Tug (Irreparable 3)

He holds his keys out and the lights flash on the sleek black Porsche in front of us. Of course he drives a Porsche. It’s a classic choice for an arrogant playboy overcompensating for some deficiency in his life. Hopefully he’s not hung like a buck gerbil, or it’s going to be an extremely long night.

Once we’re in his car, I pull out my cell and text the sitter that I’ll be home in the morning, and to kiss Javier goodnight for me. She’s not my usual sitter, and I hope she’ll be okay with it. Part of me worries that Ryan is a lunatic, and I should run back inside and tell my boss I can’t go through with it. But I don’t, because the other part of me wants to fuck him and get him out of my system. Maybe then I can evict him from my thoughts.

“Who are you texting?” Ryan asks.

“My sitter.”

“Ah, for your brother.”

I glance over and shoot him a look.

“Do you really think he’s my brother?”

“Oh.” He looks surprised. “But you’re so young.”

I nod. “Twenty-two.”

“And he’s four-ish?”

“Almost six.”

Ryan’s forehead crinkles in thought. I expect some judgmental comment, but instead he says, “Well, shit happens, right?”

“Yep.” I laugh. “Fifteen and stupid happened a lot where I grew up and to most of the girls I work with.”

“Where are your parents?”

I look out the window and try not to cry. Fighting the sharp ache in my chest grows impossible, and I heave a breath. “I can’t.”

“Whoa, hey. It’s fine. You don’t have to talk about it. I want us to have fun tonight.”

I smile, tucking my hands between my knees. “Thank you. I don’t like to talk about them.”

He gives me an understanding nod. When we line up to cross the border, I ask, “Where are we going?”

“My place in San Diego.”

I’m about to ask how he plans to sneak me across the border and then remember our run-in after Papa’s doctor’s appointment. Guess he’s smart enough to realize between that and my lack of an accent, I’m not a native to Mexico.

“Why your place?”

“Because I want to.”

“Do you always do what you want?” I ask, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in my tone.

He turns his head and lifts a brow. “Always.”

“Your place, huh? How do you know I won’t case the place, come back in a few weeks with a truck, and rob you blind?”

“Seriously?”

“I wouldn’t, but you don’t know me. You should be more careful.”

He shrugs but doesn’t look over. “So Jim’s a regular?” he says as a question.

“Yes.”

“Do you have a lot of regulars?”