Stay With Me (25 page)

“Come on, come on,” I hassled Jordan out the window. “You’re taking forever.”

He grumbled but stuffed the receipt from the machine into his wallet instead of filing it away neatly like I knew he wanted to do.

He kept his car pristine, and the burl-wood dashboard gleamed like some kind of glass. I doubted a leaky cup had ever violated that cup holder. The silver Mercedes emblem winked at me, and I winked back.

Wanna have some fun?
it asked flirtatiously.

Darlin’, you have no idea.

“M
AN
, I
hate cheating on Bessie, but this CLS is a smooth-talking bitch.”

“Mac, be careful.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“It doesn’t look like there’s enough space to—”

I whipped into Robert’s driveway with the expertise of someone who’s been there a million times. I knew every crack, corner, and crevice, and managed the impossible, squeezing in next to his cruiser.

I exited the vehicle with a grin that the shaky Jordan did not share and bounced over to him. “Can I drive home? Huh? Can I, can I—”

He put a hand over my mouth but nodded weakly. “This time, try to keep it under a hundred, yeah?”

“What’s the fun in that?”
Oh, Bessie my love, your days are numbered.

I reached in the backseat and rescued the cupcakes from the floorboards. “Oops. They still look good, though. Ona packages them pretty well.”

“Apple, I didn’t hear your heap pull in— Oh, hello.”

Robert came toward us from somewhere in the open garage. He was barefoot and bare chested with a pair of scruffy shorts on, and his eyes went wide as they went from Jordan to me. Back to Jordan. Then me. Okay, so I didn’t bring people home often, but this was ridiculous. His next words reinforced why, exactly, I didn’t bring people home often.

“Who’s your friend?” he asked.

“Oh Lord,” I groaned. “Don’t do this.”

His hazel eyes glittered wickedly as he continued. “You bring a boy home, and I want to know who he is. Who his folks are. Do you have a job, son?”

I elbowed him in the gut as Jordan burst into laughter.

“I do, sir,” he managed to answer. “Thank you for letting me date your brother.”

“Oh, you
really
shouldn’t be thanking me for that.” He grinned and offered a hand. “Robert Williams. My friends call me Robby.”

“Which means everyone calls him Robert,” I confirmed, only grunting when he elbowed me back. “Where’s Case?”

“Inside. Xbox 360 is his lord and master.”

I held the cupcakes up in explanation. “I brought him these.”

“That’s all he needs.” Robert rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you give them to him? I’ll keep your friend here company.”

I turned to Jordan. “I’m sorry in advance for anything this troll might say. Please don’t stop dating me.”

He and Robert laughed simultaneously, and the sound was scary enough to send me scurrying into the house to the sound of Robert’s warning yell, “And don’t touch my sauce!”

The smell of garlic, tomatoes, and spice wafted to my nose like a beacon as I let the side door bang behind me. “Mmmm,” I mumbled, stumbling toward the kitchen like Frankenstein. “Smell good.”

Of course I had a taste or two. Or three as I licked the spoon clean and wondered how a dunderhead bachelor like Robert could cook so well. I washed the spoon and placed it in the drying rack—he was obsessive about keeping things neat. Not because of an inherent need to clean but a lack of one. You didn’t have to clean if it never got dirty, and to hell with the dust on the lampshades and under the dressers.

Another burst of rapid machine-gun fire reminded me of why I was there in the first place. I grabbed the cupcake box and migrated toward the noise.

“Case!” I called over what seemed to be World War Z going on in the den. “Case!”

“Got ’em! Yessss!”

I peered inside the den to see a Zombie Apocalypse going down on the sixty-five-inch plasma. My nephew was sitting on the edge of a V Rocker chair, working the controls furiously.

“Case, you’re going to go deaf and blind from this game.”

“Worth it, Uncle Mac. Totally worth it.”

I grinned and set the cupcakes on the coffee table. “I brought your cupcakes. I only had one. Swear.”

“Thanks.” He paused the game briefly, and the option screen popped up. “You wanna play?”

“No way,” I scoffed. “This game is stupid. For kids.”

He grinned. “I’ll let you have the shotgun this time.”

I eyeballed him. “You know, in this political climate it’s not exactly PC to use any manner of oversized weaponry to blow someone’s head off.”

“They’re not people, Uncle Mac.” He rolled his eyes as if adults were just too stupid to live. “They’re zombies.”

Well, I guess that
did
make a world of difference. After a pause, I snagged the second controller and the pump-action shotgun on-screen.

“I’ll play for a minute or two,” I said as he pressed the Play button. “But this game is really stupid.
Christ
!” I unloaded my twelve gauge in a creepy zombie’s face as he darted out from under an abandoned car. “Eat that, freak.”

I hadn’t realized how much time had gone by before I felt my brother’s presence in the doorway. I couldn’t turn from the abandoned town in front of me, but I could hear enough irritated sucking of his teeth to know it was him.

“Where’s J?” I asked worriedly. Not worried enough to miss throwing a pipe bomb into a mass of angry zombies, but worried still.

“Had to make a call. I was showing off my toys. Especially Bumblebee.”

I groaned. “You didn’t.” Of course he did. Jordan wasn’t the first person my brother had roped into a tour of his garage, and he wouldn’t be the last.

Robert shrugged. “He seemed interested. He’s a really cool guy, you know.”

I happened to agree, and not just because he apparently knew how to feign interest really, really well.

“You want in?” I offered. “We could use some support in the next level. We’re going through the sewer, and we could really use someone who knows how to use a damn sniper rifle.”

Case and I glared at one another.

“Someone tried to breach the cabin too early,” Case said. “I told you not to scare the witch.”

“You had your flashlight on, and it spooked her,” I squawked. “I said ‘lights off,’ did I not?”

He propped a hand on his nonexistent hip. “Well maybe if you didn’t use the pipe bombs the moment you get them, we could have blown her up.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You know, this zombie apocalypse has really changed you.”

Robert snickered. “You two sound positively ridiculous. No, I’m not going to join you.”

We shrugged, and Case pressed Play again.

Robert continued, determined to have his parental say. “I’m going to finish making dinner so we can eat on time. You know, like adults? Besides, this game is stupid.”

Despite his protests, he stood in silence, watching us creep down a shadowed hill. A zombie howl sounded nearby, and I used my scope to scan the area.

“You see the hunter?” I asked Case.

“Not yet.” He snapped his flashlight on and panned around screen. “I hear him, though.”

“He’s over there,” Robert pointed.

“Over where?”

“In that corner,” he instructed me and then clicked his teeth when I darted into the empty corner. “No, not that one. Sheesh.” He grabbed a controller and plugged in. Then wasted that zombie ass with a rifle butt to the skull.

“Nice one.”

“Mmhmm.”

A wave of zombies came scattering down the hill, sending the hairs on the back of my neck on end. Damn, these games looked ridiculously real nowadays. No matter. I knew how to shoot zombies, pixilated or in liquid plasma deliciousness.

“Jordan!” I yelled. “Get in here. We need someone to man the tanks!”

He stuck his head in the doorway with his cell up to his ear, one hand clasped over the bottom speaker. “I’m on the phone in here—”

“For God’s sakes, we’re dying, man!” I hammed it up enough to make him grin and shake his head.

“I gotta go. No, I gotta go. I’ll call you later, Rache.”

Rache.
As in Rachel? As Robert tossed him a controller and signed in a fourth player, I gritted my teeth so hard I feared a fine powder would tumble out when I finally opened my mouth.

“I’m in,” Jordan said, and his character appeared on screen next to mine.

I let off a round into his shoulder that had his character scowling at me. Blue eyes slid to mine, and I shrugged. “Sorry. Friendly fire.”

He narrowed his eyes, and I smiled. “After you.”

T
HE
ROAD
home was quiet, and we were comfortably silent. I loved this time of night, when the roads were empty and all the lights smiled green smiles as we sailed on through. Jordan’s hand absently massaged my neck as I drove, the other hand drumming on his thigh.

We’d wound up staying for over four hours. We’d managed to wipe out the entire zombie force and the majority of Robert’s special spaghetti as well. He’d sent us home with the rest in a Tupperware container, which made me beam at him and say, “Thanks, Mrs. Cleaver.” He’d tried to take it back and almost paid with a thumb.

Jordan’s voice in the silence made me start. “Your family is nice.”

I smiled. “They’re all right.”

“You’re going to love mine.” He yawned widely, keeping those magical fingers moving on my neck, tangling in the shaggy ends of my hair. “They’re going to be here this Thanksgiving.”

We came to a lone red light that hadn’t got the memo—we
own
the night—and I slowed to a stop. As his clever fingers paused, I realized I hadn’t said anything to his comment and met questing eyes.

“You like turkey?” he asked with the gravity you would ask “Do you need medical assistance?” and I smiled a little.

“Mmhmm.”

My smile faded.
Would
I meet them? Would we even be together then? Hell, were we together now? His call from Rachel had jump-started my reality solenoids. I pressed my lips together, refusing to let the questions tumble out that neither one of us could plausibly have an answer to.

“What are you thinking?”

I started, then rubbed a hand over my eyes. “Just tired, I guess.”

I was tired. Tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop. I looked at him apologetically, pasting a slight smile on my mouth. It felt twisted, and I knew from the concern in his eyes I didn’t succeed very well.

“I was just wondering why we’re the only people on the road and we’re stopped at a red light. Kind of ridiculous if you ask me.”

His eyes were pensive as he took my chin in his hand. “No, you weren’t.”

I blinked rapidly. No, I wasn’t, but he wasn’t supposed to know me this well yet. I wasn’t supposed to miss him like this, before he was even gone. “Kiss me.”

He leaned over the console, his mouth landing on mine tentatively, soft as butterflies’ wings.

“Again,” I whispered when he was through.

“Light’s green,” he said, smiling a little.

“Again,” I demanded.

He wasn’t gentle this time. His lips, tongue, and teeth were demanding, demanding something I didn’t even know if I could give. He pinned my head against the headrest, working my mouth over with his, our kisses getting sloppier and more desperate. We pulled away when it was either die or breathe and sat for a moment. My breathing rang harsh in my ears as I tried to refocus my attention on driving.

“Fuck me,” I demanded, my body taking over my mind. That didn’t help.

“Drive,” he said hoarsely.

I did.

I
HAD
suspected coming home after work on Monday afternoon would be different, but I hadn’t been prepared for how empty the apartment would feel. Even when Trev had moved out, leaving me a neatly printed note on the one nightstand he left, it hadn’t felt this empty. That had been more of a relief, and this was just… silence.

I shook off the doldrums (or tried to). It wasn’t anything bigger than a few dates. We’d had a weekend. A weekend to have sex, and that was it—a sex-a-thon, and now it was over. You weren’t supposed to wonder what your fellow sex-a-thon partner was doing for dinner or if he was going to watch the game tonight. Or if he was missing you as much as you were missing him.

I scowled. We shouldn’t have gotten out of bed. See, that was the problem. Then I wouldn’t know that he hated all of my television shows and delighted in making fun of my favorite characters. Which I pretended to hate but secretly found amusing. I wouldn’t know that he was good with my nephew and polite to nosy old bakers who served their cupcakes with a side of intrusive questioning. I wouldn’t know how he smiled at me indulgently when I tried on his glasses and how he let me make it worth his while to blow off work on Sunday night. Man, I had it bad.

I toed off my shoes and skated to the kitchen in my socks. I forced myself to go about my usual after-work routine, opening mail and taking out the trash and fixing dinner and all those other little things that signal that the workday is truly over. I had just settled down in front of the TV with dinner when my phone rang.

I answered without looking, continuing to scroll down my DVR list. “Yeah.”

“Hey. You busy?”

Just hearing his voice had a goofy smile spreading across my face, and I bit my lip to keep my face in check. “Hey. No, what’s up?”

“What’s up is I haven’t seen you in like ten and a half hours. I’m going through withdrawal here.”

I let the grin free, and suddenly the nagging feeling that had been bothering me was gone. There were no games, no need to play aloof. “I thought I was the only one. Has ten and a half hours ever seemed so long?”

“Not in recent memory, no. So. Are you busy or what?”

“Not really. Watching a bunch of overly tanned, overly blond social misfits scream and claw at each other and then call each other friends.” I flicked off the TV and tossed the remote on the couch. “What do you have in mind?”