Chapter 7

Scorching lips 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 . 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.

ing 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 Amor. 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 ing hot. They’re my favorite part.”

I work on her earlobe, flicking at it with my tongue like it’s a . And I chuckle. “I thought my 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 ing 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, .

And the phone rings again. Same number.

What the ing ?

I pull back. “I should answer that.”

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

“Hey, Choi! It’s Paul Staton, 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, Choi.”

My eyes roll closed. And I just know.

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

Staton 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 Jessica. Her aunt’s the legal guardian.” I rattle off Tiffany’s phone number, which I got from her on Wednesday.

“Thanks, Choi—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 Tiffany 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 ing problem. My problem is the rock-hard 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 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 Tiffany and the kids. The tiny blonde with the big brown eyes, James 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, Tiffany yawning, possibly not noticing an oncoming car that’s swerved into her lane, not until—

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

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

“I know. I’m sorry.” And I mean I’m really, really ing 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, Choi.”

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

“Sure.” Lisa sighs. Then she smirks flippantly. “At least you got me all warmed up for Mr. Pink. I’ll be thinking of your gorgeous tattoos when I play with him.”

“Mr. Pink?”

“He’s my most favorite .”

I groan at the mental image. “Now you’re killing me.”

She winks. “That was my evil plan.” Then she stretches up and kisses my cheek. “Call me.”

“Will do.”

Outside Lisa’s apartment, I pull out my phone as I walk to my car and dial Tiffany’s number.

She answers on the first ring. “Hello?”

“Tiffany, it’s Minho.”

“Hi.” Her voice is hushed but alert, and I deduce that the kids are still sleeping—and somewhere close by.

“Did Officer Staton call you about Jessica?”

“Yes. I’m just giving Jake a bottle, then I’m going to get the kids up and in the car and—”

“Don’t bother. I’m on my way there now. They’ll let me sign Jessica out as her legal counsel.”

For a moment, the only response on the other end is the soft sound of Tiffany’s breath. Christ—even her breathing is y. If I wasn’t still hard, I sure as would be now.

“You don’t have to do that, Minho.”

“Yeah, I know I don’t have to, but I am,” I bite out—harsher than I mean to. “So just say thanks and hang up the phone.”

“O-kay. Well . . . thanks. And even though you bit my head off for no reason, I’m gonna let it slide since you’re doing me a humongous favor.”

I chuckle. “It’s been a . . . frustrating evening.”

“Ah—now, that I can relate to.”

I bet she can.

“I’ll see you soon, Tiffany.”

“All right. Drive safe.”

• • •

I arrive at the precinct, sign some quick paperwork, and wait at the front desk for them to bring Jessica out. Staton’s there—he makes a few stupid comments about my babysitting career, and I don’t really listen. But his jokes do get me thinking. What the hell am I doing here? I don’t do complicated, I avoid distractions, and up until this point, that strategy has served me well.

Tiffany Hwang is a fine piece of —but her nieces and nephews are turning out to be more distraction than she’s worth.

Jessica is escorted out from the back room. She’s as white as a ghost and unsteady on her feet. Her hair is stringy—wet—and I vaguely wonder if she got puke in it. Dark bruises of mascara shadow bloodshot eyes. She grips a bottle of Gatorade and a paper upchuck bag like the ones so thoughtfully tucked into the seat backs on airplanes.

“Hi,” she rasps in a scratchy voice. “Thank you for coming to get me.”

The first stirrings of pity echo in my chest. Not only do I remember how it feels to be sick drunk—easily the most miserable experience ever—I also remember what it was like to be fourteen.

It .

“Come on, Smiley, let’s go.”

She doesn’t even have the energy to roll her eyes at me.

I guide her to the car, warning her just before I close the door, “You puke in my car, you’ll be walking home.”

I slide into the driver’s side and the engine roars. Jessica squeezes her eye