“Dammit.” Bailey took it from me, and his eyes widened when he checked the screen. “Shit. Okay. Belinda? What’s the matter?”
“Bailey, I need you.” Her scared, shrill voice was loud enough for me to hear.
“Calm down and tell me what’s wrong.” Bailey sat up and grabbed his glasses.
“It’s Jonas. He’s outside yellin’ that he don’t want me seeing nobody else. He’s so mad.”
I watched as Bailey morphed from a naked hot guy with a big dick to a hard-faced, sharp-eyed lawyer. “When did this happen?”
He put the phone on speaker and started to get dressed. I sighed, knowing my fun evening was ruined. I found my scattered clothes and pulled on my briefs.
“J-just now. I had a date—met this guy for coffee, and then he walked me home and kissed me good-bye. Next thing I know, Jonas is here, yelling at me, calling me a whore. He keeps banging on my door. I don’t know what to do.”
The fear in her voice made me sick. I’d seen enough of this shit growing up.
Bailey kept his cool and pulled a brush through his bed head. “Call the police and tell them your ex-boyfriend violated his order of protection. I should be there within forty minutes, maybe sooner.”
“I-I’m sorry, Bailey. I didn’t wanna call you on a Saturday, but—”
“Not a problem. That’s what I’m here for. Don’t let anyone in but the police or me. They’ll have ID, and you know my voice. I’ll see you soon.”
He ended the call, and I stuck my feet into my sneakers. “I’m ready to go.”
In the middle of shoving his phone into his pocket, Bailey gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I can’t tell her no.”
“’Course not, she’s a client. No problem. We can pick it up another day, if you want?”
“What? Yeah, sure.”
Or not, guessing from his absentminded answer. But I could understand that Belinda took precedence, since she seemed to be in danger. Somehow that made Bailey even more desirable. Most lawyers I’d met put their cases second to their personal life—except Grady, but he was my brother and I was a little prejudiced in his favor.
Out on the sidewalk, a car waited. Bailey gave me a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you.”
“Want me to come along? In case it gets messy?” The words tumbled out of my mouth.Why the hell did I say that?
Behind the sexy black frames, those big blue eyes widened. “Uh, that doesn’t sound fun for you. Hopefully Jonas has sobered up and won’t give anyone trouble.”
“But he might giveyoutrouble.”
“I can handle him,” Bailey muttered. “It’s not the first time.” He got into the car, and before I could say anything, he slammed the door and the car drove away, leaving me on the curb.
“Well, that sucks,” I grumbled to myself and made my way to the nearest train station. My phone buzzed with a text from Ambrose.
Wanna come over for dinner? Carly made tacos, and I made margaritas.
About to text no, I figured, what the hell. Might as well drown my sorrows in tequila.
Sure. Be there in about forty-five minutes.
Ambrose lived in Brooklyn, in a small one-bedroom apartment. As a foster kid, I’d spent too many years in buildings like his, listening to people fight behind closed doors, the smell of the other tenants’ cooking permeating the air, eventually burrowing under your skin so you could never get rid of it.Even now, more than twenty years later, it gave me the chills. Ambrose let me in.
“Dude, what’s goin’ on? Have a taco.”
“Nah, I ate already, but I’ll take that margarita.” I glanced around the small living room decorated with the miniature ceramic people Carly collected. Every time I visited, I got the willies thinking I was being watched. “Where’s Carly?”
“Right here.” She stuck her head out of the kitchen, then came to give me a hug. I’d known her almost as long as Ambrose, and though she constantly bugged me to meet people and date, I still liked her. With her platinum bleached hair and colorful skull-tattoo sleeves on both arms, she and Ambrose were a walking billboard for Inktastic. “You smell good.”
I chuckled. “Thanks.”
