Rush (Men of Rapture #1) Page 8

  “Well, then,” she says, jiggling the piece of paper again, “this is definitely something one friend would share with another.”

  I eye her speculatively as I take it. “What is it?”

  “The bill for my back door.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Searching

  ALYSSA

  Rush throws his head back and chuckles, his voice deep and rich and so damn inviting. “Well played, doc,” he says, a hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips. “I’ll gladly pay the cost of your new door.” His eyes widen imperceptibly as they trail across the alley to the new installation. “Red?”

  I shrug, trying to appear more casual than I feel standing so close to him. “Only the best on your dime.” I turn with fake awe to ogle the eight-thousand-dollar door. “And look at the size of that window.”

  “But what about safety?” he asks, his voice taking on a darker edge. “Looks easier to fucking break than the last one.”

  “Nope,” I say, turning to rub in the expensive bullet-proof glass, only to be brought up short by his towering presence. He’s leaning forward now, his nose inches from my hair. His simmering gaze pins me to my spot. Forget the door—it was only a convenient excuse to see him again. “I’m sorry about the other night,” I say softly, closing my eyes to break the connection. “But we can’t keep doing this.”

  He did the right thing, exactly what was needed for me to not hate us both the next morning. I was in a messed-up frame of mind, and I attempted to plunge us into something that could never be taken back. For a few insane moments, I wanted to become another in the long line of those who only fall deeper for a man who’s incapable of returning the affection.

  I thought it could be simple. I thought he could dissipate the ache, and we’d go our separate ways, but I haven’t even slept with him and I can’t seem to let go. I’ve been looking out that new bigger window every single day since I last saw him, silently hoping he’d return, and here I am, standing before him at first chance.

  He runs his tongue across his lower lip. “Doing what?”

  My greedy eyes follow—until he smirks. “This!” I snap out of the tongue-induced trance and motion between us like a mad woman. “All we do is go around in circles, taking turns antagonizing each other. The worst part is, there’s absolutely no reason for us to remain in contact; yet here we are. Here I am with a stupid bill just to get a rise out of you.” I palm my chest to show how anxious the whole situation makes me.

  “Yep. Here you are.” He lifts a cigarette to his pretty lips and strikes a flame, cupping his hand around the fire. Shifting his back against the brick, he blows a heavy plume of smoke off to the side. “I want you here, if that helps. I want you so fucking bad.” He shakes his head as he takes another deep draw, the smoke trailing out his nose as he speaks. “It’d be a mistake. A huge one. We both know it, but I’m not ready to say good-bye.” He thumbs the butt to the concrete and pulls me to stand before him. “I like having you around, doc, even if you do drive me mad.”

  “Friends?” I ask, lifting my shaky hand.

  “Friends.” He closes his warm fingers around mine and pulls me closer, our chests pressed together as he leans in to whisper in my ear. “Please don’t tempt me again, doc. I’m not sure I’m strong enough to resist.” His lips skim my ear just before he pushes me back.

  Electricity radiates down my body, and I step away, crossing my arms to keep from clinging to him. “You know I was being a smart-ass about the door. My insurance will take care of it.”

  “No way,” he says with a definitive head shake. “I fucked up your door, and I’m going to pay for it. Are there any additional security measures you’d like me to take care of while I’m at it?”

  “Uh …” My jaw drops open. “Rush, you really don’t have to.”

  “It’s the least I can do.” He shoves his fists into his jacket pockets with a scowl. “I’m a fuck-up in a lot of ways, but this is one way I can be good. All you have to do is ask, and I’ll make it happen.”

  “I think this goes beyond the friend category,” I reply, my eyes falling to my tennis shoes. “It’s too much.”

  “It’s not,” he insists, his tone soft and buttery. “You could’ve had me arrested, and you fucking didn’t. You took care of me, and I can repay you with money in a way my actions never will. Please, let me do this.”

  The begging almost does me in. This is different. He’s different. Soft and easy, with none of the overt cockiness he consistently hides behind. It’s a genuine offer with no ugly aftertaste and no hidden agenda. I was kind to him, and he’s returning the gesture in the way he’s capable.

  I take a deep breath and lift my eyes. “Okay.”

  His soft smile spreads into a large toothy grin. “What’ll it be? A new alarm system? Cameras? Does your front door need replacing, too? I can get you some equipment or supplies. Name it.”

  A giggle escapes, and I throw up my hands. “Slow your roll,” I say, feeling light and carefree. “Why don’t we start with you paying for the door? My insurance company will appreciate it very much.”

  “Come on, doc,” he whines, and it’s almost cute. “I don’t give a fuck about the insurance company. I want you to appreciate it.” He kicks off the brick wall and invades my personal space. “Please let me show my appreciation.” His voice is back to butter and honey. “Let me give you something you want. Anything.”

  The air around me is heavy, filled with his presence. It’s not overwhelming, but just thick enough to bend me to his will. I want to accept, even though I shouldn’t. There’s no ulterior motive, no scheming, nothing behind this except a man who has the ability to share his good fortune and finds it much easier than giving a part of himself.

  I blow out a breath. “I’ve always wanted a good alarm system. Mine is lacking, obviously.” I shoot him a playful glare.

  “Done,” he says swiftly, smiling like a loon. “No take backs.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Before he can respond, a small creak causes us to pause and turn to the noise. Silence falls over the alley; not even a breath can be heard as the large metal door to the bar swings open as if in slow motion. I’m practically holding my breath, unsure who or what to expect. Rush, on the other hand, tenses and hovers beside me in a protective stance.

  He doesn’t relax when a woman peeks around the door. “There you are, handsome.” Her eyes flash to me, but she seems undeterred as she lets it swing closed and sashays toward Rush. “I was beginning to think you’d run off,” she says, pulling a cigarette from behind her ear and slipping it between her lips. “Light me?” She looks up at him through her lashes.

  I’m silent as I watch the weird exchange, feeling like a voyeur, only up close and personal this time. And that’s when it hits me. This is the lucky lady of the evening. They’ve obviously begun a game of cat and mouse, and I’m only standing in their way. Rush flicks the flame to life, and I can’t quite decode the intense stare he gives her, but it makes me feel like an intruder.

  “Uh,” I utter, jabbing my thumb over my shoulder. “I better get going. Five o’clock comes early in the morning.” An uneasy chuckle slips out, and I avoid eye contact with Rush. “See you later.”

  I keep my head down as I make a quick getaway, not even bothering a glance before my fancy red door swings shut behind me. I sag against it and let out a deep gust of air, my whole body jittery from the encounter. Sometimes I wonder who I am anymore, and other times I don’t care. It feels good to step out of the expected, the same mundane life I’ve always lived, and into the unknown. I never know what I might do next.

  And that’s exciting—if not a little terrifying.

  Once my breathing has evened and my heart has stopped pounding, I take one step away before catching myself and returning to the door. Lifting up to my tip-toes, I peer through the window. The woman has her back against the wall, and Rush is towering over her. Her stance is relaxed and playful as she lifts her fingers
to stroke his chest. I can’t see his expression, but judging by their closeness, it’s obvious he’s enjoying her touch.

  Dropping to my heels, I turn and leave them behind. We’re friends. Nothing more. Nothing less. I’ve seen this part of him before, and it’s not pretty, but it’s the rest I’d like to peel away layer by layer. Something makes him this way, and I’m eager to know what it is.

  I spend the ride to my apartment in quiet contemplation, offering plausible suggestions and then shooting them down. It could be anything. There are literally a million different scenarios, and it’s not very likely I can guess, so I consider what I do know. He has money. A good amount, enough that he can blow ten or fifteen thousand on me and it won’t create a dent. He thinks he’s worthless, but if I consider my previous point, it proves he isn’t. He’s probably just a decent man with a painful past who’s allowing it to control the now.

  As I walk up the three flights of stairs, my mind trails to the exclusive neighborhood in which Rush resides. You don’t live there unless you’re not just wealthy but über rich, and that in itself is a conundrum. Living in a pool house presents a complication, though. Is it his parents who occupy the large home or someone not at all related? A distant relative? A friend? Or, though less likely, does he rent? I don’t know the answers, but it’s time I go on a fact-finding mission.

  My apartment is dark and silent when I enter, a fact I usually find comforting, but tonight I’m too anxious to appreciate it. Hoping to quell the nervous grumbling in my stomach, I move to the kitchen and make a roast beef, tomato, and cheese sandwich before grabbing a glass and a bottle of white wine.

  I head to my desk in the spare bedroom and settle into the chair. I’m not at all sure whether I should be doing this, but I’m never sure of anything anymore. Everything feels different these days, yet it’s somehow a good thing. At least, it feels like a good thing to not know what to expect from myself because it isn’t planned out in a detailed script.

  After half a sandwich and two glasses of wine, I’m ready, firing up my laptop and silently telling myself over and over I can do this—telling myself it’s okay for me to do this. With a deep breath, I navigate the arrow to the little red, yellow, and green circle icon on my start bar and double click. A moment of panic overcomes me as the homepage opens, but it subsides almost as quickly as it came. I waste no time moving the cursor to the search box, and then I pause, unsure what to type.

  Rush, Riverside—lots about Riverside, nothing about Rush. I think a little deeper and remember Rush isn’t his full first name.

  Rushland, Riverside—Now it’s all about Rushland, Pennsylvania. I wrack my brain, trying to think of the right string of words so it’ll tell me what I want to know. If the almighty Google has anything to tell at all. But then it hits me, and I know exactly what to type.

  Rushland, Kaplan Estates—my eyes widen as link after link fills the page, but one thing stands out above everything else. I’m not seeing articles about a Rushland from Kaplan Estates. I’m seeing links about Rushland Kaplan. A wide-ranging variety of headlines jump out at me, from high school science honors to acceptance to Yale. All of these are years old, and as I scroll the most recent, even though they too are years old, my chest constricts.

  Suicide Rocks Yale

  Kaplan Heir Drops Out of College

  Rush Kaplan Arrested in Bar Fight

  My eyes are watery, and my hand is holding in my sobs by the time I’ve scanned through several of the articles. This isn’t what I expected to find, and now I’m torn between confronting him and keeping quiet with the hope that he’ll one day tell me. But he won’t. The self-loathing has a face now, a name, an event—a part of his past has stolen his future.

  I spend the rest of the night lost inside my head. Even after I’ve snuggled under the blankets, my mind won’t stop spinning. The articles spin through my head, one after another, causing a deep ache within me. It’s well after one in the morning before I finally close my eyes for a restless night of sleep.

  For the next four days, I look through the window of the clinic’s new back door as often as I can. I’ve yet to see any sign of him, but I refuse to give up. He’ll be back. Workmen arrive from an alarm company and install the most amazing system, but in hindsight, what else should I have expected when I gave him permission? Only, I didn’t know he was a Kaplan then.

  I’ve almost given up by day five, so when I do a quick check before I settle at my desk to eat lunch, I’m surprised to see him leaned against the brick, exhaling the smoke from a cigarette. I hate them. They’re disgusting, but Jesus, he makes smoking look so sinfully hot. Almost sexy enough to not chide him over the negative consequences.

  Almost.

  I shove open the door and march across the alley with my chin held high. I’m a woman on a mission. Maybe I shouldn’t have snooped, and his past is his to share, but he still should’ve told me who he is. Rushland Kaplan is no different to me than my friend Rush, the demon-hoarding-alley-whore—except the latter has kept something crucial from me.

  He watches me like the predator he is, and my insides tighten. “Doc.” He grins, stepping away from the brick. “Long time, no see.”

  I give him my brightest fake smile as I stick out my hand. “Mr. Kaplan, I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.”

  Openness transforms into something just shy of hostility. He has neither a grin nor a glare but a look so sour you’d think he’s sucking a lemon wedge this very instant. His lips are pursed, his hazel eyes are stormy, and his jaw is rigid. He’s one step below huffing and puffing and blowing my house down.

  I ignore it and keep my winning smile in place. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I offend you in some way?” I slowly lower my hand, my smile shifting into fake confusion.

  He slips his hood over his head and props against the wall, looking toward the other end of the alley. “How’d you find out?” His gaze slowly meanders toward mine, and I wait him out. “I liked things the way they were between us. I hope you don’t let my name change that.”

  Now it’s my turn to be offended. It takes a lot of nerve to act like you’re the one who’s been, or might be, wronged by a dose of simple honesty. “I Googled,” I snap, standing to my full height. “But I shouldn’t have had to. You should’ve told me. Friends don’t hide things this big, and they don’t assume the worst about their new friend over something as stupid as their last name.” I cross my arms and shake my head. “I’m hurt you didn’t trust me, Rush.”

  He snorts as he shoves an unlit cigarette between his lips, but I’m in just the right mood. Before he can strike the lighter, I’ve snagged the cancer stick and crushed it under the heel of my tennis shoe.

  His eyes widen and his nostrils flare. “The fuck you do that for?”

  “It’s a nasty habit,” I say, wiping my hands together. “Besides, you’re using it as a crutch, and you don’t need that with me. Just talk; that’s all you have to do.”

  He scrubs his hand through his hair, clearly unaccustomed to meaningful conversation. “I guess you know everything, then?”

  “I read the articles,” I respond with a nod, “but I’d rather hear the details from you, so I’ll wait.”

  His pained eyes fall to his feet. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to talk about it.”

  “And that’s your choice.” I shrug one shoulder and offer him a grin. “That’s how friendship works, even if your last name is Kaplan.”

  His gaze is tender as it passes over me. “Thanks for not making a big deal. I should’ve trusted you more, doc.”

  “Yeah, you should’ve.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Sated

  RUSH

  I follow her into the cramped bathroom and lock the door behind me. By the time I turn, she’s already relaxed against the toilet with the glass to her pouty fucking lips. After a hefty pull, she passes the bowl and lighter to me. Smirking, I prop against the wall and bring the pipe to my mouth. The vapor whirls in the bowl
as I rock it back and forth over the flame. When the shards are just shy of scorching, I remove the fire and continue to inhale every last wisp of the heart-thundering smoke.

  Lydia’s eager for another hit, and I pass it to her as I hold in mine until my lungs have greedily absorbed almost all of the speed. Blood pounds through my veins and a nervous energy twitches in my muscles. The meth keys me up immediately, and after another few puffs, I’m fired up and ready to get her lips around my cock.

  After the disaster with Dark-and-Not-So-Mysterious, Jenna if we’re being technical, I’m keeping the sexual interactions to a minimum. I still have them, but I work hard each time to select the right prospect—one who’s more eager to please than be pleased. It seems a week off can leave a man rusty, unable to jump right back into his well-versed lifestyle without doing stupid, inexplicable shit—like growling the name of his new friend when he comes.

  It wasn’t pretty—for either of us.

  As pissed as Jenna was, I was too surprised to try to smooth it over. She left the cheap motel still getting dressed. I’ve backed off since then, cut out the deeper interactions in hopes of keeping the doc where she belongs—out of my fucking head. Blowjobs and dry humps aren’t as satisfying, but they’re better than losing myself to some fucked up fantasy that’ll never be real.

  The speed pulses through me, causing my cock to throb. It intensifies everything, making me even hornier and more inclined to fuck Lydia right here in the unsavory bathroom at Rapture. I need some fucking air, something to drive away that urge. Ice isn’t my preferred drug, and now I have even more reason to steer clear.

  I grab some tissue and take the overheated pipe from her. She’s melting down the stem, and it’s not a good look. Wrapping it tightly, I drop it to the floor and crush it under the heel of my Doc before pulling her from the toilet and opening the lid, tossing the tissue-wrapped broken glass in and flushing. She’s quietly appalled, but I just wink and take her hand, leading her from the enclosed space.