“If that were Whitney and Wren, that woman would be seconds away from getting her ass blistered.”

  “Whitney was in Wren’s office earlier, and I don’t imagine she has to upset him to get her ass spanked,” I offer. “Now, are you going to give me the details as to why you have bite marks on your ass?”

  “I underestimated her speed?”

  “On your lunch break?”

  “It’s personal. Jude. Can you just leave it alone?” Brooks sighs, settling his head on his folded arms. “Just sew my ass up so I can go about my day.”

  “You don’t need stitches, you big baby.”

  “Can you not call me baby while my ass is out?”

  I chuckle, grabbing some ointment for his wounds.

  “Too gay?”

  Brooks stiffens before huffing a laugh that has no humor to it.

  “There’s nothing gay about prostate stimulation. Studies show that—”

  “What is it with people being so focused on my ass today?” He huffs. “Can you please just hurry up?”

  I flip him the bird behind his head and get back to work.

  For all the jovial moods everyone was in a couple days ago when they teased me about being a virgin, they all seem to be the ones needing to blow off a little steam.

  Chapter 8

  Parker

  I growl in frustration as I overpour yet another drink, tempted to lick the tequila off my fingers even though that would be the least sanitary way to deal with the fifth mess I’ve created tonight.

  “Distracted?” the patron bellied up to the bar asks as I slide his shot and beer across to him.

  “Just a little tired,” I lie, giving him a sweet smile.

  I can’t tell him the truth, that my head is still in my bed with Jude even though it’s been days since we were there together.

  It’s bad for a tip, just like it’s bad for me that I can’t seem to get the guy out of my head. I blame it on his revelation and some deep-seated guilt I didn’t know was festering inside of me until I was put in the situation.

  “I can think of a few ways to wake you up,” the handsome man says with a wink, and I beam at him like his words and offer aren’t completely and utterly disgusting.

  The guy is good looking, but so are more than half the men who drink here while I work. Looks and a little bit of charm only gets a person so far, and if trashy pickup lines filled with innuendo are all they have left, then there’s a reason they usually end up striking out and going home alone.

  I don’t tell him any of this. Instead, I lean closer, knowing I’m angled right when his eyes go to the mounds of my chest. My corset—part of my uniform—pushes them up to damn near around my ears.

  “Is that right?” He nods enthusiastically, and I’d bet a week’s worth of tips that the man is at least getting a chub from this interaction. “Orgasms usually put me to sleep.”

  “I’ll make you come so hard that you’ll—”

  “Can you put your tits away long enough to get me a drink?” a man snaps from the end of the bar, his fist banging on the bar top to emphasize his agitation.

  “Sure, doll. What can I get for you?” I say after standing, plastering a fake smile on my lips, and walking in his direction.

  “Scotch, neat.” I reach for the mid-level stuff which is what most of the patrons come in and order. They don’t want to look cheap, but their pockets couldn’t handle drinking the high-end stuff. Plus, I have a lot of regulars, and it would be a huge hit to the bank, and something they’d struggle to explain to their wives with how often they sit at the bar and chat with me while on shift.

  “Not that swill,” he snaps. “The Macallan.”

  I reach a little higher on the shelf and pull down his whiskey of choice, making sure not to over pour this one.

  “One twenty-five,” I tell him before placing his drink in front of him. We’ve had too many people come in, order the expensive stuff, and dart out the door. I slide it across the bar when he passes me a credit card. “Want me to open a tab?”

  “Just the one,” he hisses, the glass already halfway to his lips.

  The snarl doesn’t leave his face, and although I’m in no mood to deal with angry assholes who set out to make other people miserable, I smile kindly at him when I pass back his credit card and slip to sign.

  “Anything else?” I ask, when really all I want to do is get away from the jerk.

  Even the guy throwing out ignorant pickup lines on the other end of the bar is better company than this bitter guy.

  He grunts, the non-response coupled with a look of disgust on his face that carries more irritation than any other stranger I’ve seen.

  Because there’s no reason for his hostility toward me, I wipe down the already clean bar right in front of him just to keep him irritated. Petty, I know, but I have to get my thrills somewhere.

  “Do all the bartenders around here own Hermes watches?” he asks, eyes glued to the leather band around my wrist as I continue to wipe the bar.

  “Only the lucky ones,” I tell him with a quickly fading smile and a shrug.

  I don’t know this man, and even if I did, I wouldn’t open up about my life. It’s none of his business how I get my money. And despite the shame I feel every time I spend the thousands of dollars of hush money my biological father continues to put in my account every month, it doesn’t stop me from spending it. I consider it a giant fuck you to Weston Lewis and the agreement he made with my mother so long ago.

  His dedication to keep his adulterous ways from his wife put me through college and keeps me living very comfortably. Their secrets aren’t mine, but I made an oath to my mother long ago that I’d never open my mouth and let those betrayals come to light. She took that guilt to the grave along with the love she had for a man who only used her and chewed her up before spitting her out and moving on.

  “And those Rag & Bone jeans seem a little out of place for a bartender serving half pour, overpriced scotch.”

  I lean in closer to the man, a caustic smile on my face. “Nothing worse than a homeless-looking man who knows designer labels.”

  “Despite the wealth covering your ass, wrist, and the diamonds hanging from your ears, it still doesn’t make you anything less than a whore,” he spits, the scent of scotch on his angry lips.

  I cock an eyebrow at him, not wanting to let this guy get under my skin, but I’m unable to shove down the disgrace I feel for what my life really is.

  I’m not a whore, and I don’t feel an ounce of regret for the choices I’ve made in life, but I’m not in possession of expensive things because I spread my legs for a rich man. I’m the bastard product of a mom who made that choice. She was in love, falling for every syrupy-sweet lie that fell from a man’s lips.

  His words are nothing I haven’t heard before. Bitter people tend to want to make others bitter as well. His issues say more about him than they do me, so I give the asshole a wide grin.

  “Anything else I can get for you, sir?”

  The man snarls at me like a rabid dog getting ready to attack, and I feel like my work is done. I head back down to the man with innuendo-laced lines.

  “Still doing alright?”

  “That guy is an asshole,” he mutters.

  Yet, you did absolutely nothing to put an end to any of it.

  The people who say chivalry is dead are correct.

  “Just another day,” I tell him. “Another beer?”

  He nods, clearly agitated that someone would speak to me the way the other guy did, but he doesn’t have the balls to say a thing to him about it.

  Typical.

  All men suck.

  And that’s why I don’t feel bad about using men the very same way they have been using women for centuries.

  Well, except for one man, but I’m supposed to be staying busy so that guy doesn’t get time in my head.

  “Had a great time. Thanks.”

  God, those words he spoke to me right before leaving without looking back. The only thing missing was a smarmy wink and a fucking pinch on the ass for good measure.

  I was floored when he spoke to them, doubted his honesty about being a virgin.

  And then I let my mind dig deeper.

  I felt dirty and used by morning time.

  I felt like he should’ve left a couple twenties on the bedside table.

  I still feel agitated about the entire thing. Well, not the actual sex because even as mad as I’ve grown, it was really good sex, possibly the best I’ve had in a while… or ever if honesty is a thing I subscribe to.

  “Let me know when you’re ready to cash out,” I tell the flirty man before nodding to my co-bartender to let him know I’m heading to the back for a break.

  I normally don’t spend much time away from the actual bar when I’m on the clock. Stepping away gives me time to think, and I stay out of my head as much as I possibly can, but the air in the bar has become stifling.

  With hands on my hips, I lean against the wall in the hallway, avoiding the employee lounge because facing people who just continuously bitch about their existence is another thing I just can’t stomach right now.

  The asshole sitting at the bar isn’t the only person in the place who hates me on sight just because I have a nice watch. I don’t feel the need to explain why I wear designer jeans and expensive earrings. I don’t owe anyone an explanation, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to willingly open myself up to criticism and nasty looks.

  Not working isn’t an option even though financially I don’t have to. I pay my bills with my wages and use Daddy’s hush money for ridiculously expensive things. I never wanted to become reliant on the funds that just continue to show up month after month despite being grown and capable of caring for myself.

  I refuse to become my mother, substituting cash for a man’s love.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose, wondering just when I started to hate all men.

  It makes no sense. Other than having a father that I’ve never met and who doesn’t want anything to do with me, I’ve never been mistreated. I haven’t been assaulted or hurt. I get hit on a lot, men thinking it’s okay to speak a certain way to me with no repercussions, but they don’t put their hands on me. They don’t corner me in the alley and insist on something they think they deserve.

  A headache threatens at my temples and I feel a wave of exhaustion roll over my entire body.

  It’s all Jude’s fault of course.

  I haven’t slept well, and clearly, I can’t even get through a shift at work without getting lost in my head.

  I knew sleeping with him would be messy, but I figured it would just be awkward at the shooting classes with Hayden, not seeping into every aspect of my life.

  I push away from the wall, knowing I need to find another distraction, someone else to erase him from my memory so I can move on, hating that he’s managed to force my hand, something no one has ever managed in the past.

  Next time I see Jude Morris, I may just kick him in the shin for all the trouble.

  Chapter 9

  Jude

  “Why you mad, bro?”

  A slow smile works its way across my face.

  “Good morning to you, too, Puff.”

  I roll my eyes at the silly bird, my smile slipping a little when I glance over and see Wren staring at me with narrowed eyes.

  “What?” Guiltily, I look away.

  I can’t help the great mood I’ve been in. I’ve tried to keep the smile from my face and walk with heavier steps even though I feel like I’m walking on clouds.

  “What did you do?”

  “Nothing.” I hold my hand out, making kissing noises at Puff Daddy.

  The bird tilts his head, staring from my hand to my face over and over.

  “Fucking creep!” he screeches. “Where’s your van? I don’t want candy.”

  “Something,” Wren argues. “You’re being weird. No one likes my bird.”

  I continue to ignore my friend, hoping he’ll just drop it so we can talk about work shit.

  “I only look like that after Whitney suc—”

  “God, baby. I love the back of your throat.” Puff’s wings spread wide as he prances back and forth. “Swallow for Daddy. Mmm. Good girl.”

  “Yeah,” Wren says as he points to the obscene animal. “That.”

  I chuckle. “Do you have the information or not?”

  “For a price.”

  “Deacon pays you very well.”

  “Not the price I’m looking for. I want information.”

  I point to the extreme setup behind him. “You have the world literally at your fingertips.”

  “Are you giving me permission to go digging?” He spins around in his chair, fingers hovering over the keyboard, a threat of epic proportions.

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  There’s a glint in his eyes that spells trouble.

  “Really? Let’s see.”

  His fingers start working the keys, information flashing faster than my brain can keep up with.

  “I just need the workup on those masks,” I remind him.

  He holds one finger up to silence me.

  “There’s nothing to find. You’re wasting both of our time.”

  “Oh shit!” Puff says as if he can read the information that’s rolling over Wren’s computer screens.

  His fingers stop, shoulders going stiff before he turns around with a sly smile on his face.

  I do my best to school my face, trying not to give him any further ammunition.

  “Here you go.” He grabs a folder from his desk and passes it to me.

  “What’s that look for?” He knows what I did. I can see it in his eyes.

  “Nothing.”

  “Something,” I argue.

  “This feels like déjà vu,” he says, referring back to our conversation moments ago, only now the roles have reversed. “Do you need anything else?”

  “Can I count on you to keep your mouth shut?”

  He taps a finger on his chin, tilting his head to the side comically.

  “Wren!”

  “We don’t keep secrets!” the damn bird screams, making me jump.

  “Was it good?”

  I have to look away from him, but I know he can see the heat beginning to warm my cheeks.

  “That’s all I want to know, man.”

  “Epic,” I tell him, snapping the folder from his hands and walking out of the room.

  If there was ever a man that loved gossip, Wren is that guy. I have no doubt details of my night with Parker will spread across the office like wildfire. Hell, he’s probably already sent a mass email to everyone in the office, but when I walk into the breakroom, causing Quinten and Ignacio to look up from their phones, they both just smile instead of grilling me for information.

  “Hey, man!”

  I look over to the voice and see Ignacio’s son near the fridge. Maybe they aren’t speaking up because the thirteen-year-old is here, but regardless, I’m just grateful for the reprieve.

  “Hey, Alex. How’s it going? No school today?”

  “Teacher in-service or something like that. I have practice later though.”

  “Still getting ready for the big game?”

  “Always. Are you going to make it to the game?”

  “If you want me there, then I’m there, bud.” I clap him on the back and make my way to the coffee machine.

  “Anything interesting?” Brooks asks, pointing to the folder under my arm.

  “I’ve been tasked with finding replacement CBRN masks,” I explain with a smile.

  Deacon always makes sure the team has the newest technology in a bid to keep his people the safest he can in such an unpredictable world.

  Brooks slow blinks at me.

  “Chemical, biological, radiological, and nuclear masks.”

  More blinking. Did his head just nod like he was falling asleep?

  “Gas masks,” I mutter. “New gas masks.”

  A snore escapes his lips, and if Alex weren’t in the room, I’d tell him to fuck off. After a quick check to make sure the kid is otherwise preoccupied, I shoot Brooks a middle finger, earning me a grin and a soft laugh.

  The guys love giving me a hard time over my research, but I know they’re also grateful for the time I spend on things they consider mundane.

  Of course, I have to annoy the shit out of them any chance I can get.

  “ECBC, that’s Edgewood Chemical Biological Center for a simpleton like yourself.” He rolls his eyes. “They have a new one, but Wren pulled a list of all the newest ones.”

  “What did I do?”

  My spine stiffens at the sound of his voice. I’m not surprised he’s out here. Maybe he’s wanting to give me a hard time about Parker in front of everyone. He’s a smart man. He’s put the timeline together. There’s no doubt I left the office the other night, went home for less than an hour—I had to shower and unload the gun—before going to Parker’s place. Hell, he’s so thorough, I wouldn’t bat an eye if he already had time stamps and video to corroborate his discoveries.

  “I was just telling Brooks how amazingly fast you got the information I needed on the new masks.”

  “It’s what I do,” he says, reaching past me and grabbing the cup of coffee I managed to make since I’ve been in the breakroom. “Thanks.”

  I don’t say a word or try to grab the coffee back, and despite Brooks narrowed eyes filled with suspicion, I just let it happen.

  This type of blackmail I can handle. If all it takes is a cup of coffee to keep Wren’s lips zipped, then I’m willing to make that sacrifice.

  I’m not embarrassed about my night with Parker. I’ve relived it over and over and over, and spent more time in my bed than I have since I discovered my dick as a preteen, but bragging about it doesn’t feel right.

  “My man!”

  Us three guys turn around to watch Puff Daddy fly into the room and land on the back of the couch near Alex’s head.

  Ignacio frowns, but doesn’t open his mouth to complain about the dirty-mouthed bird being near his son. Alex grew up in a very rough neighborhood in Houston. I can’t imagine that bird will say anything that kid hasn’t already heard.

  “What’s new with the honies!”

 

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