Page 36 of Airhead

That—of course—was when he should have stepped back, but he just couldn’t get his feet to move away from her.

She took the keys, her fingers brushing his and sending a jolt of awareness straight to his dick—as if he needed a reminder of just how much he wanted her. A soft blush turned her cheeks pink, and she bit down on her lip, but she didn’t look away. Just like in those few moments between shutting the supply closet door and fucking her—finally fucking her—everything slowed down as the air grew thick with anticipation and want.

He gripped the passenger door hard enough that the metal bit into his palm as he tried desperately to hold onto his fraying sense of control. He couldn’t lose it like he had in the supply closet. He’d known the second she’d wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him like she’d been fantasizing about him as long as he had been dreaming about her, that he was a goner.

In that closet, next to the mops and the industrial-sized bottles of floor cleaner, there hadn’t been any slow and easy, and definitely not any sweet and gentle. It had been desperate and needy and so fucking good.

He wouldn’t change that night for anything, but tonight was his one chance to show her he could be more.

And he was trying to do just that when she pressed a hand to his chest and tilted her face up at him. Her perfect lips, glossy and pink, parted as she rose on her tiptoes.

Then the slam of a car door and a woman’s laughter echoing off the parking garage’s concrete walls broke the moment. Katie jerked back, blinking rapidly as she looked over toward the noise as if trying to remember where they were. Then she looked back at him, her gaze lingering on his mouth. A bright spot of red appeared at the base of her throat.

“You brought me to the museum for the best night of my life?“ she asked, her voice higher than normal and her motions all fluttery as she turned and reached back inside the car for her purse.

“Of course,” he said. “They have a new exhibit all about the African elephants you like.”

She started, and her huge bag slipped through her fingers. It landed on the seat and fell over, sending keys, pens, tubes of lipstick, a deformed wire hanger, a bunch of hair things, two books that had to weigh several pounds each, a Walkman, and more spilling onto the floor. Muttering to herself, she shoveled everything back in and stood up, clutching the purse to her chest.

“How did you know I like elephants?”

“You watched a show about them during the poker game a few months ago.”

Her face softened. She looked down, a small smile curling her full lips. “Thank you.”

He looked down at the cracked concrete and shrugged. A jittery awkwardness, like a bundle of electricity, sizzled in his gut. “It’s just the museum.”

“Yeah, but when you grow up one of thirteen, most people just lump you together,” she said with a quick huff of frustration, hitting the locks and closing the car door behind her with more force than necessary. “You aren’t an individual with your own likes; you’re just another one of those Madigans.”

He looked up and grinned at her. “Trust me. I will never, ever lump you in with your brothers. You smell way better.”

Giggling, she rolled her eyes at him, and her shoulders relaxed back down. “Come on. Let’s go see those elephants.”

An hour later, they’d explored the life-sized, walk-thru exhibit showcasing how the elephants are considered ecosystem engineers, watched a short documentary about elephant social structures, and pressed their hands against the wall so they could feel the vibrations the animals spoke with that were too low for humans to hear. They were admiring the thirteen-foot-tall. taxidermy elephant that weighed eleven tons when someone with a thick Harbor City accent yelled out. “Yo, Hartigan!“

Frank turned around. Some sixth sense warning of trouble made the back of his neck tingle as he watched the two guys he’d never seen before approaching them a little too casually. Both were the kind of ruddy-faced, blonde-haired, no-neck type of guys who tended to forget leg day but always remembered a personal slight (real or imagined). Their eyes were too glassy, and their smiles too big for this encounter to be anything other than a shit parade.

Listening to his gut, Frank stepped forward and pivoted enough to partially block Katie from Frick and Frack’s approach.

“Do I know you?” Frank asked, keeping his tone neutral as he watched the two men.

“Do you know us?” The taller man laughed as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. Then he smacked the other guy in the chest with the back of his hand. “Did you hear that, Petey? For the love of Mike, he’s going to pretend he doesn’t know us because he’s on a date.” He shot Katie a slimy smile. “Hey, gorgeous.”

Frank could feel Katie stiffen behind him. He took a step over so he stood fully between her and the men.

“Well, you know what they say about firemen,” Petey said with a chuckle. “They’re not the brightest if they’re willing to go into a burning building.”

“Look, buddy,” Frank said, letting his annoyance bleed through into his tone. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not him.”

The taller guy laughed again, a loud braying sound that had other people looking over at them.

“Petey, I’m telling you, this guy is fucking funny. A hoot, as Granny G would say.” He shook his head as another, quieter chuckle slipped out. But when he looked back at Frank, he wasn’t smiling anymore. “Look, Paul, you owe two grand, and it’s past time to pay up.”

Realization hit Frank like a two-by-four to the temple, and suddenly everything made sense. These two weren’t just assholes; they were assholes who collected for someone bigger, badder, and meaner. Frank bit back a groan. He was going to kill his twin brother. Slowly. Painfully. And then he was going to bring him back so he could do it again.

“First off, I’m not Paul. That’s my brother.” He ground out the words like he was chewing glass. “Second, I assume your office is at The Flying Sow?”

“Nice try, Paul,” Petey said, taking another step closer. “The town isn’t exactly crawling with giant redheads with a taste for double or nothing bets, even if that means taking the Cajun Rage to win.”