High Strung (Power Station Book 1) (10 page)

I could have gone home with the two girls who had been getting hot and heavy with me earlier that night. Now I couldn’t even remember their names but truthfully, after seeing Ashlyn, those two broads didn’t even stand a chance.

Troy smiled, not the least bit pissed off. “I went home alone because I needed to help
you
get the
hottest girl in the club
and her crazy-ass friend, home. By the way, one of them left their purse in the Suburban. TJ found it in the backseat this morning when he took the car to the Wash and Vac.”

“Well, whose was it?” I took another sip of my coffee.

“I don’t know, I didn’t go through it, dude. Girls have all kinds of weird shit in there, and I prefer to live in ignorance.”

“Truth, right?” The man had a point. Some women were like Mary Fucking Poppins with their purses; god knows what you are going to find. A man had no business going in there; some things are best not seen.

“We’ll make Jase go through it, the man was in the Army. He’s trained for that shit.”

“I don’t think they covered purse recon in basic training, Dan.” Troy laughed,

“You know he was in IT, right? He wasn’t actually on the front line dodging bullets. Not to take anything away from the man, ’cause straight up I am fucking thankful for his service and sacrifice, but unless you count hostile computer viruses our man wasn’t in any danger.”

The Army is still the Army. I don’t care if you are sitting at a desk or on the front line. Those bastards are tough, and I’d rather have an IT guy who used to wear camo by my side when shit went pear-shaped, than a juiced-up security guy whose biggest claim to fame was being a mall cop.

“You wanna go through the purse?”

“Nope.”

“That’s what I thought. Jase it is then.” I rested my case.

“So getting back to your wild night of spooning. What happened this morning? I assumed even though she isn’t your biggest fan, she still would have been impressed you didn’t try anything last night.” Troy continued, not willing to let it go. I swear sometimes he was worse than my ma.

“Yeah, well maybe I didn’t tell her that part.” I’m not sure why I didn’t, I know I should have told her, but I guess it pissed me off a little that she had just assumed.

“What? Why the hell not? You’d rather her think you are some asshole who takes advantage of women? No wonder you aren’t getting laid.” Troy chuckled. The bastard actually chuckled.

“Firstly, I can get laid any time I want. You seem to have forgotten, I scored two fine broads last night that would have more that scratched that itch. Secondly, Ashlyn had zero recollection of what went down. When she woke up, she just assumed we’d done the deed. She was too busy telling me she isn’t that
kind of girl
to give me a proper chance to explain. Then she found out I went through her underwear drawer and she threw me out.”

I would have told her, eventually. Not to say that I wasn’t hoping to rectify the no-sex thing in the morning but she completely lost her shit and told me to leave before I had a chance.

“You went through her underwear drawer? Jesus, Dan. Do you have any impulse control?”

“Oh not you, too. I was fucking bored, okay? I just looked, it’s not like I sniffed it or did anything freaky with it.” It was just a look, the way everyone was acting you would have thought I put it on and paraded down fucking 42nd Street. What is the big deal? It’s not like she was
in
it at the time. Then, maybe you could call me a pervert.

“Well thank fuck for that. You want to wear ladies panties, knock yourself out but maybe in future get your own Victoria’s Secrets.”

“You are such a tool.” I’d go commando before I’d pull on a pair of panties.

“Tool or not, I need to head back to the city, so if you’re done crying into your caramel macchiato, let’s make tracks.” Troy tilted his head to my now empty cup.

“Is that what I’m drinking?” I angled the cup so I was able to read the writing on the sleeve. “It was actually pretty good.” Kudos to the counter chick for her recommendation but I had to agree, it was time to eject. The small coffee shop was starting to fill with too much morning cheer for my liking. We both stood to leave. “Yeah, let’s get out of here. I’m starving and there is fuck all in here to eat. No way I was chowing down on a fucking muffin.” I needed food.

“What’s wrong with muffins?” Troy scoffed. Poor fucker had no clue.

“It’s like a poor man’s cupcake. No frosting. So fucking dry. I’m putting something cake like in my mouth then I want it to be sweet and fucking tasty. Not some lame-ass muffin that has all the promise of goodness and then leaves you unsatisfied. It’s like a girl who stuffs her bra to make her tits look bigger and then you get her home and boom, no big tits. I hate false advertising man, makes me angry.”

I slid out of the booth and tossed my empty cup in the trash. Troy followed suit stretching out his back after standing and joined me as we strolled toward the door.

“Does it always come back to tits with you? No wonder you are sitting here with me instead of your girl. I’ve known you a long time, brother, but some of the shit that comes out of your mouth surprises even me.”

“Tits are important, I don’t know why you are fighting me on this. Cupcakes too, I love those little fuckers.”

“You are so fucking weird, dude.”

“Let’s go, asswipe.”

****

It was like a standoff. It eyed me from the other side of the room, taunting me. My hands fisted in agitation as I sat in the armchair across from it, watching it, wondering why something so small was giving me such a headache. I’m from the Bronx for Christ’s sake, it’s not like I had led a sheltered life. I’ve never backed away from a confrontation, not ever. And we have played some shitty dive bars in our time, especially when we first started out. Hell, some of those places we’d been lucky to walk out in one piece, and yet if someone were itching for a fight I would look them dead in the fucking eye and ask them if we had business. Now, I was getting my ass kicked by a six-inch, glittery purse that sat on my fucking coffee table. What’s worse is that I’d rather take my chances with a drunk Giants fan from Jersey than crack that fucker open.

“FUCK!”

I moved to the edge of the chair wondering where the hell I’d left my balls. It was a purse, for fuck’s sake, not a fucking bomb. I looked over at the half-eaten box of cupcakes sitting beside it, the lid still cracked open, reminding me I had smashed four of those bad boys on the way to my apartment. And despite Troy being an argumentative bastard and not being on the same page with my cupcake love, I let the big guy snare a couple of them too. I was a giving kind of guy. I looked away from the box, deciding I was probably already way too hyped on sugar to eat anymore, which is probably why I was jittery as fuck.

I ran my hands through my hair, frustrated, knowing I was just going to have to man up. Jase had already shot down my idea that he do it when I called him on the car ride over, laughing his ass off telling me to stop being a pussy and do it myself. What’s the worst that could be in there? A tampon? It’s not like I hadn’t seen one of those before. Jase was right. I was being a pussy.

“Okay then, let’s do this.” I cracked my knuckles as I reached over and snagged it off the coffee table. I had half expected for it to shock me or something. For it to have some magical powers that meant if anyone with a dick opened it they’d get Tasered or some shit. Nothing. No sparks. No jolt of electricity passing through my body. Nada. Well thank fuck for that.

Slowly, I popped open the clasp. It looked innocent enough so I might as well dive in there and see if there was an ID or something. It had to be either Ashlyn’s or Megs’s and I hadn’t paid enough attention to which of them had been holding this thing when they had gotten into the car. Both of them had fished out their apartment keys before we left the Suburban with Ash, who’d also pulled her phone out so she could text Megs she was home when we pulled up to her building. So that didn’t yield any clues either.

I shook the contents onto the coffee table and out rolled a lipstick, a few dollar bills, and a condom. Nice, this was like CSI…piecing together a profile based on random shit.

I tossed the dollar bills to the side and I moved on to the condom. It was standard, nothing exciting.
Ribbed for her pleasure.
That shit always made me laugh. What kind of numbnuts needs a special condom to get off his woman? Straight up, if he is relying on the latex
for her pleasure
he is not doing it right. When I’m with a girl, I make her come at least once before I even stick my dick inside her. I get her nice and lubed up, soft and ready for me, so when I finally get my cock in her, she is so wound up she has no choice but to come again. I don’t get the amount of girls I do solely ’cause I’m a good-looking guy. Women know when they are with me, I take care of them. I might not call them back later but while I’m fucking them, no one else exists. I was getting hard just thinking about it. Seriously, I was going to need to go jerk off soon or my dick was going to fall off. It had been hard so many times in the last twenty-four hours. I was surprised I still had the ability to fucking walk.

Next up, lipstick. I slid open the lid and rolled up the stick. Red. Like let-me-fuck-your-mouth red. I knew this color. I had washed it from my neck early this morning in Ashlyn’s shower. This was hers. I’d bet my balls on it. I rolled the stick back down, imagining the color on her lips like it had been last night. That sweet, fucking mouth that talked way too much trash. Yeah, I wanted that mouth. I wanted to own every inch of those beautiful full lips, watch them stretch around the head of my cock while those sweet green eyes looked up at me.

“Get it together, asshole.” I laughed out loud as I shoved the lipstick back into the purse, and had a quick look to see if there was anything else in there. Sure enough, there was a small zip sewed into the lining, and I’d figured I’d come this far, I might as well continue, right? I pulled the zipper across, the pocket it opened barely big enough for me to slide a finger or two inside. I pulled out a driver’s license and an ATM card. If there were any doubts as to who the owner of the purse was before, I could put them to bed. Ashlyn’s passive face looked up at me from the plastic, Boston-issued ID. She was about to turn twenty-eight, her birthday was in less than a week, and either she had never gotten around to changing her address to New York or she didn’t plan on sticking around for very long. I tapped the card against my fingers hoping she wasn’t planning on leaving soon. No one ever looked good with a DMV issued photo, but fuck me if she didn’t look drop-dead gorgeous. She wasn’t fancied up with makeup and her hair was pulled away from her face. She didn’t need all that stuff to make her look good. She was beautiful without it.

“Fuck!” I closed my eyes and leaned back into my armchair. What was it about this girl that was turning my brain into a pretzel? It wasn’t just the way she looked, though that sure as shit didn’t hurt, but it was more than that. For the first time, I think I was actually
interested
in someone. I needed to see her again and now I had my opportunity. I would play it smart; for this girl, I was going need more than just my usual tricks.

“Megs!” I yelled into
the phone without giving her the opportunity to say hello. I needed to debrief and I needed it now. I sat on the edge of my bed, still reeling from the events of the morning.

“Ash?” Megs groaned into the phone. “My ankle is killing me. What happened last night and why aren’t you here?” Her recollection was obviously just as unreliable as mine. Note to self - keep better track of how many cocktails consumed and don’t go wandering around a club looking for trouble.

“So much happened last night. You fell as we were leaving
Panic
. I think we should probably go get it X-rayed. What do you remember?” I sighed knowing it was up to me to piece the riddle together.

“Did we meet Power Station last night?”

“Well I guess you could call it meeting them.”

I would say what happened last night went a little beyond just an introduction, considering I woke up with one of the band members in my bed.

“The details are foggy. I think I remember hugging Troy Harris? Did you make out with Dan Evans?”

I let out a long, slow breath. Megs was my best friend. Not only did I tell her everything but I also needed a sounding board. I needed her to help me make sense of this in my head, how I could have done something so out of character. “I think I did more than just make out with him.”