“Don’t you want to suck my dick while I’m wearing the three-piece, cufflinks and a tie?” Callum teased.
“Actually.” I grabbed that tie, tugged him past the living room into the study, locked the door, and sank to my knees. “Great idea.”
The pull of leather at my hip reminded me I’d gone out armed to watch over Callum. I unbuckled my holster and set the weapon well off to the side. “Where was I? Zipper, I think.”
“We could have more light.” Callum peered down at me.
“I like this.” The drapes were open, but the window only looked out at the side of Roy’s garage. The faint threads of moonlight caught little highlights off Callum— the shine of his shoes, a spark of auburn in his hair, the glint of stubble on the shadowed angle of his jaw. He was a mysterious, big, formally suited figure, and yet his voice and scent said he was my Callum.
I undid his belt and left the ends hanging, then unbuttoned his waistband and slowly tugged on the zipper. Callum set his hands on my head, humming encouragement, then froze.
“What?” I asked.
“Sorry. God, can you hold that thought for a minute?”
“Bathroom?”
“Trash can.” Callum laughed. “As in, I can see Grandpa’s isn’t down by the street for pickup and I’d rather do it now than after I’m half undressed and sticky and breathing like a freight train.”
“That’s an attractive picture,” I told him. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“Except if I’m hauling a can to the curb.”
I’d have suggested he wait till morning, but our trash collection came by around six-thirty a.m. and neither of us would want to get up early. I climbed to my feet. “Okay. You take care of that, and then maybe we’ll take the suit porn to my room where I can really enjoy the sight of you.”
Callum grabbed my chin and delivered a fast, hard kiss. “Will do. Don’t lose my place.”
He zipped up, leaving his belt dangling, and left the room. I wandered to the window to watch as he came into view, his strides athletic and powerful. That suit was still a winner.
As Callum reached the garbage bin beside the garage, movement to the left caught my eye. A dark sedan pulled over at the curb, parked, and cut its lights. The door opened but the dome light didn’t come on. Without stopping to think, I grabbed my holstered weapon off the floor, sprinted for the kitchen door, and let myself out into the night. I shook the holster off my Glock, leaving the leather behind in the grass, and raised my weapon as I stalked forward. Digging my phone out lefthanded was a bit trickier, but I got it and swiped to the camera with my thumb, starting a video.
When I reached the corner of the house, I paused, holding the camera forward and eyeing the screen. A short man had gotten out of the car and was walking toward Callum, who’d paused halfway down the drive. Ducking low, I eased aroundthe corner of the house, keeping behind the bushes I should’ve trimmed weeks ago.
At first, I could only make out the murmur of words, but as I got nearer, phone held out, I heard the man’s low voice. “…why Wayne Fitzpatrick called me to say you had him arrested?”
Callum let the back of the bin thump to the driveway and stepped away from it. “He was asking for it. He stole my money. Your money.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Ten grand. That’s what you promised for losing the game. I delivered the loss. He left me five thousand, and told me you’d lowered the price. I figured you didn’t break bargains like that. It’d be bad for business. I bet he skimmed it off the top, thinking neither of us would ever know the difference.”
“And so you ran to the cops? Are you that suicidal?”
“What? I had him busted for stealing my truck. I didn’t tell them shit about the game or the money. He’ll go back to prison for violating parole. Sucks to be him.” Callum tilted his head. “Just so I know, youarestill promising ten K for each loss, right? Not five?”
“I’m not making up the difference tonight. He’s your uncle, your problem.” The short man who had to be Smith took a step closer to Callum. “He said you were blowing the whistle on me. I hate snitches.”
I raised my weapon, aiming centre of mass, just in case. This was Canada. Not every two-bit punk had a gun, like in the States. But enough did that his furious tone made me tense.
Callum raised his chin. “I’m not an idiot. You have me cold. Two losses now, two payoffs. At this point, I might as well make decent money off it. When I’m in the NAPH, the payoutwillgo up, right? I’m not risking a million-dollar salary for ten grand.”
“You’ll take what I give you. But if you’re playing for a top team, we’ll negotiate something reasonable.”
“Negotiate.” Callum laughed with a bitter edge. “Like I had any choice here. Okay. Ten grand for now. What’s the next game?”
“Huh?”
“Next loss. Get with the program, dude.” Callum snapped his fingers at Smith.
