Rag in one hand, liquor bottle in the other, Crew stands perfectly still, his eyes icy sharp and pinned on me.
This look used to scare me. It’s dark, dangerous, and daring you to make a move while promising no matter what you choose, it’s the wrong one.
When angry Crew comes out to play, everyone loses.
I learned that in junior high when I snuck two bottles of Corona from the ice chest I was tasked to clean out after a trip. Jimmy Hanson, a kid from down the street, came over, and we rode to the park, hid behind the bathrooms to “indulge” in a flavor I could only describe as warm piss. Not that we had a chance to stomach more than what was held in the neck. Crew found us too fast, and all hell broke loose.
Jimmy’s nose didn’t fare too well.
And then Jimmy’s older brother Johnny came to the house ready for a fight.
His nose didn’t look so hot in the end either, and my bike tires were right there with him.
That was the first time my mom grounded Crew. Discipline was new to him, being his parents didn’t parent at all, but my hot, older neighbor crush turned foster brother took it in stride. Mostly.
He did sneak out the window once, but only so he could chaperone my eighth-grade dance alongside Memphis. Pretty sure my dad was in on that one, though.
Why else would the alarms on the windowsills mysteriously be off that night?
The second time he was grounded was when he boxed the kid across the street’s older brother for fun… and a crisp hundred-dollar bill. He used his winnings to pay for his baseball uniform before my dad had a chance to cover the fees for him. Pretty sure my dad only pretended to ground him that time.
Crew never did well with handouts, always working to earn his keep and fighting for that sense of independence.
Sometimes literally.
Maybe if I weren’t slightly intoxicated—heavy on the slightly—I’d still fear the wrath of Crew Taylor, but for some reason, I find the sharp angles of his forever-frustrated facial expressions quite entertaining.
He’s pissed, but I warned him good and well.
If you really think about it, it’s his fault I’m here.
It’s not until a girl with dark hair stretches her arm across his chest to try and reach whatever it is he’s blocked that he shows any sign of life.
Familiar with his surroundings, he lowers the bottle back into its place without so much as a glance, drapes the cloth over his shoulder, and leans forward on his forearm, bringing us eye level.
He pushes my twenty back toward me. “Go home. Now.”
I tap my lip as if contemplating his command, but I don’t get a chance to say a word.
“Davis.” He says my name like a warning. A hot, growly one. “Go. I will call you tomorrow.”
“Why? So you can deny me in the daylight?” I grab hold of the chair beside me, attempting to hoist myself into it, without looking away as he had with the bottle, but I slip a little, forcing me to focus on the task at hand. Giggling at myself, I hoist my body up and turn to him once more.
He stares, shock drawing a line between his brows. “Are you drunk?”
“This is a bar, is it not?”
“You just walked in.”
“Maybe I drank earlier. Maybe I didn’t.”
“You’re going home.” He yanks the rag off his shoulder and tosses it to the counter.
“I just got here!”
“I don’t give a shit.” Crew begins curving around the edge we’re near, so he can get to the same side I’m on, but even as he passes person after person, he keeps his eyes connected to mine with each and every step.
He’s almost to me now, his lips pressed in a firm, angry line.
“Well, fuck me! Is that my future wife?!”
Crew stops midstep, and my attention snaps toward the voice, to the blur of bronzed skin flying around the opposite side of where I am.
“Drew!” My smile is wide. “You’re here, and you’re… wow.” My gaze falls to his strong neck, up and over his strong shoulders, all to drag back down to the deep cuts visible through his army-green shirt. Damn.
“You’re like… wow, wow.”
Hands lock into the armrest of my barstool right then, and my shoulders are nudged a hair. My neck stretches to glance behind me, finding Crew pressed at my back. He’s so close I have to lean forward an inch to see his face. The way he stares down his nose like a disappointed father has me ready to roll my eyes, but my knee is nudged, so I turn back to his brother.
“My god, Drew. What did you do in Yosemite, wrestle bears and eat them for dinner?”
Drew’s smirk is playfully insufferable as he leans down, wrapping his arms around me until I’m lifted off the seat. “You look good too, wifey.” He kisses my cheek.
“Back behind the bar,” Crew barks, his palms coming down on my shoulders, pressing my ass back into the black leather.
Drew’s dimples grow more defined, and he lifts his hands. “Don’t shoot. I was only hugging the girl.” He looks to me quickly. “I’ll find you later and fill you in on them bears, huh?” he teases, tossing me a wink as he gets back to work.
I sigh, watching him go.
The genes in that family, I swear.
Swift and sudden, my chair is spun, causing my hands to shoot out and latch on to the faux leather for dear life.
Crew is there, bending to my level, his musky, minty man smell all up in my soused senses.
He glares, and it’s as glorious as ever.
“If I didn’t fire someone yesterday and have another person call out tonight, we would be out the door already,” he promises. “If I don’t start pouring drinks, this place is gonna get crazy. If it gets crazy, I’ll have to whoop some ass. If I have to whoop ass, yours will be one of them. Got me?” My chest flushes, and he continues, “Sit. Do not move. And wait.”
Ugh!
I’m about to argue, but then a pretty pink drink is lifted over my shoulder, a large candy straw with an umbrella sticking out of it.
Crew groans, and I spin so I’m facing the bar again, smiling at Drew as he passes it to me.
“Extra sweet, just for you.”
“Why, thank you, kind sir.” I accept, and off he goes, but not before flipping his gaze to the brute at my back.
Pulling the sweet straw between my lips, I flick my eyes to Crew.
Jaw clenched, he gets back to work, his eyes bouncing my way every few minutes, but as soon as my drink is long gone, the sour candy nothing but remnants along my lips, I forget to pay attention to whether or not he is and hit the dance floor.
I can’t say for sure when I went from slithering snake to super sloth, but it definitely happened. My body is heavy, my feet unsteady, and as I turn, I’m ten seconds from taking a tumble, but a steady hand comes to my rescue.
My eyes manage to meet the man’s in front of me, and two-point-five seconds later, the security the blond beast’s stature provided—who saved me from face-planting—is long gone. The next thing I know, I’m transported back to summer camp before eighth grade, when I busted my head and Crew thought I was dying. He swept me up in his arms and carried me all the way to the office. Except there are no big, bright butterflies in mismatched frames on these walls, instead messy files and notepads lie randomly on a rickety, chipped bookcase.
Crew tosses me on a tiny cot in the corner and points his long, strong finger my way.
“We’re twenty fucking minutes from closing.” He speaks through gritted teeth. “Think you can keep your ass where it is until then?”
Sure, he phrased it as a question, but it was so not a question, and he’s already on his way out the door when he says it. I manage to give a half nod before he slams it with his exit.
With an exasperated huff and blurry vision, I push to my feet.
And then I snoop around what must be his office.
Crew
The crowd doesn’t linger too long after last call, leaving no more than a handful of stragglers to arrange rides for, but in a frustrating twist of events, I’m standing here wishing there were a dozen. Two fucking dozen. Anything to keep me from having to go back into that office and lift a limp Davis into my arms so I can get her into the bed she belongs in… which is no-fucking-body’s but her own.
A fact she doesn’t seem to understand.
Four days. I glared at her little “offer,” printed on baby-blue paper, I might fucking add, for four days before I finally read it over, only to find the sneaky little thing had a copy of the essay I shoved back at her hidden behind it. Read them both, put them back, and did it again the next day.
And again the day after that.
Each time was worse, bringing with it guilt I can’t place.
One of the many fucking problems I’m having is knowing Davis Franco is no liar. She’s not conniving or manipulative, both rare, desirable qualities. Both annoying as fuck in this specific circumstance, as it means she’s not only certain I’m the man to do what she wants done, but dead serious. She knows what she’s asking for, and she’s ready to do what needs to be done to make it happen.
As if giving her body away isn’t worth more than a hunk of fucking metal, sentimental value or not. A perfectly pristine, limited-edition hunk of metal, yeah, but that changes nothing. Her body’s worth more and she should know this.
Her mama would lose her shit if she knew what her baby girl was up to.
I’m about to lose mine, almost did tonight.
The bloodstain on my shoulder from a certain blond bitch who dared to touch her did nothing to ease my irritation.
She’s lucky I didn’t—
“Are you restocking those bottles or testing their durability?”
My head whips left, and I glare at Paula, the only server I can depend on.
“Spoiler alert? They’re not shatterproof. Clay has the scars to prove it.” She chuckles as if her busting a bottle over her boyfriend’s head ain’t no thing. “Not much to do in here. I’m on for another hour, and Drew’s getting the last of the drunkies into their Ubers as we speak.” She jerks her head toward the back. “Go, take the girl home, but hurry back, so you can tell me who she is.”
When my frown deepens, she laughs louder, tossing the used rags in a basket and carrying them around the corner.
Sighing, I set the crate of liquor on the countertop and head for my office, shocked as shit when Davis isn’t out cold but leaning against the desk chair, staring at the bookcase against the back wall.
She turns when the door creaks behind me, stumbling over her own feet, but I dart forward, catching her upper arm before she can trip.
Bloodshot and half-closed copper eyes meet mine. Davis giggles, smashing her lips to one side as she stares up at me.
“Crew Taylor,” she whispers. “Who knew you could be so…”
“So what?” I prompt, moving my hands to her hips, steadying her.
“So… unorganized.”
I scoff, shuffling back a few inches to put some space between us.
Davis waves a drunken hand at the files she’s stacked two times too high on the small wooden desk.
“I found coupons”—she points to the garbage can—“that expired in January. It’s May.”
“Surprised your vision’s clear enough to read the dates.”
She grins wider. “That makes two of us.”
I’m tempted to smile at the brat. “Time to go home, Baby Franco.”
“K, but fair warning, if I try to move, I might fall. Or puke. I had seventy-seven percent of a bottle of wine to the dome, and I left nothing from the drink Drew gave me. I even licked the rim.”
“Seventy-seven percent, huh?” I pull the string on the light a couple times to turn the fan on.
“Possibly seventy-nine.”
“Sounds about right.” I guide her through the door, and sure enough, she trips over nothing, causing her to laugh and fall against the wall.
Her head rolls along the wood until her gaze finds mine and she lifts her arms like a child. “Commander Crew to the rescue?”
Shaking my head, I bend, cradling her in my arms, instantly regretting it when the silky pads of her fingertips come up, tapping along the skin just above my collar.
“How come you don’t want to help me?” she begins to slur.
“Your choice of words on this subject is bullshit.”
Davis’s head snaps up, and she tries to glare, but since she’s so trashed, she only manages to look cross-eyed at me. “Oh, come on. Like people haven’t offered you less, and you haven’t accepted with ease. At least you get something out of this.”
“Stop,” I snap, cutting off her bullshit as I round the corner, taking the four short steps down to the main floor with quicker movements than I should with her in my arms.
Accept with ease, she said.
Yeah, fucking right.
“Come on, Crew,” she whines, undeterred. “You don’t even have to like it.”
For fuck’s sake.
“Just slide in and—” She cuts herself off, a loud, popping sound pushing past her lips.
I jerk to a stop, glaring down at her, but she tugs herself up, looking up and over my shoulder when my brother’s loud-ass laughter fills the space.
“Hey, Drew.” She smiles.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he teases, his eyes sliding to mine in question.
“Go away.”
“No, wait!” Davis wiggles, but I don’t let her go, so she tips her head all the way back, looking at him upside down while I keep moving for the door. “What do you think, Drew? Shouldn’t he help me if he’s capable of helping?”
“I say give the girl whatever it is she’s asking for.” He chuckles, and I’m about to slap him upside his head.
He has no idea what she’s asking for.
“Aw,” she practically fucking coos. “See, you’re the sweet one. That’s why I used to pretend you were my boyfriend.”
She did what?
Davis jolts then. “Oh my god! You could totally—”
“Okay.” I shift, tossing her over my shoulder, and get the hell out.
Enough of that shit.
Is she about to throw her crazy my brother’s way? My brother, who would probably jump straight to it, taking what she claims she’s ready to give as if he was worthy of it.
He’s not.
I’m sure as fuck not.
Why’s she doing this?
“Swear to God, if I could whoop your ass, girl,” I mumble as I buckle her into my front seat.
“Hmm?” she hums, attempting to get her lids to open.
“Nothing. Go to sleep.” I slam the door, taking a few deep breaths before climbing in on the driver’s side.
If I didn’t help her dad move her into her apartment three summers ago, I’d have no idea where I was going. I haven’t been back inside since that day, the bullshit her brother dragged me into forcing my fucking hand in ways she couldn’t imagine, but I remember well which one it is.
Might have passed by a couple times on my way wherever.
She doesn’t stir once on the drive, so I figure she’s sleeping, but as I turn off the engine at the curb of her place, she sits up, smearing black shit all over her face as she rubs at her sleepy eyes. I help her to the door, trying to keep quiet once inside so we don’t wake her roommate if she’s home.
“Same room?”
Davis nods. “Wait, wait.”
I freeze.
“The wine bottle, it’s on the counter. Throw it away in the dumpster outside? It can’t be in the house.”
My lips form a tight line, and I can almost hear her unspoken thought… just in case. But I nod and she closes her eyes.
“Thanks.”
She’s feeling like shit now. Her brows are caved, and she groans as I lower her to the bed. She manages to get her shoes kicked off and her blanket pulled over her on her own, even if she is lying on top of the other half of it.
In the kitchen, I search for a water bottle, but she has none, so I fill a cup from the sink and take it to her.
She’s already breathing softly, but I bend down, giving her a little shake and her lids peel open. She smiles at the cup and pushes onto her elbow.
“Such a do-gooder,” she slurs, taking a small drink before lying back down and closing her eyes again. “But won’t do me gooder than someone else will.”
I can’t stop the small chuckle that escapes, and her lips twitch.
Davis sighs, my name leaving her lips in a soft, longing whisper.
Moving her hair from her face, I push out a deep breath, slowly rising to my feet.
The girl has no idea how far I’ve gone to protect her.
From the world and from me.
“Missed you too, Sweets,” I murmur.
And then I get the fuck out of there.
