BAKER (Devil's Disciples Book 1)(45)

I was seeing a different side of Baker, and I loved it. Simply talking about furniture with him was more fun than I’d had in a long time. “Look behind you,” I said with a laugh. “I saved the red couch. It’s my favorite piece. At least I didn’t lose it.”

He wiped the condensation off his glass of tea with his thumb until there was a small puddle on the countertop. As he played in it with his fingertip, he looked up. “The tea’s good.”

It seemed he felt out of place, and I wondered why he really stopped by. I doubted it was to discuss furniture colors.

“Why’d you stop by?” I asked. “What were you hoping to accomplish?”

He tilted his head to the side and grinned. “Have you always been so outspoken?”

I nodded eagerly. “Pretty much, yeah.”

He took a drink of tea, set the glass aside, and then swept the puddle away with the back of his hand. “I feel weird.”

“You came by to tell me you feel weird?”

“No. With you standing over there, and me sitting here.” He stood, but didn’t make eye contact with me. “There. That’s better.”

It wasn’t better. Something was bothering him. I didn’t feel that sex was our only common bond, and I hoped he felt the same way. I certainly didn’t want him to give up before we got started.

“Does not boning bother you?”

His eyes narrowed. “Not what?”

“Boning. Fucking. Screwing.” I tapped my hand against the countertop. “Does being here and not having me bent over this island bother you? You seem nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Ohhhkaaay.”

He crossed his arms. “I’m not.”

I took a step back away from the island and looked him over. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

“I’m uglier than fuck now then, huh?”

He wasn’t. His jeans were cuffed, and he was wearing black boots. When combined with his unwrinkled white tee shirt and his nervous nature, he was cute. He was billboard worthy, and it amazed me that someone hadn’t scooped him up yet.

“Yeah,” I said with a nod. “Uglier’n fuck.”

“Thank you.”

“Did you decide why you came by?”

He mashed his arms tight against his chest. “On Saturday night. I’ll pick you up at, say, seven?”

The complete change of the conversation’s pace caught me off guard, but I recovered quickly. And, I did so with a huge smile. “Seven sounds good. Can we take your motorcycle? I’ve always wanted to ride on one.”

“We’ll take my car.”

I laced my fingers together and batted my eyes playfully. “Can we take the motorcycle?”

“We can’t,” he said stone-faced.

“Oh. Is it broken?”

“No,” he snapped.

“Sore subject?”

“Is what a sore subject?”

“You bike being broken.”

“It’s not broken.”

“Why can’t we take it?”

“There’s not a place for a passenger.”

I’d never heard of such a thing. As far as I knew, all motorcycles had a place for a passenger. I wrinkled my nose. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Sounds like we’re taking the car.”

He smiled and reached for his tea. After finishing it, he carried the glass to the sink. “You going to be here Friday night?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Planning on it, why?”

He turned around. “Just wondering.”

I looked him over. “Are you leaving?”

“I’ve got some business to take care of.”

I wished he could stay, but I didn’t do or say anything to make him aware of my hopes. Instead, I acted indifferent.

“Okay.”

He took a step toward me, paused, and took another. Then, he hugged me. He smelled magnificent. I enjoyed having him hold me, and he must have liked it too, because he held me for some time.

“Amos Lee,” he breathed against my neck. “I’ve always liked that song.”

The Wind, by Amos Lee had been playing from the living room’s speaker as he held me. I was surprised he recognized the artist, but was pleased that he did. Music was one more thing we seemed to have in common.

“It’s part of this playlist,” I said.

He released me and took a step back. After taking every inch of me in, he smiled. “I like your playlist.”

I took a step back and crossed my arms. In dramatic fashion, I dragged my eyes up and down his well-dressed frame. Then, I looked him dead in the eyes. “I like your playlist, too.”





TWENTY-EIGHT - Baker





Cash flopped into the chair across from me and scratched the sides of his head with his fingertips. After making himself look like a young dark-haired version of Albert Einstein, he leaned onto the edge of my desk. “What’d you make of that bullshit in that article?”

He was referencing a newspaper article about the jewelry store robbery in Rainbow. According to the story, an undisclosed amount of jewelry and gemstones were taken in the heist. There was no mention whatsoever of the cash or gold.