And I would laugh, but dammit, my fucking dick just turned to steel. She’s right. This friend thing will never work, but fuck if I can make myself walk away just yet. “Do you want a ride or not?” The question isn’t meant to be sharp, but it is. She doesn’t help things when her face heats as her eyes fixate on my mouth.Fuck, this was a bad idea.So is walking toward her, grabbing her arm, and dragging her with me to my car. “Come on, Halfpint. I’m tired of waiting for you to decide when we both know you won’t turn me down.”
“Watch me, buddy.” She pulls against my grip, attempting to get away.
I won’t deny I’m curious about the mood. She’s always feisty. A continuous current of sass. But it’s almost like she’s pissed, but it can’t be with me because we were fine when I dropped her off this morning.
My fingers tighten around her bicep, but I know I’m not hurting her through all the clothes separating us. I keep pulling her, half expecting her to scream and draw negative attention to make me let go. And with anyone else, I would, but I already know, even if I don’t understand why, I won’t let go of her.
I swing the door of my car open, shoving her inside. She tries to stop me from closing the door, so I lean over. “I’m not sure what PMS demon has possessed you since this morning, but if you don’t stay put, I will fucking handcuff you.”
Her mouth opens, her eyes blazing, but when it fades away so fast, turning instantly to desire, I wonder if she really is possessed. “You have handcuffs in your car? Why?”
I lean closer, my lips almost touching her ear. “For the exact thing you’re thinking about right now. Play nice, and I will show you how much fun they are.” Now that she’s thoroughly redirected, I shut her door and go to my side of the car.
Her arms fold across her chest as I pull away from the curb. She doesn’t look at me as she says, “I need to go to my apartment, then I’m working tonight.”
“I guessed as much. Most of the club employees work seven days. I guess Dom makes an exception for you because of Will.”
“Will? What does he have to do with it?”
I scoff, shaking my head, wondering how she doesn’t know. “Will is Casey’s bodyguard. Well, technically Graham’s, but Graham makes him stay with Casey.”
“Oh, my God.” I glance her way as the high-pitched embarrassment erupts from her. “That’s how he knew me. I wonder if that’s why I can’t work upstairs?”
Fuck, I don’t mean to growl. There’s no reason for it, yet here I am, fighting down the rumbling that threatens to make my illogical jealousy known. “Probably.” At least it was more of a rasp than a growl, and she grows quiet, turning the new information over in her head, I suppose.
We’re halfway to her apartment when she breaks the silence. “I’m sorry for biting your head off. You didn’t deserve that.”
“Want to talk about it?” I offer. Just because I don’t enjoy talking about my shit doesn’t mean I expect the same from others.
Several long seconds pass, and I decide she’s not going to tell me. Then she shocks the hell out of me. “When my nana passed, there was a mortgage on the apartment she never told me about. A few weeks before she died, she used the apartment as collateral for a seventy-five thousand dollar loan.”
“What did she do with the money?”
“No clue. She had great health insurance. She wasn’t a millionaire by any stretch of the imagination, but she had more than enough retirement and pension to pay monthly expenses with a little left over for emergencies. When my grandfather died, his pension went to Nana, and he had a good life insurance policy. Like I said, she wasn’t a millionaire, but she was debt-free and, along with her retirement, had enough to take care of whatever she needed. She didn’t even ask me to help, but I did as much as I could.”
“If she had that much set aside, why didn’t you use it to pay off the loan?”
“Because it was gone, too. I’m not even sure how much it was, but there was nothing left but what was left of her regular monthly income. It took most of my savings to have her cremated.” She pauses for a breath, looking out the window of my car. “Long story short, I got the bank to give me an extension to pay off the balance of the loan. I gave them the rest of my savings, and I give them everything I make beyond absolute necessities every month. It’s why I work at the restaurant between class and rehearsal, then at the club.” Her head falls back against the seat, and I swear I see tears gathering in her eyes. I’ve only known her for a few days, but one thing I’ve learned: Poppy Carnac doesn’t cry.
“When did your grandmother die?” I ask to alleviate a suspicion.
“Three months ago. Why?”
My face stays neutral as I drive, but internally, I cringe. Her grandmother died a few months after I stopped responding to Renee’s messages and calls. We would go days and weeks without communication, even when I wasn’t traveling. We were friends at best, but even that is being generous.
Renee was my go-to for sex when I would wallow so hard in self-pity that leaving the apartment seemed tedious. She’d come over to my place in Brooklyn, and we’d get high and screw for days on end. Then I’d send her on her way for another few weeks. On very rare occasions, I’d take her to a party or something, but that ended when she walked in on something I wish to God she’d never seen because what she thinks she saw and the truth couldn’t be further apart.
Unfortunately, it’s why I continued to supply her for so long. There’s an NDA, and I will abso-fucking-lutely enforce it, but it doesn’t mean a lot if she runs her mouth. The damage will be done. I shouldn’t have cut her off, but even I thought the toxicity between us was too much.
The timing makes sense, but even Renee can’t go through seventy-five-plus of cocaine that fast. And if she needed that kind of money, she could’ve blackmailed me. She never did. I just didn’t trust her. I don’t trust any woman.
But if not her, who?
“Did you request your Nana’s bank records so you could see where she spent the money?”
“That’s the weirdest part. She took it all in cash. The loan, the withdrawals…all of it.”
That much cash for an elderly woman is definitely not right. “Okay, how much time do you have, and how much is owed?” I’m already plotting how to help her. Offering the money is off the table because I know she would never take it. Of course, if it comes down to it, I won’t offer. I’ll just go pay the debt. Better to ask forgiveness than permission when it affects someone’s ability to live, and if she has to pay rent, she’ll have to move to a cheaper rent district with a few roommates and continue to work the insane hours I know she’s pulling. It’s not sustainable, and I think if she were willing to give up the ballet, she would’ve done it already.
