Fury on Fire (Devil's Rock #3)(26)

That’s none of your business.



His thumb again stroked the side of his phone. He was going to take that as a no. She had never dirty-talked before. Somehow that didn’t surprise him. The things to come out of his mouth would probably horrify her. His fingers hovered over the keys, tempted to type more, to keep flirting, to keep doing whatever it was he was doing with her.

No. Shaking his head, he set his phone down on the counter and slid it firmly away. It might start out fun and good but it would turn messy. With a good woman like her that was inevitable. He had a flash of himself standing naked in his backyard, one hand on himself as he gazed up at her window. Messier than it already was. She lived next door to him. It would be hard to avoid her when things went south—and things inevitably would. Because nothing fun or good ever lasted.





ELEVEN




It was Saturday night and North was going to get laid. He was done talking about it. Finished thinking about it. Since he’d been paroled a week hadn’t passed without some action. It was time to make it happen.

He decided he would pay a visit to Joe’s Cabaret—even if it meant he might have to run into Serena again. The place was easy if he was looking for a quick fix. He could also check in on Piper again while he was there. Two birds, one stone.

He’d worked later than usual at the garage finishing up a frame for a custom chopper his boss needed yesterday. He parked his truck in the driveway beside his bike. Faith’s car was already there . . . probably where it would sit all night. She didn’t have much of a social life as far as he could tell.

He’d just reached his front door when a gleaming black Audi pulled into Faith’s driveway. He hesitated, watching as a guy got out from behind the wheel. A loafers, chinos and polo shirt kind of guy. He wore a blazer over the polo shirt. Even at dusk, it was hot as hell to be wearing a blazer when you didn’t have to. He held a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Yellow roses. If that didn’t scream first date he wasn’t sure what did. Not that North brought flowers to any doors these days. He might not date, but he’d bought wrist corsages before—his junior and senior year. One might have even been yellow.

Fancy Pants spotted him and nodded a greeting in his direction, smiling politely even as his gaze skimmed and assessed North in his work clothes. Clothes that consisted of well-worn jeans and a grease-stained T-shirt with the garage’s logo on his chest. It was a cursory inspection, but one that seemed to say beneath me. Or maybe North was projecting because he felt that way? Because you are. He was good for f*cking a woman and getting her off . . . but not dating. Not marrying. Not being the kind of man a girl took home to Mom and Dad.

North nodded back at him, jerking his chin up once in stiff acknowledgment. He shut the door but didn’t move away from it. He didn’t walk into his house and do his normal things like a normal human being. No, he turned around and peered through the living room blinds, straining to see as much as he could of the man walking up to Faith’s front door.

The guy moved out of sight, but that didn’t prompt North to move away. No, he waited. He heard the knock at her door. He heard the door opening. He heard the low rumble of voices. A man’s deeper voice followed by a softer female voice. His body tensed, leaning toward that sound—Faith’s voice. It was her.

And still he waited. Listening. He heard the door shut. Keys jangled in the lock.

Fancy Pants came into view, walking back down the driveway (minus the flowers) with Faith following him. North gazed at the back of her head. At the sleek fall of brown hair that fell a little past her shoulders. Still no view of her face. Damn it. How hard could it be to see what she looked like? The irony wasn’t lost on him that she had seen him. All of him.

She was wearing a dress. A little black number that looked like definite evening attire. Date attire. Not something she would wear to the office doing whatever it was that she did. Except those shoes. She still had on sexy shoes. Black heels with laces that wrapped around her ankles and tied off in a little neat bow. Her legs were still endless, still perfect, in his mind, for wrapping around a man.

Fancy Pants opened the passenger side door for her like a gentleman. Because he was a gentleman. That was the kind of man she would date because that was the kind of man she deserved.

She slid into the car with her face averted, impossible to see in the fading dusk. He still had no view of her face. Still.



North changed his mind. Instead of Joe’s Cabaret, he decided to go to Roscoe’s, his family’s bar, which Knox ran. Knox had offered him a job there when he got out, but he’d declined, feeling the need to distance himself from his brother and the rest of the family.

Two years ago, he had been angry at the world when he was paroled. And wrong or right, a lot of that anger had been directed at Knox. He’d needed time and space from his brother, who had somehow managed to build a pretty nice life for himself. Maybe he still needed that space. Maybe he always would. It was for the best. North had found his own path. He liked his work at the garage and the freelance projects he did on the side. He was his own man. No longer Knox Callaghan’s kid brother. He faced the world alone and stood on his own two feet. Just as he’d had to do in those last four years at the Rock.

He didn’t mind visiting Roscoe’s now and then though. His drinks were on the house. Knox, Aunt Alice and any of the other servers on shift never charged him. Saturday nights were always hopping. Plenty of pretty barflies for him to hook up with for the night.