But hand stuff?
Nope.
I had come to terms with that just being a reality for me. I didn't get off that way.
Then there was West, slamming me back against a wall, slapping a hand over my mouth, and giving me an orgasm with his fingers. And not just a little one. You know, like a fluttery orgasm. Oh, no. It was one of the big ones. The rolling ones. The ones that made your chest feel tight and your legs wobbly.
He'd done that.
Erasing a decade or so of beliefs about myself.
And then telling me he would never give it to me again.
That was what did it.
Made my interest turn into something more intense.
Ayanna had dared to call it a crush.
Which was a little sappy for me.
But there was also no denying that there was likely some truth to that.
I was not, as a rule, the kind of girl who chased men, who made plans around men. I generally did my own thing, and then they could come find me if they were interested.
But in the days that followed meeting West, I had kept in contact with Remy and Teddy because they were the least likely to read too much into my sudden interest in their whereabouts. Huck, McCoy, and Che had my number. They'd have known something was up.
They went to Chaos one more time. I showed up, but too late.
They went to the boardwalk, but I had only caught them on the way out. And, having some pride, I had just gone on like I had planned to take a walk there by myself.
Take a walk.
Me.
Huck had shot me a raised brow, but said nothing.
I was not the 'taking a walk' sort of person. Then for two nights, they'd been 'working,' bringing West along with them to, I don't know, show them how they operated, impress him. Something like that.
I was in the middle of planning a party at my place—yes, for the sole purpose of getting the guys over in my space. Don't judge me. And my phone bleeped.
"Look who was coming in when we were heading out." It was a picture from Ayanna who was out on her weekly date with her man. The one night of the week she demanded he turn off his phone, and focus fully on her.
And it was a picture of West from the back.
Sitting at a table at a local bar.
All alone.
Well, that was just fate, wasn't it?
I slipped on a pair of shorts, slapped on a little lipstick, and made my way out the door.
When I got there ten minutes later, West was still sitting at the same table, neither my brother or his guys anywhere to be found.
I ordered myself a drink then made my way over, dropping down across from him.
"Pretty girl, go sit somewhere else," he demanded, and if I wasn't completely mistaken, there was a little regret in his voice at having to say it.
"But you looked so lonely over here," I told him. "Did they ditch you?"
"They had a job. Something 'delicate,'" he said, air quoting. "I tried to stay in, but that fucking apartment was depressing."
"I know, right?" I agreed. "I could scrounge up some basic necessities if you need them. Extra blankets, towels, things to cook and eat with. Honestly, I don't know what my brother eats off of in his place. The last time I was over there, the only things in the cabinets were extra paper plates and plastic utensils from takeout orders. I mean, for all I know, you're the same way. Do you even know how to work a stove?"
"I can fry an egg, make pasta, grill a steak. Basic shit. My mother gave up on me learning any of the shit she taught my sisters, but she insisted it was a basic life skill to be able to feed myself."
"Wise woman. My brother did not get such instruction."
"You didn't either. You cook?"
"Nothing fancy either, but yeah. I can get by. Ayanna is the gourmet chef. I can talk her into feeding me fancy a few times a month. Otherwise, it is a lot of pasta and mac and cheese and Hope For The Best dinners."
"Hope For The Best dinners?" he repeated, brow furrowing.
"Yeah when you pretty much throw everything you have in the fridge about to expire into a pot or pan and... hope for the best."
"One of my brothers back in Navesink Bank, Lazarus, he makes something he calls Kitchen Sink Soup."
"As in everything but the?" I asked.
"Exactly."
"Is it always good?"
"Laz claims you can save just about anything with the right spices."
"I dunno about that. He clearly never tried my pickle soup. God, I think I lost five pounds throwing up that night. Hot pickles. Yeah, just... trust me. Don't try it."
"So, you're really not going to bring it up?" he asked, making me stiffen a little, thinking he meant the night in his temporary apartment. "My beard," he clarified when I didn't say anything. "Or lack thereof."