Charlie

So this is what hell looks like.

Drinking warm beer while my girl dances with an Urban Outfitters model. Yeah, I’m jealous. I’m jealous as fuck. Ever looks like everyone’s secret jackoff fantasy. She’s literally not even wearing pants. And then she went ahead and stuck some red high heels on, just in case anyone needed extra convincing her legs are two miles long. On top of that sexy little outfit, she’s moving her tight ass like someone might rob it, if she stops.

Today was my first day back after being suspended, and the drills kicked my ass. I kicked theirs, too, meaning I was dead asleep when the text message from Greer hit my phone a while ago. Ever at Webster Hall. Bad scene. I almost broke my neck diving out of bed and pulling on the closest pair of jeans. Of course, my motherfucker of a brother didn’t answer his phone when I called for more details, but I can see with my own eyes now he’d been right. The place is filled well past capacity, meaning the fire marshal is likely due to arrive any minute. Bodies are crammed in tight at the bar, on the dance floor, along the walls. If there’s an emergency, hell will break loose.

So my jealousy is secondary to Ever’s safety, even if it is an evil, spinning ball of shit banging around in my stomach. Truthfully, the green-eyed monster would be seven times uglier if I thought for a second that Ever could be into the guy attempting to dance with her. But every time Bearded Wonder tries to pull her close, she slips away like an elusive kitty cat, tucking hair behind her ear. A nervous gesture that forces me to pound the beer I’m drinking—temperature be damned—because she used to make that same hair-tuck gesture with me. Usually when I was on my way out the door after we’d had sex, and we were working through the goodbye portion. She’d been unsure and I hadn’t even seen it. I’d just bailed.

Someone jostles my shoulder and beer sloshes out onto my shoe, but I barely notice. I’m watching Ever toss that mane of blonde hair around, hips moving in quick circles, the way she used to move them on top of me. Fuck. Bearded Wonder can’t keep up, so he’s literally just standing there like a garden rake, stroking that shit growing from his chin, and watching the show close up. Jesus Christ, I can’t witness it anymore. He needs to stop ogling my girl, and for the love of everything holy, someone needs to give her a decent dance.

Dropping my half-empty plastic cup on the sliver of available bar, anticipation kicks in my gut. Just knowing she’s going to give me those eyes, even if she doesn’t let me touch her, is enough. I’m just relieved I’ll be within reaching distance of her if something goes down.

I’m still a good twenty yards away when Ever stops dancing and turns, our gazes locking through the crowd. As though she sensed me. That awareness sends my blood running south, but I hold on to my inhibitions. I’m not here to take Ever home, much as I’m dying to. She drew the boundary line and I’m not crossing it. I’ve looked at her hurt expression too many times on my phone to put it there again.

Hey, cutie, I mouth, throwing in a wink. Her expression is a little dazed and I can see she’s tied one on. There are black streaks extending out from the sides of her eyes, making her even more cat-like than before. So drunk and adorable and hot, I don’t know why everyone in the fucking room isn’t staring. Maybe they are, but I can’t look away from her long enough to find out. She sways a little, and my hand shoots out to catch her elbow. Shit. If I thought I was feeling protective watching her from afar, it doesn’t compare to the increased weight of it now. I’m going to make sure she gets home all right. I’m like an ancient knight that’s been given a quest, and I either succeed or accept certain death.

She winks back at me, but that one eye stays closed way too long. “Hey, Charlie,” she calls over the noise. “I met your brother.”

“Yeah, I heard. My condolences.” Bearded Wonder edges closer, as if he’s going to reclaim Ever, and the look I give him is designed to cause an exploding pancreas. “You’re done here, bro. That was pathetic.”

Further proving his unworthiness of Ever, Bearded Wonder’s shoulders sag. He gives Ever’s legs one more longing look and gets swallowed up by the still-growing crowd. Taking a moment to judge the distance between us and the closest emergency exit, I take a step into Ever’s space and warm apple scent billows around me.

“I dig the shiner.” The concern on her face belies her words as she examines my blackened eye. “But try to remember to duck next time.”

“I’ll make a note of it, cutie,” I say dryly, loving the fact that she doesn’t press me for details. No pasts. No futures. Old habits die hard, I guess. I do my best to banish the bittersweet air floating between us by taking her hand. “Listen, I know I can dance better than that guy. You up for it?”

Her smile is like an adrenaline shot to the chest. “Hell yeah.”

If God himself was on the turntables, the next song couldn’t have been more perfect. It’s the same track we danced to at the catering event—“My Type” by Saint Motel—and we trade that look. The one people trade when divine musical providence takes place and you’re the only ones who understand. When I take Ever’s hand, spin her one direction, then back the other, she has no idea what hit her. I’d held back a little at the Art League function because she’d been exhausted, but I’m going balls to the wall tonight. Her sparkle has been subdued by Bearded Wonder’s lack of rhythm, but it blazes back to life now, her beautiful face glowing beneath the club lights. That shirt-dress she’s wearing twists at the tops of her thighs—goddamn—so I lean back and wolf whistle, letting her see my appreciation, sending her into a musical fit of laughter.

I don’t give her much time to relax, though, before I turn her, pulling her back up against my chest. Trailing a hand down her hip, I grind once into her sweet ass, cursing my determination not to hit on her, then clasp her wrist and turn her in a circle, bringing her back to face me. We’re close now, not touching, but a sheet of paper couldn’t fit between us, either. Her expression is pure pleasure and I’m not going to lie, it gives me a kind of satisfaction I can’t explain, seeing her have a good time. Knowing I made her happy instead of sad or confused for once.

“Charlie Burns, where did you learn how to dance?”

I settle a hand on her right hip, groaning deep in my throat at the rhythmic bump and sway. We’re moving in perfect tandem, we always do, and it’s a reminder of what I won’t allow myself to have anymore, even though it’s killing me. “I had a lot of babysitters growing up. My favorite was a police dispatcher named Malia.” Ever’s smile dips a little at the reminder I didn’t have a mother around, but frankly, after days of thinking I would never see this girl again, there isn’t much that can fuck up my mood. I saved her from a man who doesn’t own a razor, she’s letting me hold her, and I’m standing between her and any trouble that breaks out. It’s a million miles from the shit show I was stewing in before I crashed into bed tonight. “She had a thing for young John Travolta. I think I’ve seen Saturday Night Fever sixty-eight times. But she mostly played the old soul stuff. She taught me.”

Taking Ever’s wrists, I bring them up over her head, sliding my palms down her arms, her sides, landing on her hips and twisting them right, left. Hard. Her breath catches on a bubbly laugh, her eyelids falling to half-mast. “God, Charlie, that’s good.”

“She’d say, let the woman know she’s hot. Make her feel like the only person alive.” I can hear the dispatcher’s easy voice, echoing in my kitchen and tearing down the too-quiet, too-tense environment created by three driven males. “No need to remember those lessons when I’m dancing with you, Ever. It just is.” Way to keep it light and friendly, man. Blowing out a breath, I let my attention drop to her lower body. “And damn, you’re not so bad yourself, are you?”

“Yeah?” She gives me this adorable little boogie that no one would attempt sober and I’m smiling like a lunatic. “I’m just warming up.”

Two weeks ago, I would have tugged her close, taken two handfuls of her ass and warmed both of us up, but if I do that now, it’ll screw up this loose feeling we’re sharing. No pressure. No chance that one of us won’t feel right later on. We’re just dancing. Talking. Bad as I want to take Ever home and coax her into bed, I’ve been gut sick for days knowing she felt used. By me. I’ll never let her feel that way again, long as I’m living and breathing.

“Do you ever see Malia anymore?”

“Yeah. She still works for the department.” Needing some form of contact, I rest my mouth against Ever’s temple and move us with the beat. “She schedules prostate exams for my father and doesn’t tell him until the day before. Everyone loves her for it.”

Ever’s chest vibrates against mine. “She’s his work wife.”

“Maybe. Maybe it works because she’s part of the job, not a distraction from it.” I try to be subtle about inhaling the scent of Ever’s shampoo, regretting the fact that I never asked to shower at her place. “Where did you learn how to dance?”

“YouTube.” We laugh and she winds her arms around my neck, like she’s not really thinking about the action. It’s just natural. It is. It feels that way. Her body against mine is the ninth wonder of the world—we fit together like puzzle pieces no matter which angle we’re standing. “Jennifer Lopez music videos, to be specific. But I made the mistake of signing up for my middle school talent show before showing anyone my routine.” Her expression is very serious as she tilts her head back to look at me. “I performed ‘Jenny from the Block.’ Solo. In a sequin top and a bandana.”

“Christ, Ever.” I drop my forehead to rest on top of hers. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“Stop. I’m still recovering.” She sniffs. “That was the day I learned the meaning of smattering. As in, a smattering of applause.”

I make a sympathetic noise, but I’m battling a smile. “Speaking of YouTube, I bet your performance is on the Internet somewhere . . .”

“Assaulting a police officer is a felony, Charlie. Don’t force my hand.” There’s no heart in her threat, especially because she’s rolling our foreheads together, her fingers tangling in the ends of my hair. Does she realize what she’s doing? I don’t know, but I can no more stop her than I could screech the Earth’s rotation to a halt. My dick is rock hard because, hello, Ever isn’t wearing pants, but I’ve managed to keep my hips angled away, trying to keep this whole situation innocent. But she’s gravitating toward me. Or maybe we’re just being pulled like magnets, so I need to find a distraction soon.

“Hey.” I nudge her forehead. “I’ll buy you a drink if you show me some ‘Jenny from the Block.’ Right here, right now.”

Her arms drop from around my neck, head tilting, a single eyebrow lifting. Sexy as all get out. A fantasy I should let go of, but doing so feels fucking impossible. Feels wrong. “Are you daring me, Officer?”

I cross my arms over the invisible gash in my chest. “Double dare.” She gasps and my belt seems to tighten, so I drop a few lyrics from the song to get her moving, earning another laugh. “Let’s go, fly girl. This is your moment.”

She does some moves I recognize from the music video . . . and it’s glorious. People stop to watch her dance, chuckling into their drinks. Ever doesn’t pay any of them a hint of attention, though, she’s focused on me like we’re sharing the world’s greatest joke. We . . . are, aren’t we? It hits me like a cab speeding toward a green light. Now that I’ve stopped trying to be her friend for the wrong reasons, we actually have a chance to be real friends. Not the kind I’d been angling for—friends with benefits—but buddies who laugh and talk about the past without judgment.

Only, there’s not a chance in hell I could spend time with Ever like this. Not without wanting my mouth on every inch of her skin. Not without wanting her beneath me, moaning, telling me where it feels good.

And I can’t have both. Not if the job comes first. She deserves to come first, no questions asked. I can’t give that to her. I can’t give her friendship, can’t be her lover . . . I can’t give her anything.

She stops dancing, looking at me funny. “Charlie?”

“Ever,” I murmur, well aware that she can’t hear me, but unable to raise my voice any higher. So I gesture for her to come closer, so I can disappoint her again. Will this be the last time? Jesus. “Cutie, I—”

That’s when all hell breaks loose.