Page 47 of He Has Pluck

“The secret girlfriend,” I say half to myself. He gives me a look, and I button it up. “I’m going to the liquor store to stock up on some Glenlivet to finish the edits, put together the clips we have for the week and figure out what we need for narrative.” I get up and walk from the room.

“Great. Let’s get some Jack Daniels, too,” he says as he keeps up with my brisk pace. Ignoring him, I fling open the front door as if the house is a jail cell. I want to get away from him, but he follows me outside.

“This isn’t a group activity,” I say as I get in my car. I flick the lock button before he can open the passenger door, and I roll down my window. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back.”

He gives me a skeptical look, and I give him the finger again because that’s all I have. I’ve been shameless all week, leaving him alone, and he knows where I’ve been going even if I haven’t said, haven’t let on a thing. Because he knows me, and even as cool as I am, there’s a palpable chemistry between Hockey Boy and me that an observer like Carlos can spot a mile away.

So, why am I doing it? Why am I allowing myself to get lost in this obsession with Jason Tansem of all people? Maybe because he’s no threat to me. Maybe because he’s the sexiest hunk of man I’ve ever met or slept with. Maybe because he has no expectations.

All of those things add up to a temptation I can’t fight. Ruminski was right. I needed this break in assignments, but I can’t blow it. Especially not over Jason the hockey boy. My conscience pinches because he’s a decent guy. He’s not ambitious in the way I think of ambition, but he has ambition. He’s not a loser. He’s strong-minded. He’s vulnerable, too, but not any more than I am.

He’s not heroic. It’s his fatal flaw. Not that I’m looking for a guy. But if I were, I wouldn’t choose him.

My body, on the other hand, would choose him all day and night. It’s one of those once-in-a-lifetime connections—or at least the once-in-my-lifetime-so-far connection—that I can’t let go without indulging. So sue me.

I run into the liquor store, which is so close I should have walked, and get the biggest bottle of Glenlivet they have.

When I get back, I find Carlos pacing the great room, waiting for me like I wasn’t going to show.

“Why aren’t you at the computer?” He gives me a scowl. “I was gone all of ten minutes.” I say, pushing past him and ripping my bottle out of the bag as I head for the kitchen.

“Where’s my JD?” he asks.

“I forgot. Get your own.”

“Never mind, I’ll have some of your shit.” He twists his mouth. “I’m always taking your shit.”

I snort. “Good one.” But I pour two glasses of Glenlivet over ice, giving him extra cubes because that’s how he likes it, watered down. I take my place at the computer, take a long sip of the whiskey and get to work.

* * *

It’s about eleven pm, and I’m pacing around the office with the bottle in my hand, not drinking, but holding onto it in case. Carlos is at the computer, doing what he does with the last clip, though we agreed I get veto power. My phone vibrates in my pocket.

Glancing to make sure he’s still riveted on the screen, I slip the phone from my pocket and check the message. It’s the fourth one tonight from Jason, and my hand tightens on the bottle.

I don’t read it because I can’t trust myself not to respond. And by response, I mean drive over there for my fix of him because it’s about more than sex, more than the mere explosive orgasms. It’s about being with him, feeling his hands on me, listening to the words he whispers to me like showers of stardust, bringing me to another world of being, making me feel like a goddess, like the most important person in the universe.

He makes me feel indestructible, because exposing myself to him, allowing myself to be vulnerable to him, doesn’t destroy me. It makes me feel stronger. What the fuck do I do with that?

“Aren’t you going to answer your text?” Carlos says, still staring at the screen, still tapping on the keyboard. Fuck.

“I’ll get to it.” I keep my cool.

He snorts. “You may as well. He’s not going anywhere. He’s as obsessed with you as you are with him.” He shakes his head and turns to me. “I would never have believed it if I didn’t see it for myself.”

“What the hell are you talking about? It’s a fling. I’ve had flings before.” No sense lying to him about it now.

“I don’t know what you see in him,” he says, expecting an answer.

I shrug. “He feels safe.” It’s a costly admission, but if I can tell anyone, it’s Carlos. He knows all about how I fell apart after the shooting. A moment of dizziness hits me.

He studies me, gets up from the computer and walks over to me. I don’t panic until he gets close and puts his hands on my arms. Shit.

“Come to bed with me instead. You’re safe with me,” he says.

My gut clenches, making me nauseous because the idea revolts me, but I don’t believe him.

I push his hands off me and back up reflexively, then I realize I need to say something. Could he possibly be serious? I don’t want him to walk out, to lose him. I don’t have many friends.