The closer I get to the kitchen, the more I realize I was wrong. The first clue comes from a mumbled conversation. It sounds like Rafe is speaking to another man, but I can’t be certain. I pad down the hall, much more awake now and so very curious.
The fact that I’m only wrapped in a sheet should send me running back to the bedroom, but they are far enough away that I don’t have to worry about being caught just yet.
“What the fuckare you doing here?” Winger is standing on my porch, and he looks kind of pissed, truth be told.
“Why haven’t you answered your phone all night?” He walks right past me and into the hall. I let the door slam shut behind him.
“Since when do I answer to you?” I stroll past him wearing only my shorts, not giving a fuck.
“That dumb shit from Ohio has been making my life hell for the past month,” Winger grouses to my back as he follows me farther into the house. “I almost beat his face in tonight when I caught him in one of the rooms with a dancer, and he wasn’t there for the entertainment.”
“What does that mean?” I grab a bottle of water out of the fridge, not offering him any. I’m an asshole. I know it.
Winger shakes his head and walks around me, grabbing a bottle for himself. “You live in this fancy ass house and you’ve got no food in your fridge.” He’s disgusted. Winger and I both know what it’s like to grow up hungry. His fridge and cupboards are always packed, while I constantly have a gun within reach. We all have our coping mechanisms.
“If he wasn’t fucking the girl, what was he doing?” I ignore his bullshit, getting straight to the point.
“Looked like a whole fuck-ton of talking. Asking questions.” He lifts one eyebrow, knowing that’s a worse offense than getting his dick wet.
“What kind of questions?” I force the words out between my teeth. I’m ready to slit the motherfucker’s throat already.
“I asked the girl once I kicked his fucking ass to the curb. She said he was asking about you. What you do around there. If she had a personal connection to you or knew anyone else who did.”
“Winger?”
Lucy is standing in the hall, clutching my white sheet to her chest, but I can still see the curve of her thigh through a slit in the fabric. It’s fucked up, but I’m more concerned that Winger is seeing her like this than I am about her seeing Winger in my house.
“Turn around,” I order. Lucy tilts her head and narrows her eyes on me while Winger puts his back to her. My need to keep his eyes off her is irrational. He saw most of her for years while she was dancing in the club, but not now. Not after I’ve touched her, claimed her.
“What’s going on here?” She looks at me, then at Winger’s back with a scowl. “Do you know him, Wing?”
Winger cuts his eyes to me, asking what he should say. I don’t like that she’s directing her questions to him and not me. Like she knows him better.
I want to order her ass back to the bedroom and tell her to fucking forget he even exists, but I clench my molars instead. I need to find a way to spin this so she’s not pissed at me. I like her softness, her acceptance. Something tells me if I fuck this up, I’ll lose it. “We know each other,” I admit. “I own The After Party. I’m the one who kicked your friend out.”
Her shoulders fall a little, and her face scrunches up as she gathers the sheet even tighter to cover up as much as she can. The look she gives Winger now is one of worry. She’s concerned about what he’s going to say to me about her.
“I’ll be back,” I snarl at my longtime companion and move closer to Lucy. Her eyes are a little wide as she watches me approach. “Come on,” I urge her softly, guiding her back the way she came while blocking her from Winger’s view.
She shuffles down the hallway without saying a word. I flip on the light and begin gathering her clothes. “Usually, no one is here, but I’ll get you a robe or some shit.” I hold up her pants and shirt. She cradles them against her chest after taking them from me. Her blue eyes are cast down as she stares at the ground. She looks tiny and sad. Like when she would walk on stage.
I tip her chin up with my finger, so she’s forced to look at me. “Get dressed, Lucy.” I swear to fuck it looks like she might have tears in her eyes. If she cries, I will probably kill Winger for showing up here.
“Aren’t you going to ask me how I know him?” Her voice is thick.
I cup her cheek. “I already know.”
Her eyes slam shut, and she jerks her face away from me, dislodging my finger. “I was going to tell you,” she defends, even though I’m not asking for an explanation. With jerky movements, she dresses without uncovering herself. It’s an awkward mess, but I don’t try to stop her. Now if she thinks she’s leaving after, I will put a stop to that. She’s not leaving until I know she’s not going to try to avoid me later.
I take a step back and sit on the end of my bed, watching her every move. I probably shouldn’t have let Winger in, but she usually sleeps so soundly at home, I never guessed she would have woken up while I was gone.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” She tugs the hem of her shirt down as if she’s trying to cover up more of her body.
“I’m looking at you the same way I always have.”Like you’re mine.
“It doesn’t feel like it,” she mumbles.
“Come here.” I beckon her over with my finger. She stalls for a second, but then she lets out a sigh before stepping closer to me. I snag the loop of her pants and drag her even closer. Lucy places her hands on my shoulders and looks down at me. It dawns on me then that I’ve rarely allowed myself to be in this position, not on purpose anyway, but with her, I don’t mind. Wrapping my hands around the back of her thighs, I trap her between my legs. “I’m not looking at you differently, Lucy, but you sure are giving me a good scowl.”
