Brawl (24 page)

“If she was a normal teenager, I’d agree with you. But she’s not. She had to grow up too fucking fast because of your fuck-ups. You might wanna heed your own advice and make sure that you tread carefully with her. If she chooses to keep Cooper, let me tell you right fucking now that I’ll do anything in my power to make that happen for her. If you add one more inch of pain onto the great big mountain of shit she already carries around on her shoulders, I make you disappear.”

My dad isn’t backing down. “Do you love her?”

“That’s none of your business. I’m not discussing this with you before I speak to Gabbi about it.”

Footsteps head my way, so I duck back into Cooper’s room and then re-emerge as if I’ve been in there the entire time. I feel heat traveling up my chest and settling on my cheeks when I look at Hooligan. His answer to my dad’s question makes me think that he does, in fact, love me. Or, he’s falling for me at the very least.

Do I love him?
I shouldn’t. I don’t know him properly yet, but there’s a spot in my chest that beats only for him already. How fucking crazy is that? For a girl who doesn’t believe in happily-ever-after or fairy tales, I sound perilously close to admitting that I fell in love with a man at first sight.

“Here,” I press Captain America into Dad’s hands. “He has trouble sleeping sometimes. Give him this and rub his belly if he wakes up. He’ll fall back to sleep.”

Nodding, Dad backs away from me, straightening his tie and buttoning his jacket. When he watches Hooligan move to my side and seize my left hand with his, his lips curve downward, his displeasure very evident.

Yeah, well, welcome to my life, father-dearest.
Nobody gets their own way in our fucked-up family.

“You can stop frowning right now,
Dad
. Hooligan is a non-negotiable part of my life. Do you remember your answer every time I asked you to come home? To leave Maribelle?” His countenance falls blank; my point landing dead and center. He remembers. “If I recall correctly, it was something along the lines of
the heart wants what it wants
.”

My fingers scream with a stinging bite of pain when Hooligan squeezes my hand and drags me into his arms. With an arm under my ass, he lifts me until our lips touch, kissing me as if I’m his only source of sustenance and he’s a starving man.

I match his passion with my own. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I channel my frustration at the way our night has begun into our embrace. If Hooligan is a starving man, I’m more-than-happy to offer myself as his meal.

The quiet snick of my front door as it closes is the only sound made as my dad leaves us to it.

Hooligan

W
hat a fucking night!

I’d taken the steps leading to Gabbi’s apartment two at a time, ready to commence the fun-filled night I had planned. A night that was going to end with the pair of us wrapped around each other, bodies slick with sweat, minds filled with nothing but desire, as we finally brought down every barrier between us. Every emotion laid bare, our needs visible for the other to feast upon, and our pasts put to rest without fear of repercussions, or regrets.

Except, the universe has the last laugh; like she always does. Finding her apartment door half-open, shock had chilled me when I’d heard the pure hatred in her voice as she unleashed her rage on her sister.

Gabbi will never be accused of being still waters that run deep, or anything along those lines, yet the tangible fury I could hear lacing her words stopped me in my tracks. Her anger is a mask for her hurt, anyone with ears and eyes should be able to see that, so it bothers me that her sister—who should be her biggest ally after all they’ve been through together—seems happy to throw Gabbi under the proverbial bus whenever the opportunity presents itself.

“I’m not ready yet,” Gabbi pouts, pulling away from my mouth and laying her head on my shoulder. “I hope you don’t have a reservation because I’m gonna need some time to finish up.”

Now she mentions it, I remember that I do have a reservation at one of the swankiest restaurants in Sydney. The clock on the wall above her sink tells me that unless we can go back in time and leave ten minutes ago, we won’t be making it. Placing her on her feet, I point in the direction of her bedroom, patting her ass to get her moving.

“We have all night. Take your time.”

Giggling when my patting turns into groping, Gabbi skips out of my reach, heading for her room. When she turns to close her door behind her, the look she sends my way is one of pure sex—naked need and barely contained lust setting her beautiful face alight.

“We could skip the main meal and dive straight into dessert?”

“Stop teasing, Gabbi.” I growl at her. My gut clenches with desire when she lets out that sultry purr of hers. It always hits me straight in my cock, the sound a red flag to a bull.

“Not teasing. Just saying.”

“Go get ready before I paddle your ass.”

My terse reply has the sides of her lips quirking with humor and curiosity lighting her amber eyes as she shuts her door. Do not go there yet, I caution myself when Mr. Happy in my pants salutes the sky at the thought of leaving a red handprint on her insubordinate ass. If the past week with Gabbi has shown me anything, it’s that she’s going to keep me on my toes with her smart mouth.

“Nate,” I speak into my phone in a low voice, keeping one eye on the bedroom door. “Need a favor.”

After organizing everything with my nephew, I promise to make good on one of the many IOU’s that I’m throwing his way lately...very bloody soon. What the fuck he’s going to have me do for him, isn’t worth examining. The knowledge that it’s going to be painful and more-than-likely embarrassing is made abundantly clear by the evil chuckle that’s echoing in my ears when he hangs up.

***

“Y
ou weren’t exaggerating when you said you’d need some time,” I quit pacing Gabbi’s living room when she emerges from her bedroom, looking gorgeous and ready to hit the town over forty-five minutes later. “I was about ready to break down the door to check that you hadn’t ditched me and climbed out the window.”

“I live on the fifth floor,” she laughs at my whining. “That would’ve been dangerous. You haven’t annoyed me that much.”

Running a hand down my cheek, she gathers her handbag and heads for the front door, throwing a smart-assed comment over her shoulder as she pulls the door open.

“Yet.”

Taking hold of her hand, I push the door shut, before leading her to the balcony. Nate came through for me, big time. Twenty-five minutes after my phone call, he was at Gabbi’s door, laden with bags full of supplies. His girlfriend, Amy, had two brown paper bags full of piping hot Indian food in her arms and a cheeky smile on her face. Seeing a matching expression on Nate’s, I’d grabbed the bags from them and pushed them out the door with a cursory thank you. I had a million things to get done, none of which involved listening to whatever taunting those two wanted to heap on my head. They could get their barbs in at Nate’s next training session.

Pushing the doors open, I pull Gabbi outside with me and wait for her to say something. She lets go of my hand and wanders around the balcony, trailing her fingers over the rose petals on the table and exploring everything I’ve organized for her, one by one.

Dozens of tea candles flicker around the edge of the balcony, shielded from the slight breeze by the glass balustrades. A vase full of fresh flowers decorate the center of the table and I’ve dished up generous servings of what Amy swore to me is Gabbi’s favorite food—butter chicken, jasmine rice, and roti bread. Knowing Gabbi’s distaste for wine, I have a half dozen bottles of hand-crafted beer chilling in a tub with ice.

Time drags and worry makes its way into my head, dampening my enthusiasm. Looking at the floor, I’m wracking my brain for some way to salvage this, when Gabbi takes my hands and pulls my arms around her.

“I can’t believe you’ve done all of this for me. It’s so pretty. Thank you so much.”

When she snuggles into my chest, running her little hands under my shirt and around my sides to link them at my back, a sense of belonging grips me. It’s not sexual, at all. It’s well-being, comfort, and coziness, all wrapped up in one teenage package that shouldn’t affect me like it does.
It’s Gabbi.
Her scent. The feel of her heart racing against me. Her warmth. The essence of who she is; the caring, vulnerable woman hiding beneath the fuck-you scowl, the in-your-face tattoos, and the constant threat of her temper flaring.

“No thanks necessary. This is what a man should do for his woman.”

Drawing back from me, she smiles. “Do you know that you call me a woman now? You never say
little girl
in that patronizing asshole tone that you used to.”

Her reminder of how I used to treat her, of the stupid defense mechanism I tried to employ to keep her at arm’s length, makes me feel like the idiot I am. Not to mention that she’s constantly referred to as “my girl” in my head. I keep that titbit to myself, knowing she’s not going to appreciate it for the endearment it’s become because of my previous times using it as an insult.

“I suppose I’ll have to stop calling you an old man now—”

Picking her up with one quick motion, I sling her over my shoulder, my shoulders lifting with mirth when she shrieks at my surprise attack. Slapping the bare ass cheek I find under her little skirt, I kick one of the chairs out from under the table and sit her in it. With her fingertips, Gabbi tries to contain her tears of laughter so her makeup doesn’t smudge. The carefree, and dare I say, happy vibes emanating from the beautiful girl before me are a stark contrast to the angry aura that surrounded her when I arrived to find her mid-argument with her dad and sister.

Pungent odors waft free when I lift the lid from her plate and affect an overdone bow. “Dinner is served, my lady.”

Defeat colors her face and she gives up trying to save her makeup. Her tears stream down her face, sooty black mascara making tracks down her cheeks, as she falls back in her chair with guffaws leaving her as she loses her battle. They continue until she snorts, pressing a hand over her mouth to stop it from happening again.

Taking my seat, I shake my head at her. “Why’s that so funny?”

After dragging in enough air to form words, Gabbi smirks. She’s about to take the piss out of me, the devilish glint in her eyes a dead giveaway. “The first time I saw you, I thought you were this giant asshole who thought he was God. Turns out, you’re a marshmallow.”

“Liar,” I grin at her to soften the harshness of the word. “The first time you laid eyes on me you recognized me as your kindred spirit. I watched your eyes flare with interest, saw desire heat your cheeks. You didn’t think I was an asshole, at all. I felt your gaze strip me bare. Laying out my pain, my disillusionment with the world, and my loneliness for both of us to see.”

A harsh intake of breath is the only sound Gabbi makes. Emotional speeches aren’t her forte, her discomfort with me calling her out evident. Her shoulders draw up, almost touching her ears, and she messes around with her fork, spearing a piece of her butter chicken and staring at it like it holds the answers to every question in the universe.

“I am a fucking marshmallow. Because with one gaze across the basement of an ugly-ass nightclub, a seventeen-year-old girl kick started my black heart and brought it to back to life. When our eyes locked, the hole left by Mari and Gabe didn’t feel so big.”

“Jesus, Hooligan.”

The two whispered words tell me more than any speech Gabbi could launch into. What I saw that night is our truth, as much as we both tried to fight it.

“You also brought my cock back to life. That fucker hasn’t sat down since he met you.”

My joke breaks the tension. We exchange grins across the table. I crack the top on a beer for each of us, passing one to Gabbi and we begin to eat our food.

Casual conversation, punctuated with the occasional joke, lubricated by alcohol and good food keeps us off the deeper topics. I can feel a slight unease growing within Gabbi as the food disappears and the beer dries up. What I said needed to be said, although, I’m kicking myself for diving straight into it. I should know by now that she needs easing into these things.

“What you said before.” Gabbi returns from taking the empty dishes inside. Wrapping her arms around my waist and resting her chin on my back as I lean on the top of the railing and stare out at the city lights, I feel her draw in a shuddering breath that she lets out after a moment. “You’re right, I did feel all of that. And it scared the shit out of me. When you kept being an ass, I convinced myself that all I wanted to do was fuck you.”

Pushing her way between me and the balustrade, Gabbi stands on her toes and presses a kiss on my lips. “Do you realize that what we’re talking about is love at first sight? It’s stupid. We don’t know each other. I have a million issues; you have almost as many. Two fucked-up people like us don’t get happy-endings like this.”

“Silly, silly girl.” My hands find her waist and I lift her onto the railing, stepping between her legs. My movement bunches her skirt around her hips, exposing her G-string covered center to me. With her life in my hands, five stories in the air, with nothing between her and the ground except her trust in my strength, I expect her to protest her precarious position. Instead she surprises me again, saying nothing, just staring me dead in the eyes, her expectations of an answer clear to see. “Fucked-up people deserve the best endings. Gives them a reason to survive all the shit life throws at them.”

“I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Narrowing my eyes at her, I shake my head. “So pessimistic for someone so young.”

“Not pessimistic. Realistic.”

“I’m going to spend the rest of my life showing you how wrong you are.”

Her breath catches in her throat.
Good one, Hooligan.
Why don’t you drop to one knee and propose? Really scare her off. Silence grows between us. Me: lost in my head, wishing I’d been born with a filter between my brain and my mouth. Her: probably, searching for the quickest way to escape the crazy, old man who keeps announcing his obsessive need for her every time he opens his mouth.