“Aunt Chelsea!”

“Hiiiiiii!”

I can’t help but laugh. And wonder if she owns earplugs.

Chelsea blows out a breath through her perfect, smiling lips. “I should go before they start eating each other.”

“That might not be a bad thing. There are enough of them to spare.”

She shakes her head and climbs into the truck, then rolls down the window to say, “Thank you again. I owe you, Jake.”

I tap the side of the truck as she slowly pulls away. “Yes, you do.”

And that’s a debt I can’t wait to collect.

Soon.

8

Scorching lips suck at the skin along my neck—teeth nipping, tongue-laving suction. Nails scrape along my abs, across my chest, blazing a hard trail of need that leads straight to my cock. Deft fingers work the buttons on my shirt and hot blood pools in my pelvis.

It’s been so long—too long—but the dry spell ends tonight.

Fucking finally.

I cradle her face in my hands and move my mouth over hers roughly. My tongue plunges and swirls, tasting tequila. So good.

Friday afternoon, I got around to dialing Lisa DiMaggio. Because I learn from my mistakes, I asked about her and Ted’s breakup—it wasn’t because of cheating. Then I asked if she’d been tested recently. Miraculously she had, and she was clean. It was like the universe was telling me, “You’ve suffered enough, poor man.”

We made plans for her place on Friday night, and I brought a bottle of Patrón for Lisa and a bottle of red wine for me that I ended up leaving in the car.

Lisa peels open my shirt, running her palms across my pecs and over my shoulders. “God, your tattoos.” She moans appreciatively, tracing the ink first with her hands, then with her lips. “These are so fucking hot. They’re my favorite part.”

I work on her earlobe, flicking at it with my tongue like it’s a clit. And I chuckle. “I thought my cock was your favorite.”

She giggles against my skin. “Guess I need my memory refreshed.”

Works for me.

I’m just about to start doing some unbuttoning of my own when my phone lights up, vibrating on the coffee table near the couch we’re sitting on. I glance at the screen but don’t recognize the number and let it go to voice mail.

I palm her tit over her blouse. Her blond hair slides over her shoulders as Lisa arches her back, moaning.

And the phone rings again. Same number.

What the fucking fuck?

I pull back. “I should answer that.”

Lisa shrugs and pours herself another shot of tequila, licking her hand and dashing it with salt as I stand and bring my phone to my ear. “Becker.”

“Hey, Becker! It’s Paul Noblecky, how ya doing?”

I was doing a hell of a lot better two minutes ago.

“I’m in the middle of something.” My eyes zero in on Lisa’s shapely thighs beneath her black dress—that’s really where I’d like to be in the middle of. “Make it quick. What do you need, Paul?”

“Well, we broke up a beer party out on Cambridge Place tonight. A high school thing, parents were away. A few of the kids were pretty wasted so we brought them to the station to dry out and call their parents. One of the girls, she won’t give us her name—only your business card. Says you’re her lawyer, Becker.”

My eyes roll closed. And I just know.

“Let me guess—brown curly hair, about five two, blue eyes, piss-poor attitude?”

Noblecky chuckles. “That’s her.”

I rub my forehead, feeling a migraine coming on—because the blue balls has most likely traveled to my brain. “Her name’s Riley. Her aunt’s the legal guardian.” I rattle off Chelsea’s phone number, which I got from her on Wednesday.

“Thanks, Becker—I’ll call the aunt, have her come get the kid.”

It’s late—after midnight. But I’m not going to think about how Chelsea will have to get all those other kids out of bed, including the baby and the little two-year-old. Put their coats on, buckle them in the car. In the dark.

All by herself.

That’s not my fucking problem. My problem is the rock-hard dick between my legs that will probably strangle me in my sleep if I don’t get him some action soon.

I hang up the phone and lean back on the couch beside Lisa. She grins, slightly buzzed. “Work stuff?”

“Yeah—nothing important.”

She palms my junk. “Not like this—this is really important.”

I thrust against her hand and lean over. “I do like a woman who has her priorities straight.”

Then we’re kissing again. And it’s nice.

But . . . I still can’t shake the image of Chelsea and the kids. The tiny blonde with the big blue eyes, Raymond squinting wearily as he puts his glasses on. I imagine them down at the precinct—it’s not the safest area to be in, especially after midnight. I imagine them driving, Chelsea yawning, possibly not noticing an oncoming car that’s swerved into her lane, not until—

“Shit!” I pull back, breathing hard. “I have to go.”

“What?” Lisa whines. “No . . . no, stay. Important things, remember? All the fabulous fucking we were going to do. Important.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” And I mean I’m really, really fucking sorry. “There’s a thing and I have to handle it myself.”

Lisa flops backward, resting her head on the arm of the couch, still hot and bothered. “You’re killing me, Becker.”

I stand up, rebuttoning my shirt. And my cock is furious. “Rain check?”