He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table and invading my space with his soapy scent and his pheromones. “You said copulate. I responded with fuck. Pretty synonymous if you looked it up in a thesaurus.”
It didn’t matter what I said. My cheeks filled with fire, yet goose bumps exploded along my arms, and my nipples dissolved all concealing efforts made by my shirt and bra. Every part of me screamed, “Fuck me, Wylder!” Except my words.
I had words. Words mattered.
“Again …” I pulled my mouth into a tight smile. “Your fantasy, not mine.”
He shook his head, the hint of playfulness in his expression vanishing as he shoved his notepad and computer into his bag before pushing his chair back and standing with Jericho. “It’s not my job to fuck you, Livy.”
I coughed, mangling the word “what” as he turned. By the time I cleared the knot of disbelief from my throat, he and Jericho were at the stairs, disappearing in a blink.
Job?
*
“I love this life.” I grinned the next morning, peering over at Kara as we paddled out a little after six in the morning.
She reciprocated the grin and shot past me a few feet. “You know … there’s no surfing in D.C. If you love this life, I’d shoot for Governor of California and call it good.”
I laughed. “You might be right. Or maybe I should marry rich, buy an island, and just surf the rest of my life. President is a pretty crappy job.”
She giggled. “So crappy. Governor is good. Marry a surfer. Raise several grommets to be wave hogs like their mom.”
“I’m not a wave hog,” I countered just before stealing the next one.
After four hours, Kara insisted we leave. Missy had set them up on a double-blind, double date, and Kara thought she needed the whole day to get ready.
“GSW is home.” She jerked her chin up as we passed the firehouse just as Slade was climbing out of his car.
Biting my bottom lip, I nodded. “I forgot to mention … he was at the library yesterday. And particularly …”
“Hot as fuck?”
“That. Of course. But arrogant as fuck would be more accurate. Our conversation took a weird turn. The next thing I knew, he was telling me it’s not his job to fuck me. A direct quote.” I pulled into the driveway.
“He what?”
“Yep. Like I asked him or made a move on him or flirted with him … which I. Did. Not.” I hopped out and grabbed my bag from the back.
Kara climbed out and shut her door, staring at the firehouse and Slade standing at the back of his car while Jericho took a piss in the yard. “Is it his job to fuck someone else? I mean … maybe he’s not into drugs. Maybe he’s a male escort. Maybe the bullet was from a disgruntled husband.”
“That’s …” I started to say ridiculous, but in reality, I knew nothing about him. “An interesting theory.”
She shrugged while turning to retrieve her bag from the back of the Jeep. “I guess the obvious next question is … how much does he charge?”
I grinned. “You’ll have to ask him. I’m not touching that one. Since he’s renting that place all by himself, I’d guess it’s more than we can afford. Maybe Aubrey could afford him.”
We giggled and strode toward the house. I made one last glance down the street at the exact moment Slade turned his gaze in my direction. It was too far to make out his expression. Probably part of the scowl family.
Later that night, after Kara and Missy left on their double date and Aubrey went to dinner with her parents, I decided to take a walk—just down the street. It was the extent of my comfort zone after the near rape incident. On the third time down and back, I slowed my stride as the black Volvo passed me and pulled into the driveway. He was home a little early for his late-night routine. Before I could cross the street to avoid walking directly in front of his house, a gray Lexus SUV pulled in behind him.
Slade climbed out of his car first. His motions were slow … like he had a gunshot wound. A woman with straight brunette hair to her shoulders and sophisticated black-framed glasses slid out of the SUV, bent down, and gave Jericho some love before standing straight again and giving Slade a gentle hug and kiss on his cheek.
A wickedly irrational emotion shot up my spine. An unexpected possessiveness toward both Slade and Jericho. Who was Miss Sophisticated and why was she showing so much affection to …
To what?
It was a sane question.
I’d known Slade for approximately six weeks. Maybe he had a girlfriend. Maybe it was his job to fuck her.
After their kissy-huggy greeting ended, they walked toward the house with Jericho in tow. I waited for him to glance back at me. He saw me. There was no way he passed me a few seconds earlier on the street and didn’t see me. Yet, he made no attempt to acknowledge me.