Lawbreaker (Unbreakable Book 3) Page 6

  Ben eyed me, but said nothing.

  I handed him a bottle of water, then walked along and ate my dog, following a line of lampposts, one yellow glowing pool after another, toward the increasing sound of laughter and music.

  “What’s with all the revelry?” The warmth of Ben’s shoulder brushed my arm.

  I gasped at the shock of our unexpected contact. But when I glanced up, Ben seemed unaffected, unaware even, as he chomped down the last quarter of his meal. He wadded up the paper wrapper, then arced the foil ball into a wrought-iron-caged trash can to his left.

  Forget the jolt of his touch that still sizzled across your skin in the best kind of way. Focus on his question. Which hadn’t been about us at all.

  He’d meant the live folk band streaming an electric violin solo, the buzzing of dozens of conversations, the clinking of glasses. A street party in full swing. “First Friday.”

  “Right. Heard about that.”

  Me too. Unable to stop ingrained habit, my gaze flicked across the crowd, identified brand names, gleaming precious metal, bulging pockets weighed down with excess money.

  “So, about that job.” Ben remained beside me, shoulder to shoulder, close, but no longer touching.

  Still impacting me, though—down to my bones.

  What is it about you that makes me want to risk...touch?

  On a frustrated sigh, I dove into the middle of a foursome of wealthy girls who stumbled by. They were ridiculously easy marks with their designer bags dangling, forgotten, while glazed eyes tried to focus on the red wine that sloshed in the mason jar each girl held steady with great care—their liquid valuables seemingly more precious than any other at the moment.

  Child’s play.

  A whole lot easier than a boring, feet-aching, eight-hour bartending shift. “No job.”

  “Yes, job.”

  “Why?” I whirled around and planted my hands on my hips, abandoning the treasure trove of unsuspecting donators. The girls weren’t going anywhere fast, but Ben sure as hell needed to be.

  As in gone. Off my back.

  Because I couldn’t handle new and different. I couldn’t handle Ben—not with everything I’d been through. And I definitely didn’t want to find out why he affected me to such a great degree.

  “Because.” He pegged me with that penetrating-stare thing again. “You need me.”

  I snorted. “You’re high.”

  He took a step closer, spoke lower, slower. “You want what I have to offer.”

  Ouch.

  I did want it. Or had wanted it.

  The job. You naïve fool. Not him.

  Yep. I’d wanted that bartending job.

  But that’d been before he’d yanked the rug out from under me. Before I’d gone out on a limb and trusted in something new, an ideal I’d thought I’d wanted. Not gonna happen again.

  “Not buyin’.”

  “Not selling.”

  “Sounds like you’re sellin’ it pretty hard to me.”

  “How would you know? You won’t even listen.” He raked a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it until several locks tumbled in a wild mess over his forehead. “Please. Hear me out.”

  His voice had softened. Frustration pulled down his brows, but then he raised them a fraction, wrinkling his forehead. Big dark-gray puppy-dog eyes pleaded with me.

  “Fine,” I grumbled.

  I’m gonna regret this on so many levels.

  But I couldn’t turn away someone in need. Hadn’t ever been able to. Had been there once. Very, very in need. And in my darkest hours, when I’d really needed the smallest act of kindness to keep up hope, I’d gotten it. Since then, I’d made it my life’s mission to help those who asked—and those who didn’t.

  Ben hadn’t outright asked for help. But he definitely needed it. His pain rode between the lines in his expression, shimmered in his eyes.

  “I can’t have you work behind my bar.”

  I waited. That listening part? Apparently involved a huge amount of patience. “Established. But I’m not bussing tables. Not waitressing.”

  “Not yet, anyway.”

  “Uh…I’m never waitressing.” In a boob-puffing bustier? No way. “My only interest is in bartending. I can’t work behind your bar? Stalemate.”

  He gave a subtle headshake. “I meant not yet behind the bar at Loading Zone.”

  “Intriguing.” Congratulations. Interest piqued. “Go on. Wherever am I going to tend bar not at your bar.”

  “At a charity event.”

  Amazed he had any other business besides Loading Zone, my mind blanked for an instant. Then it rebooted at the appealing idea. Helping others. Legitimately. Only there had to be a catch. Why would Loading Zone’s bar be off-limits, but no problem with me working a charity? Maybe the money sucked. Or the event.

  “What kind of charity event?” I took a couple of slow steps back, placing Ben squarely between me and the tempting street party.

  I’d learned about crazy charity events, through bits of eavesdropped gossip at expensive restaurants while I’d been doing my own form of charity. The last one I’d overheard, auctioning off hot eligible bachelors for a date—while they strutted down a catwalk in nothing but their underwear—popped into my brain.

  Drawing in a shaky breath, my gaze drifted down Ben’s body as I imagined him in nothing but his underwear: black briefs hugging lean hips, clinging to muscular thighs.

  My skin heated as I stared at some imaginary line under the denim he now wore, where the bottom of those black briefs would end. And what hung, heavy in my mind, above that imaginary line.

  “Golf,” he said.

  Annnd done. Mind totally blanked.

  Ben…

  Shay’s thick dark lashes fell in a slow blink. Then her widened eyes locked on to mine. “Golf.”

  I gave a half-shrug, as if I hadn’t noticed her checking me out seconds before.

  But her skittishness?

  Made me want to divert all her attention away from the chemistry sparking between us.

  I watched her back away from me, but I only let her get so far. We walked down the street in tandem, while I took one larger step closer for her every three in retreat.

  The chaotic music and laughter of the street party faded behind us. Calmer sounds of a city neighborhood nearing midnight edged in: rumbles of distant car engines, the hums of nearby air conditioners.

  Approaching the next lamppost, she slowed. I closed the distance between us.

  But I still respected her invisible armor, saw the need to tread lightly: all business.

  No big deal. Only a charity event. Only golf. “A scramble, actually.”

  “Scramble.”

  Her expression turned priceless, full of doubt and suspicion: brows lowered, eyes narrowed, head turned the slightest degree to the left.

  I fought a smile. “What’s with the sudden word repetition?”

  “Better than stunned speechlessness.” Her confident resolve had visibly shaken. And the unsteadiness looked good on her, showed vulnerability under all that spiky armor.

  Gotcha. I’d worn her down, then left-fielded her. I need to keep you on your toes more often. “Got a problem with golf?”

  “No. Never given golf enough thought to have a problem with it. It’s so…sedate.”

  “Golf can be exciting.” To those competing, maybe. Or betting. But I’d bet every last cent I had that golf with Shay would be anything but sedate.

  Amusement sparked in her eyes. “Oh, really? Enlighten me.”

  Something drew me toward her, lured me in, tempted me to work harder to unearth all the emotions she kept an airtight lid on. Complexity churned under that calm surface she tried valiantly to maintain. Earlier at the bar, I’d been in too much of a blind rage to see it. But now, with all the usual racket in my head silenced, with just the two of us sparring together and the pressures of the world blurred out, I saw her depth…felt it.

  “Depends on who you’re playing with a
nd what’s at stake.”

  In golf.

  In everything.

  “So, why is bartending at a charity event—”

  “Golf charity event,” I interrupted.

  Yeah, I went there. Found a weak spot? Gonna exploit it, soften those sharp spikes.

  Her steady gaze held mine. She drew in a slow breath. I could almost hear the leash on her control snap taut as she reined in her fiery temper. “—better than at Loading Zone,” she finished.

  “We really goin’ there again?” Couldn’t seem to avoid it. That line we’d toed at the bar kept appearing between us, threatening, daring.

  “Apparently.” She folded her arms. Determined. Stubborn.

  Be honest. I didn’t have to tell her the truth, but my gut told me she needed to hear the real reason. Even if I didn’t share the hows and whys, I could give her the basic truth. “I can’t risk the bar. It’s all I’ve got.”

  A frown tugged down the corners of her mouth. “But you can risk the charity?”

  I didn’t like that frown...that I’d caused it. “No. I’m not the boss at the charity event. The charity is Cade’s mom’s baby, The Unity Foundation; it helps at-risk kids. I’m a subcontractor for Invitation Only, an event-planning company that Cade and his sisters own.”

  “Oh, I get it. It’s okay for them to risk me, but not you.”

  “Never said that. It’s still my ass on the line for my bar at the event. But my two businesses are legally separate. If shit hits the fan on one, I’m not risking the other.”

  “Shit” —her brows raised slightly— “being me.”

  “No. Stop putting words into my mouth.”

  “Just trying to clarify all the vagueness spewing out of it.”

  Right. Honesty. But only so far. “My shit day? My shit couple of weeks? Have nothing to do with you. That’s the ‘shit.’”

  Give her more.

  My gut screamed at me that Shay was important. She was the shrewdest, feistiest woman I’d ever encountered. Yet some urgent need not to let her get away boiled down to a few seconds—how much I shared, what I chose to reveal.

  Make it about her.

  Hell, maybe the purest truth existed there anyway.

  “You are the exact opposite. I’m not here because you’re trouble. I’m here because you shine. Cade and Rafe vouched for it, for you. I don’t know you well, but I can…sense it. Have mercy on a guy that’s had nothing but a shit life lately. Bring a little goodness into it.”

  Her face began to brighten with a slow smile. “You think I’m good.”

  I downed a long swallow of water, amazed by her sudden change. I’d apparently hit pay dirt. “Am I wrong?”

  “Depends on your definition.”

  “Enlighten me.” Yep, I lobbed her same sarcastic words right back at her.

  Those expressive eyes flared a little wider. Then her chin raised an inch. “My intentions are moral.”

  “And your actions?”

  Her gaze hardened, eyes narrowing a fraction, as if thinking, assessing.

  I stared calmly at her. Trust cuts both ways. No doubt she wondered how safe I was. And how much she needed to reveal to get what she wanted. Back at ya, babe.

  She pursed her lips and gave a slight nod, decision made. “My actions behind your bar—no matter where it’s at—were and will be moral, legal, ethical, and every other thing you need to keep your business safe.”

  Truth rang in her words.

  Yet deception also lay somewhere under there.

  I’d been around subterfuge enough to identify it like a hardwired lie detector. But I didn’t want to push her. Not when she seemed ready to come onboard and protect what I’d created in the process.

  Still, her about-face threw me.

  “Why?” Why so cooperative? Why the sudden profession of loyalty?

  “It’s important to me.” Her voice quieted, tone lowering. “The job. And…the charity.”

  A car passed, its headlights shining a flash across her eyes—that sparkled with moisture.

  Tears? You definitely have layers goin’ on.

  “You’re hired.” Better lock that down while she remained agreeable, vulnerable.

  “Not so fast. I’m not applying yet.” Her expression hardened again.

  “Of course, you aren’t. Gotta put me through the wringer, I bet.”

  “Yep.” She gave a clipped nod. “What’s the pay?”

  “Working every event that we’ve got scheduled for the next two months? About the same as your weekly take as Loading Zone.”

  “How many nights a week?”

  “Two, on average. This week? Only the charity.”

  Her eyes widened. “Damn.”

  “Invitation Only pays well. Their clients are some of the wealthiest on the East Coast.”

  Her gaze lowered to the sidewalk between us, flicking back and forth a little as if she furiously calculated. Calculating what? The pay? The odds?

  Me and my motives?

  Which are...what, exactly?

  A fine mist began to swirl on a breeze. It coated her hair with infinitesimal droplets that sparkled in the pale moonlight.

  While distracted, when not trying to battle the world, she looked gorgeous. Young, for sure. But maybe not as young as I’d first thought. The more we talked, the more convinced I became that the bravado and shrewdness of the girl who’d acted so tough behind my bar covered a sweet innocence, a great vulnerability she didn’t want anyone to see.

  Only she wasn’t just a girl.

  Everything about Shay demanded that she be recognized as an equal—and as a woman. Yet while she wielded her power, she seemed completely unaware of what lay beneath, of her rare beauty.

  Which made her all the more attractive.

  Yeah. Better ditch the vague between us right now.

  “Things between us would be strictly professional.” There. I’d laid down the law.

  For both of us. For some reason, around her, I needed the reminder.

  She glanced up in surprise before a hint of a smile returned. “Where’s the fun in that?”

  Was she serious? Flirting? Teasing? Or giving me a dose of my own medicine, trying to knock me off-balance. I went the safer route, assumed the latter. “You bustin’ my balls?”

  She paused, expressionless, then gave a slow nod. “Expect plenty of it.”

  “You sayin’ we have a deal?”

  “Yeah…” Her voice softened, as if amazed by her own agreement. “We have a deal.” Then she shrugged. “No big. I’ll tend bar at your charity event.”

  “Events.” One wouldn’t be enough.

  “One at a time.” She crossed her arms, narrowed her eyes, defiance back in full force.

  One, then. All she was willing to give? All I needed. For now. “Good. What’s your cell phone? I’ll text you the details.”

  “Don’t have a cell phone.”

  “How can you not have a phone?”

  “Easy.” She spun around, sat on the edge of a brick planter, then lifted her feet up. She clicked the white heels of her faded black Converse together. “Need to protect my feet? Got shoes.” She lifted her half-full water bottle and shook it, scattering droplets of condensation onto her jeans. “Thirst? Water. Basic need. Got it.”

  She stretched her left hand over the sidewalk, her small empty palm facing up. She glanced at it with a nod. “Electronic leash? Nope. No got.”

  I scowled. “What if someone needs to get a hold of you?”

  “They don’t.”

  “Yeah, that’s not gonna work for me.”

  She fisted that open palm. “Tough.”

  Yep. Tough. You in a nutshell.

  I’d been so sure I had our situation under control. Problem? Solution. No phone? Get one.

  But her smug expression? Meant no. And dared me to push the issue.

  “Address...” Where do you live? I worried about the alley again, the dumpster with that cardboard stacked on its corner.


  Her expression fell as uncertainty washed over her features. We’d stumbled back into her familiar skittish territory again.

  Don’t go there. Don’t push her.

  I stared up into the falling mist, wondering if all the trouble with Shay would be worth it. Would the warning signs she’d posted all along lead to a horrendous wreck...or a glorious ride?

  Strictly professional. My words. Loading Zone’s rules. The way it needed to be.

  “Where and when?” Her sudden words broke into my distracted brain.

  My gaze dropped to meet hers and I blinked. “What?”

  “The who is me.” She pointed to her chest and stood. “Think we got the why covered.” Confidence hardened her expression again as she inched up her chin. “Got a great memory.” She tapped her temple as she passed by me, heading back toward the park. “Tell me where and when we need to meet. I’ll remember.”

  Nice sidestep to the whole “address” thing. But then, her particulars hadn’t been my problem before tonight. And I got the message loud and clear they weren’t any of my business now.

  I followed her down the street again, then rounded a corner where she’d disappeared.

  She’d already hopped up onto a curb, across the street.

  “We need to do some training first,” I called out as I jogged to catch up. “Monday, 3:00 p.m. On the corner of Lexington and Riverside: Urban Stroke.”

  She turned on a dime, nose scrunching in the most adorable way. “That a bar?”

  I dug in my heels to avoid colliding right into her.

  We stood bare inches apart. A light floral fragrance drifted up between us.

  My voice softened, crackling a little. “No. A driving range.”

  “Ah.” The stunned-speechless expression returned. A split second later, she spun around and skipped away from me again.

  “Where you going?” I didn’t want her to leave, wasn’t ready for our sparring session to end.

  She lifted her hands toward the misting sky and made a lazy twirl into the center of the glistening street, like she rejoiced in the night, owned the city around us.