Seven (8 page)

Her whimpers get more frequent and just as I think Tracy is going to watch her husband finger bang another woman right in front of her I jump from the sound of her hand slamming down on the table. “What the fuck are you doing, Evan?” her loud scream earning the interest of the entire coffee house.

Tracy’s face burns a shade of red that competes with the color of her hair. She shoves away from the table. Evan’s eyes grow wide, pulling his hand out from between the woman’s legs as he watches his wife grab the little home wrecker by the hair, pulling her as far away from her husband as she can.

“Tracy!” he yells, standing up, still sporting wood. He notices and adjusts before Tracy walks over and knees him in the crotch. My shoulders come up to my ears. Fuck! That had to hurt.

“You cheating, lying son of a fucking bitch!” she fumes, shoving a finger in Evan’s chest. He towers over her significantly, but you can see he is terrified of her. “What in the ever loving fuck are you doing?”

“Tracy. Baby. Brandi means nothing to me,” he pleads, stepping closer before thinking better of it.

Brandi? Huh. His begging and her name? How cliché.

A slow smirk comes across my face and I watch Brandi’s face morph into anger at Evan’s words. “I mean
nothing
to you?” she asks, her voice echoing off the walls of the now dead silent room. “That’s not what you were saying when you’ve had your dick inside me for the past year!”

A collective breath is taken from everyone. It’s like watching a damn soap opera.

I need some fucking popcorn.

“A year?” Tracy screeches, looking with absolute disgust at Brandi. In a flash, her entire body whips around and her hand meets the left side of Evan’s face. Evan barely moves at the contact and stares at her in disbelief. Brandi picks up her purse with a huff and stomps her way out of the shop.

“You,” Tracy growls, getting into Evan’s face, “Better get a good fucking lawyer because at least half of your shit is mine!”

And with that, she is gone, Evan hot on her heels. Out the door, leaving me to my coffee in peace. I almost feel bad for what just happened, but it’s not like I made him cheat and showed it to her.

No.

That fucker started banging that woman over a year ago, and I was just showing his wife that she deserves so much better than that pansy ass. She is better off without him, even without half of his millions.

My foot knocks into something while I cross one leg over the other. I look down finding Tracy’s bag and groan. Damn it. I was planning on never having to see her again.

I pick it up, but before I can place it over the back of my chair a hand falls over mine. I look up finding Tracy’s tear-filled eyes. Trails of moisture fall down her cheeks and, for a brief moment, my heart breaks for her. “I forgot that,” she says. I hand it to her and she pulls it over her shoulder, pulling her hair that tangles up in the motion. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” she softly apologizes before turning and walking out of the door once again.

I watch her go, and it’s the first time, since starting all this, that I feel bad for the wake from the deceit of these men. She could have gone on for years not knowing what he was doing.
She needed to know.

The café returns to normal volume, now that the show is over, and I quickly finish up my coffee while scrolling through my phone. I decide to wait a few extra minutes, in case the happy couple is still outside, screaming it out on the sidewalk.

I smile realizing another PITCREW member’s life just became a little more screwed up, and then a cold chill hardens my nipples just before my cell rings in my hands.

CASEN CALLING.

I briefly consider not answering, but decide to accept the call anyways.

“Hello.”

I hear him clear his throat. “Embyr, its Casen.”

His voice, deep and mysterious, sends a shiver through my body, but I laugh. “I know.”

“Oh, well. What are you up to?” he asks and I can hear the busy streets of Chicago in the background.

I look around, noticing a couple searching for an open table that isn’t there. “I’m at Coffee Bean. Well, actually, I’m about to leave.” I stand up, motioning for the couple to take my table and clear my stuff.

“On Michigan?” he asks.

Tossing my trash in the garbage, I adjust my purse and walk out of the front door, taking a right towards my condo. “That’s the one.”

“In a sexy, red shirt and ass-hugging jeans?” His breath becomes harsh.

I stop walking, the hairs on the back of my neck, standing up. “Yes,” I stretch out the word.

“With torture me boots on?” he continues. I spin around just in time to see him walking straight toward me with purpose. He hits a button on his phone just before he gets to me. My hands fall to the side and his wrap around my face bringing our lips close. “I’m so glad I had to go to get my watch fixed around the corner this morning.”

This is dangerous. Part of me wants to push his hands off of me. The other part wants me to move in that last inch. “Why?” I breathlessly ask.

“Because now, I get to do something I’ve wanted to do again since Saturday.” His eyes look down to my lips before he gently places his on them. The kiss is slow and, even though I don’t want to I kiss him back, I allow his tongue to penetrate. It grows aggressive and, with a mind of their own, my fingers grab a hold of his shirt tightly as I grow wet between my legs. Shocked at my body’s reaction, I pull away and flatten myself against the side of the brick building. We stare for a moment before he speaks. “Are you busy right now?”

Speechless, I just shake my head no. Casen reaches out for my hand, and I take it. “Good,” he says. “I want to show you something.”

Patrick

Ian

Thad

Casen

Reece

Evan

Wesley

My feet struggle to keep up with his pace as he strides down the sidewalk. It’s unusually calm, considering the hustle and bustle of Chicago is always going, even at eleven o’clock on a Monday morning. We turn a corner and he stops so abruptly, that I have to keep myself from running into the back of him. “Where are you taking me?” I ask once I have secured more air in my lungs. He has yet to answer me or let go of my hand, so I take a quick look at what he is wearing.

A gray t-shirt fits tightly over his torso with the letters CFD in black across the front, and he has on a pair of black work out pants. His running shoes are neon green. I stifle a laugh at how ridiculous the shoes look. When I meet his eyes, he is smiling at me. He points across the street. “The firehouse,” he answers before pulling me in that direction.

I use as much resistance as I can. “I don’t think I’m allowed in there,” I tell him, attempting to gain possession of my hand.

Spinning around he takes my head in his hands. “Embyr, I wouldn’t take you here if you weren’t.”

I relent, allowing him to grab my hand, once again, and pull me through the enormous red doors. The large building houses one fire truck and one ambulance. I’m taken back by how huge they are once you are right up next to them. I used to seeing firetrucks as a kid and they looked enormous to me, but even now, years later, I am still in awe of their size. “Wow.”

My father was a police officer and I visited him at the station numerous times. Although it was connected to the fire station he never allowed me in there, no matter how many times I asked him.

Casen drops my hand and walks over to the driver’s side of the fire truck, opening the door. “Want to get in?”

I immediately shake my head no. “Won’t that be against the rules?”

He steps close to me, invading my space, and leans in. “You don’t look like a rule follower anyway.”

“Well, okay then,” I whisper, dropping my head back slightly, allowing his lips to brush the side of my neck. After he steps away, I grab onto the handle on the side of the door and start to pull myself up. Halfway there, I feel his warm hands cover my ass, pushing me up into the seat. The truck is facing out toward the street, and from up here, I realize it has to be tough navigating this beast through the city’s narrow streets.

“What do you think?” Casen asks, effortlessly pulling himself up alongside of me.

“It’s huge!” I tell him, running my fingers over the steering wheel, feeling overwhelmed by all the bells and whistles of it.

He leans over me, his intoxicating scent, hitting my senses, and he kisses me gently on the lips. “Want to pull the horn?”

I try to hide my smile from his sweet gesture and shake my head, realizing that I’m losing focus on the cause. Seductively, I pull my lip between my teeth before I say, “I want to do a lot of things.”

His eyebrows raise and a deep green swirls beneath the irises of his eyes. His Adam’s apple dips slowly as he swallows. “Like what?”

I turn my body toward him, allowing my legs to part so he can fit between them. He slides in, pushing his hips between mine and glides his hands up my jean clad thighs.

My body is in limbo. I don’t know if I should be repulsed by his touch or propelled towards the good fucking orgasm I haven’t had since college when I banged two frat brothers.

“You’re unbelievably sexy, Embyr,” he breathes into me. “I just can’t stop thinking about you.”

I don’t answer with words. I just pull him by the shirt into me and crash my lips to his like I’m claiming them as my own. His hands find the hem of my top and pushes it up, finding the soft skin of my stomach. His fingers drag along my sides, dangerously close to my breasts and then back down. I can’t contain the flood of want forming between my legs. “Casen,” I moan involuntarily.

“Jesus, Embyr,” he says against my lips. “I want to lay you down on this seat and have my way with you.”

His words cause a stir inside me. It’s like I almost want him to make good on his threat. His grip digs deeper into my sides but he startles as someone calls his name. Casen’s forehead falls to my shoulder. “Yeah, man?”

The interrupter’s voice gets closer, and I quickly adjust my shirt back in place. “I thought you were gone for the day?” he asks Casen.

“I was but I wanted to show Embyr the station,” he answers, dragging himself away from me and stepping down before extending his hand to me. I take it and carefully lower myself to solid ground and come face to face with Reece—fucking—Craig.

Ah, Reece. The one who started the bet. If it wasn’t for this asshole, I might have lead a normal life.

His eyes scan over my body, causing a shuttering that makes me want to vomit. I feel exposed as he continues to take inventory before bringing his right hand out.

“Reece Craig. I work with Casen.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “What was your name, again?” His head tilts to the side and his face scrunches up in a stare I remember from ten years ago. It’s the look he gave just before he delivered the final blow on an argument. We had many of those since he was in most of my high school classes. Speech class was always the worst. If there was ever a chance my facts were wrong, or he disagreed with my persuasive speech, that look would show up, and I would cower back. It’s the look he gave me right after I told him my father was going to have his ass for what he started.

“You ain’t going to tell him shit,”
he had said, and he was right. I didn’t want to disappoint my dad.

I take his hand in mine and tighten my grip to show strength. “Embyr. Embyr Quinn. Nice to meet you.”

When a sufficient amount of time has passed, I attempt to drop my hand, but he isn’t so fast to let go. Tugging, I free my hand and take a step back, the hairs on the back of my neck, standing up. His dark green eyes pierce me where I stand. If he was as tall as Casen, Reece would be a very scary man. But, while his five foot eleven stature doesn’t scare many men, his messy brown hair and dual dimple smile has most ladies dropping their panties within minutes. I’ve seen it happen. Casen, Reece, and Ian frequent Jedi’s Bar and I’ve watched the women bow before him. It’s sickening really.

“What are the two of you up to?” he asks Casen, but keeps his eyes are dead set on me.

I’m pulled from the depths of his stare when Casen grabs me around the waist. “I was about to show her where we sleep on our shifts.”

A smirk crosses Reece’s face that irritates me. He’s the type of man that can instantly infuriate me with just his mere presence. It has always been that way. Reece Craig was never—and I mean
never
—nice to me. He turns to walk away, waving. “Don’t forget to wash the sheets.”