent, “You get the bed tonight.”

I wanted to argue with him, I swear I did, but when I pressed my hand to the corner of the mattress and realized it was a Tempurpedic, that thought went right back out. Just one night. At least that’s what I told myself.

Most of my clothes were stripped off, I rinsed out my mouth in his master bath, and stumbled into bed wearing just the tank top I’d worn that day and my panties. Exactly three seconds later, I was dead to the world. Hunger wasn't even a blip on my radar—nothing was.

Until the bed compressed behind me not long after I laid down.

“Dex?” I asked in a sleepy whisper. I was so tired it could
ha
ve been those masked serial killers I’d been stressing about forever, and I would
ha
ve stayed in bed regardless.

Something touched my shoulder. A husky voice made a sleepy sigh. “Couch sucks, babe.”

Even though I was tired as hell, I knew that there was something completely inappropriate about sleeping in the same bed as my boss regardless of how hot he was. And that I might have a bit of a—nope, I wasn't going to say it was a crush. That would make me feel like I was sixteen again. I liked him, that simple. How could I not?

I wasn’t even sure if I could really consider Dex a friend, even if I wanted to justify what was going on by saying that friends could sleep on beds together. It took everything in me to roll onto my back and tilt my head over to where he’d laid down on the other side of the mattress.

Besides the times when I'd had to share a bed with Will as kids, and that one time I messed around with my boyfriend a few years back, I'd never even been on the same bed as another guy. God, that made me feel lame.

It took all the baby scraps of will I’d stashed under my nails and tendons to sit up completely, yawning like it was morning time instead of the middle of the night. “I’ll go sleep on the couch then,” was what I told him, although I’m sure it sounded like some mutilated version of it.

His hand draped across my waist in a move that I had no doubt had been practiced many times in his life. “Stay. The bed’s big enough for the both of us,” was his brilliant answer.

It was the truth but still. He was laying in the middle so it defeated the purpose of his comment.

I yawned again. “It's not a good idea.” Once again I’m sure it didn’t sound anything like that out loud.

Dex grumbled, fingers wiggling at the bend of my hip and waist. “Quit bein' a prude and go to sleep, babe.”

If I'd been more awake I would
ha
ve been offended by being called a prude. Though I kind of was.

I groaned. “Dex.”