Indecent Exposure_The Academy Page 3

  “Okay. If you say you’re fine, I believe you.”

  “Just like that?”

  His middle finger slides right down the center of my neck. “Just like that.”

  I feel the rich texture of his voice and that featherlight touch between my legs, but I force myself not to press my knees together, lest I give myself away. “How about we make a deal?” Jesus, I sound like I need a new set of lungs. “I’ll reveal one list item.”

  “How is that a good deal for me?”

  “I’ll let you come along.”

  He’s strumming my neck now like a guitar, slow, slow brushes designed to drive me mad. And it’s working. His huge, warm, male presence on the bench is sucking me in, making me want to turn and crawl straight into him. “So if I agree to the deal, I only get to come along on one adventure?”

  “How did you know I was calling it an adventure?”

  Those dimples wink at me. “Seems like something you’d say.” He appears to be pondering the terms of the deal. “What if I hold out for the entire list? All or nothing.”

  I straighten my back. I’m not sure if it’s a voluntary move or what, but he’s now cupping my nape, sliding his thumb through my hair and I can barely breathe. “Didn’t you learn anything from your plaque story? When you wish for too much, a manhole comes along and swallows you up.”

  He expels a harsh breath. “Christ, you’re fucking cute, Katie. How long am I supposed to pretend I don’t want to kiss the shit out of you on this bench?”

  My knees snap together to block the bolt of lightning that blows up both thighs. “Th-this is you pretending? Really? With the whole thumb massage thing?”

  “You don’t know the half of it, Snaps.” His laughter is pained as he stands, pacing away. My neck feels achingly cold without his hand. “Fine. You have a deal. One item on the list and I get to be there. Sold. For now.”

  “For now?”

  Jack inclines his head. “You might decide to tell me more at a later date.”

  “Is this the part where you tell me you can be very persuasive?”

  He crooks a finger at me. “If you’re going to put words in my mouth, honey, at least be nice and use your tongue.”

  I shoot to my feet. “I’m way out of my league here.”

  “Shit, Katie. Wait.” His burrows his fingers through the short ends of his hair. “I’m sorry. I’m the one out of his league. Most girls aren’t interested in having a heart-to-heart with me on a park bench, all right? I don’t know what you expect from me.”

  “I hadn’t gotten round to expecting anything just yet.”

  “Don’t go. Just . . . don’t go.” He drops his hands slowly, as if trying to will me back into a sitting position, but my heart is pinging all over the place and I’m . . . I’m thinking of doing a legger. Just juking left to throw him off, then sprinting straight out of the park. I thought I understood how hypnotic and overtly sexual Jack is. But right up until he told me to come over and use my tongue, I was underestimating him. I only met this man a half-hour ago and I want him to throw me down and make a harlot out of me. And for someone who felt guilty over her own private fantasy about the Tonga torchbearer in Rio, it’s a lot at once. A lot.

  He could tease me for being a virgin. Once we get the general hilarity out of the way, I could disappoint him. I could . . . yeah, I could start to like him. Maybe I already do. But he has to have a million options for companionship at his disposal and that’s far too intimidating for me.

  “Thanks for coming with me to the park, Jack . . .” I pick my backpack up off the bench. “But I have to go.”

  “Fuck. I really blew it, huh? You’re just going to go.”

  I think it’s the hollow tone of his voice that propels me to blurt, “I’m going to dance in Cherry Hill Fountain in Central Park. Tomorrow night.”

  He’s very still and somewhere in the distance a horn begins to blare. The universe telling me I’ve made the right decision sharing my plans? I guess I’ll find out. “You can get arrested for that.”

  “Then I suppose I could do with a lookout.” There we go. I’ve lost the plot. The plot vanishes from sight completely when Jack’s upset expression is cracked open by a mile-wide, slightly piratical smile . . . and my pulse flies on butterfly wings up to my throat. “I’ll see you then.”

  “One kiss.” He takes a step forwards, his big chest rising and falling. “I know I’m pushing it, Snaps. But I’m dying over here.”

  I’m dying, too. No denying it. This attraction is very bad for my mental and physical health. He probably won’t even show up tomorrow night. His romantic comedy costar will distract him with an invitation to eat grapes on a sun-drenched rooftop somewhere and I . . . I could never get another chance to kiss this outrageously beautiful man. This trip to New York isn’t only a career opportunity, it’s a chance to shake off my comfort zone.

  Do it, Katie. Don’t regret it. Don’t be a coward.

  What’s the worst that could happen?

  “Just one, then,” I whisper.

  His green eyes go molten as he takes two big strides and swoops in. I hear my backpack hit the ground and then nothing, nothing, but Jack’s mouth has any part of my focus.

  What’s the worst that could happen?

  He could kiss like my taste will set him free. And that’s exactly what he does. One giant hand cups the back of my head, the other resting on my cheek. He tilts me so gently, I don’t expect the ravenous sweep of his tongue, smooth and wicked. The power of it knocks me back a step. Jack follows, towering over me, groaning into my mouth, taking, absorbing, demanding more. Holding me right where he wants me, his firm lips slanting and slanting. He’s the Big Bad Wolf and I’m the meal he’s snared in his trap. Only, I’m not sitting there taking it like good prey. After the initial shock of sensations, I willingly drown in them.

  My hands twist in the front of his sweatshirt, my back bowing by primitive demand and he counters me perfectly, giving me his hard lap to cushion my softness. His rough exhalation shakes out into my mouth when our lower bodies meld on a single grind, his eyebrows slashing down as though he’s in pain.

  “One more, Katie. One more, one more, one—”

  I yank him back down, cutting him off with my waiting kiss and his hands, they become these sweeping sources of hot want, dragging down my sides, clutching my hips and pulling me up onto my toes, sliding me side to side against his large arousal. There’s nothing gentle about the way he’s kissing me now and I imagine this is what he does with his mouth while thrusting into a woman. Just overwhelms her senses until she’s a mass of lust and urgency, letting him have her in any manner he deems suitable.

  And I was worried about putting on my cardigan in front of him.

  Maybe it’s ridiculous—maybe I’m ridiculous—but that’s the thought that forces me to break away, sucking in deep gulps of chilling night air. Jack’s forehead is pressed to mine, twisting side to side like he’s shaking his head. Or in denial. I don’t know.

  Somehow I find the strength to extricate myself from his hold, stooping down to pick up my bag. “Just so we’re keeping count,” I manage, breathily, “That w-was two kisses. Never say I wasn’t generous with you.”

  His green eyes cut towards me and I read determination there. A lot of it. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Snaps. Don’t you dare doubt me on that.”

  I nod, the heat of his body reaching out to grab me as I pass towards the park’s exit. The entire way to hail a cab, I feel his eyes burning into my back. And I wonder how the heck I’m going to check off the mad love affair on my list with Jack nosing about, giving me kisses like that.

  Chapter 4

  Jack

  There’s nothing like a little hair of the dog that bit you, right?

  I wait for the locker room to clear out to take my final swig of cheap vodka and orange juice out of my water bottle, before stowing it back on the shelf. My head loosens up and the burning in my throat eases. Right as rain. It’s rare that I w
ake up with a hangover anymore, but you can bet your ass I tied one on after that kiss in the park last night with Katie.

  What the hell happened?

  She asked me to tell her a story. Through the whole thing, straight through to the end, she’d been interested. Watching me, holding her breath, waiting. I started to wonder what else I could do to hold her interest, outside of bed.

  What do you want me to see?

  After the way her searching questions and honest vulnerability stripped me down without a single piece of clothing removed, though, I’d been prepared to sign over my kidneys for that kiss. Both of them. Maybe I’d been desperate to come to my senses and kissing her was the only way to achieve that. No way the kiss could live up to the girl, right? With all her teasing smiles and wit and intelligence and that rack. Only, the kiss had turned my blood to rocket fuel. I’d thought, no way, no way we’re ending the night any other way but naked, sweaty and filthy. But she’d walked away, leaving me standing there with a beating heart in my throat and a boner that took seven shots of whiskey to kill.

  I still haven’t recovered. The academy is the place I least want to be on most days, but this morning? I’m counting the minutes until I see her again. Get those steady, yet curious eyes on me and hold them. Hold them longer this time. That damn kiss threw me off my game so bad, I didn’t even get a phone number or the name of her hotel last night. If she doesn’t show up tonight, I have no idea what I’ll do. Facebook is an option, but there has to be five thousand Katies in Ireland. There’s only one that’s got me itchy, though.

  It’ll go away. This itch. Soon as we get between the sheets and I bang her into next Thanksgiving, I’ll go back to being good old Jack, the one who takes nothing and nobody seriously. The downwards slide after Katie might be even harder than usual, but she’ll be worth it.

  Although, what if I don’t feel like shit after I’m with Katie? I’ve begun to think the crash into regret after sex is something I speed towards on purpose. What happens if it’s taken away?

  Maybe with Katie I won’t feel used and shitty afterwards. Is this the time?

  My stomach drops. Do I even want to feel good afterwards?

  Hands everywhere, my head stuffy with the scent of floral perfume, low laughter, heavy breathing.

  The vision hits me out of nowhere and my hand shoots back into the locker, wrapping around the water bottle of vodka and drawing it out. It shakes in my grip as I bring it to my lips.

  “Garrett.” Danika’s voice whips straight through the center of my ugly thoughts. My oldest childhood friend is standing at the entrance to the men’s locker room—the girl has no boundaries—and she’s giving me that tilty-headed stank face she does so well. “Drills are about to start. Are you waiting for a formal invitation?”

  “A simple Evite should do it,” I quip into the bottle, taking another drag.

  “Cute.” She crosses her arms, letting me know she’s not in the mood to shovel my bullshit. It used to take a lot more to make her angry with me, but her irritation seems to be coming easier lately. We lived in the same building on 10th Avenue growing up and were friends for three years before I got the nerve to tell her why I never invited her over to watch television. But she’d already figured out what my mother did for a living. While I sat there gaping like a fish, she’d socked me in the shoulder and told me she’d aim higher if I ever held out on her again.

  Danika is the only person I love, besides my mother. That love is ironclad. It means I’ll go to the ropes for her any damn day of the week. When her first boyfriend got angry and clipped her in the chin “on accident,” I tied him to a fire hydrant on the West Side Highway and stole his pants. Then two weeks later, I stole his new girlfriend.

  I tell anyone who asks that Danika is my sister. They don’t believe me, on account of her being Colombian, but I don’t care. That’s exactly how I feel about her.

  And right now, she seems to be feeling murderous towards her brother.

  “Put that shit away.” She wants to tap her foot. I can tell. “Would it kill you to show up on time once in a while without being dragged?”

  I shut my locker door and make for the exit, giving Danika puppy dog eyes as I approach. “Aw, don’t be mean to me, D.” When she doesn’t budge from the doorway, I tap her on the nose. “Maybe I just don’t like walking alone.”

  She crams her lips together on a sigh, then digs in the pocket of her uniform. A second later, she pops a breath mint into my mouth. “You should know by now that I’m not going to swoon over your helpless bachelor act.”

  “You think this is an act?”

  “I used to.” Chewing her lip, she looks like she wants to say more, but the clock on the wall over my shoulder makes her curse. “We don’t have time for this. Move your ass.” I follow her down the concrete hallway towards the gymnasium, balancing myself on the wall when my feet get tied together. “Lieutenant Burns is introducing a new instructor and he’s being all furtive about it.”

  “Cool, cool. And furtive means . . .”

  “Secretive.”

  “I knew that.” I wink when she throws exasperation at me over her shoulder. “When is the L.T. not being furtive?”

  Danika stops at the gymnasium door, spine snapped straight. “How would I know? I don’t pay attention to what the man is doing.”

  Like I said, I know way more about women than any man should. “Try not being so defensive next time and I might believe you.”

  Light blinds me when my “best friend” smacks the gym doors open—totally purposeful—and stomps off towards our regular mat. We aren’t even close to starting drills, which has me weighing the pros and cons of dipping back to the locker room for one more swig. But when I see our roommate and pal, Charlie, lying under the oversized halogens with a sappy smile on his face, I remember. This thing with Katie has me so distracted, I actually forgot I’d participated in a flash mob yesterday afternoon, right before going to visit my mother in the Kitchen. A flash mob designed to win back Charlie’s girlfriend, Ever. Along with the fact that he never came home last night, the smile on his face is a clear indication that our public humiliation was effective.

  “Charlie boy.” I drop down onto the mat, ignoring the way the room tilts. “You’re going to sprout a pair of tits if you don’t stop mooning like a schoolgirl. You’ve gone straight past creepy couch-jumping Tom Cruise and smack into uncharted territory.”

  “Ever is spending the night at our place tonight.” Apparently Charlie can’t hear a damn word I say over the birds chirping in his head. “I need to wash my sheets.”

  Danika’s nose wrinkles. “When is the last time that happened?”

  “No clue.”

  She groans. “Some Febreze wouldn’t go amiss, either.” Her elbow meets my ribs. “That goes for you, too, Garrett.”

  “And yet the complaint department has been totally silent.” I think of Katie walking into my room and what her reaction would be. Would she laugh at the Rat Pack bobblehead collection my mother gave me for Christmas or head straight for the bed? Would she ask me to tell her another story? The tightness in my chest makes me force the curiosity away. “Does Ever staying the night mean we should invest in some ear plugs, Charlie, you dirty dog, you?” A full minute of silence passes in which I have completely lost my bro to the power of pussy. “You all right over there, man?”

  “Oh, uh . . . yeah. Yes, I would look into ear plugs.” His dreamy sigh is straight up unacceptable coming from someone with testicles. “Because we’re going to be doin’ it.”

  “Thanks for the clarification,” Danika says dryly. “Do you want to give me the birds and the bees talk, too?”

  Now here’s an opportunity for some fun. Not to mention a way to get back on Danika’s good side. I hate it when she’s mad at me. “Well, you see, honey. When a man and a woman have established a mutual respect for one another—”

  “Stop.” She’s laughing as she smacks both hands over her ears. “Make it stop.”
>
  That laugh means I’ve earned another day of friendship and my relief makes me double down, digging my fingers into her ribs, same way I used to do when we were kids. And on cue, she loses it, squealing and batting my hands away. If I was sober, I still wouldn’t give a shit that everyone is watching, but I especially don’t give a flying fuck now.

  Not until the lieutenant walks into the gym.

  Charlie’s brother, Lieutenant Greer Burns, is a world-class prick. At age thirty, he’s been decorated by the department so many times that his shit has ceased to stink, at least in his mind. I’ve never once seen him crack a smile. His face is made of stone. But if he thinks I haven’t noticed his interest in Danika, he’s not as much of a genius as everyone thinks.

  Or else he just assumes I’m stupid.

  His jealousy snaps in his face like a live wire when he sees me tickling Danika. I would assure him he has nothing to worry about—I’ve never had romantic feelings for my best pal, worthy though she is—but he should worry. Because over my dead body will Danika get run over by that emotionless dickhead.

  Growing up, she looked out for me. The code of friendship demands I return the favor. In terms of favors, I am way behind, too. Before the academy, I was content to work on the docks forever, unloading cargo ships at night on the West Side for decent cash. Enough to get my mother out of the brothel. Danika wasn’t content with my half-ass life plans, though. She threatened me with violence if I didn’t pass the department-required amount of junior college credits, which I justified to myself by admitting my days were open, might as well give those studious ladies something nice to look at besides a book. Once I’d racked up the credits, Danika tricked me into taking the written civil servant exam with a sucker’s bet about the Knicks making the playoffs. To this day, I can’t believe she managed to con me into the academy. Or that I ever bet on the Knicks.