Slate Page 9

  In the basement, the redheaded owner, Emily, gives him a grin. Tonight, she’s wearing a white, lacey corset, a tutu-like skirt, over-the-knee socks, and black army boots.

  “You staying, Slate?” She finishes her hug.

  He shakes his head no, and laughs. “We got the regular poker game. It’s at CJ’s tonight.”

  “I heard he’s bringing his brother, Andy. Good luck with that.” A small gold piercing dances in one of her eyebrows.

  “Thanks, luck beats skill any day of the week.”

  Melanie, CJ’s wife, the woman who started this group, walks into the basement. She takes me into her arms and hugs me while eyeing Slate over her shoulder. “Thanks for dropping her off.”

  “My pleasure.” He turns to me with a wide grin and says, “I’ll pick you up later, gorgeous.” Slate shares one more toe-curling kiss and whistles off key as he leaves.

  “Ladies…” He nods goodbye while everyone stares with mouths wide enough to catch flies.

  Isabella, Grayson’s wife stares up the steps, then at me. “Holy shit, was that Slate? Our Slate?”

  The other Midwestern blond, Melanie, joins Izzy. Mel is married to New York’s most darling quarterback, Chance James Quinn, aka CJ.

  “What’ll you have?” Emily gives me a knowing smile from behind the bar, her hand already on the tap of my favorite IPA.

  “Skyliner.” Obviously, I’m going to need immediate fortification to deal with Slate’s fine performance.

  The bar owner puts a foamy brew in front of me as the other two take me in a group hug.

  Isabella’s eyes dance merrily. “Oh my God. You slept with him, didn’t you? I knew it!”

  “Knew what? What am I missing?” Mel looks at both of us, a fake pout on her pretty face.

  Izzy explains, “When Slate said he needed someone to help with his dog, I knew Lilac would be perfect.”

  Mel still looks confused so the other continues, “Apparently, Slate found some dog. Because I live close by, he called me to ask if I knew a dog walker. There’s a lady who’s got the market cornered, so I recommended she hire Lilac. Remember? I asked you for her number.”

  My eyes water at how these women I barely know went out of their way to help me but at the same time I get this sinking feeling there was matchmaking at work.

  “Thank you, both.”

  Mel smirks, “So? Did you sleep with him?”

  I can’t help but grin as I nod.

  “Ho-ly-shit.” That sound comes from our oldest member, Frankie. She dresses like she’s in her twenties but we all think she’s almost seventy. Her voice is deep and scratchy, from years of smoking.

  While she cackles, two more of our group, Star and Asia come down the stairs dressed in black shorts and black tank tops. We pause to hug, then all sit in the lounge area around a coffee table in front of a faux fireplace. I choose the black leather couch with Mel and Izzy on either side. The others crowd around in antique chairs of varying styles and woods.

  Once everyone has drinks, Mel clinks her glass with a spoon. This is her impromptu way of starting a meeting.

  She points her silver gavel at me. “You don’t need to say anything but did you have flashbacks of your incident this week?”

  I know what she’s asking. Did I have trouble having sex for the first time since being raped.

  Tonight, I feel brave and bold, not shy at all which is weird. “I had one short flash of memory but it didn’t really bother me. And, I think, from now on, we should stop calling it ‘The Incident.’ I didn’t agree to sleep with Gerry and I sure as hell wouldn’t’ve taken any drugs with him. I was raped, plain and simple.”

  Izzy, sitting closest to me, hugs me tight as the other women in the group applaud.

  Mel asks, “Did you remember anything more?”

  “A little. I remembered him pushing off me as I woke, completely freaked.” I watch the bubbles in my beer rise to the top and pop. “Do you think I’ll ever remember more?”

  Star, a brunette of about twenty says, “Maybe it’s better that way. I wish I couldn’t remember.” She shakes her head, staring at the turn-of-the-century brick walls.

  Frankie hugs her. “Your memories will fade. Give it some time. I know.” Then, she smiles at me, “What made you decide you were raped?”

  “I don’t know… Slate said the word out loud and it kind of resonated. After that, he was so sweet. He stayed the night while I slept.”

  “Wow. He must really be into you.”

  He was last night.

  Isabella’s face darkens. “You like him, right? He means an awful lot to me and Gray. I wouldn’t want him to get hurt.”

  My hand goes up to stop her from continuing. “I care. Probably a lot more than he does.”

  Mel takes my hand in hers. “I don’t think so. My husband said he called and asked for his brother Andy’s number. When I asked why Slate wanted a lawyer, CJ said Slate was thinking of taking some frat boys to court for damages. He’s already asked for the police records of that night.”

  Shit. I’m stunned, actually horrified.

  “You didn’t know?” Mel reads my face which probably looks like I swallowed a bug.

  I shake my head. “No. This is the first I’m hearing about it.”

  Artfully, Mel changes the subject and the rest of the meeting goes by in a bit of a daze. Maybe I drank a little too much beer because when Slate comes, I stand for the first time in a couple hours and stumble.

  “Shit.” The bricks on the wall spin and my stomach lurches.

  He catches me with concern in his face, his smile dropping.

  “I’m just going to use the lady’s room. Be right back.” Dammit. I don’t want him to know I’m a bit woozy.

  Somehow, I manage to pee and stagger into the sitting area. So much for hiding the fact I’ve had too much to drink. I don’t even know how we get to his car but I’m sitting in the front seat when he looks over and asks, “You’re not going to puke in my jeep, right?”

  “I’ll let you know.” Oh, my fucking lord. Why did I not count my drinks?

  He starts the vehicle, pulls into traffic and I focus out the window at a motorcycle, the only thing not spinning. “How was your night? Did you win?”

  “Nah. Just about broke even. Came out ahead by about a hundred bucks.” Damn, the man sitting next to me has the nicest smile.

  “I can’t remember the last time I saw a hundred bucks.”

  He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. “There you go. Take it.”

  “Doesn’t count, it’s yours.” I thumb through the bills, surprised at the amount of cash he has on him. Then I inspect his driver’s license. Ah ha. His first name really is Alexander.

  He laughs, oblivious to my sneakiness. “I’d say keep the bill but I know you won’t.”

  “True, true.” I take a deep breath and I don’t even know where this comes from. I just blurt out, “Are you investigating my rape?”

  He curses under his breath. “Can’t you women keep a secret?”

  His tone makes me bristle. “Mel is my friend. She said you called Andy, CJ’s brother and as far as women keeping a secret, usually we can and they’re all from men who try to do things without asking permission.”

  He takes his eyes off the road at a red light and grabs my hand. “I was going to tell you. I just didn’t want you to get your hopes up.”

  “You’re only going to make things worse. The police refused to press charges.” My heart pounds and frantically I try to erase the thoughts of that night. Turns out it’s a lot harder to do when inebriated. The jeep hits a pothole and I almost toss my cookies.

  Oblivious, he continues. “We’re thinking a civil suit. You can go after your lost scholarship. You can sue the college for how they tried to cover up your story and didn’t involve the police.”

  “Wait. I saw the police.”

  “No, babe, that was campus security. Police weren’t notified until much later.”

&nb
sp; “I appreciate what you’re trying to do but don’t you think you should have asked me first?”

  “You don’t want to see these guys punished?” His voice booms at the next stoplight and a couple people walking in the street look up and rush away.

  “Of course, I do, but you should’ve talked with me first.”

  “Sorry. I thought you would be pleased. You won’t take any help. You’re eating ramen noodles for crying out loud.”

  We hit the thruway, speeding away from the constant stoplights of Queens. I wait to answer until he merges onto the Williamsburg Bridge, afraid of distracting him while he drives.

  “What I eat is my business, as is the rape, whether or not I want to sue, or have anyone else know my personal business. It’s embarrassing, Slate. Maybe I don’t want people to know how stupid I was. Who will hire me? Did you ever think of that? Huh?”

  There’s dead silence. Even Buddy has nothing to say. Once we get home, I don’t kiss him at the door or invite him in.

  In my kitchen, I collapse into a chair, and weep.

  Chapter 15

  Slate

  I stand on her welcome mat, completely stymied. Ah shit. She’s crying and it’s all my fault.

  “C’mon, Buddy, let’s go.”

  In my house, I pour myself the first drink of the night and chat for a while with Grayson online. We talk about my new business plan before I get to the point of why I called.

  Me: She’s pissed about me talking to Andy

  Gray: Not surprised

  Me: I thought I was doing her a solid

  Gray: Next time, check with Mel first

  Me: Fuck. There won’t be a next. I’m done

  Gray: Did U apologize?

  Me: No

  Gray: rolling eyes emoji

  Me: Shit

  Gray: She get under your skin?

  Me: Fuck yeah

  Gray: Go talk to her

  Me: Through the door?

  Gray: She has to come out, eventually

  Me: True

  Gray: BTW, you did the right thing

  Me: Not sure. Ruin her chances at getting a job?

  Gray: Never thought of that

  Me: That’s fucked up

  Gray: Abused women have it hard

  Me: Unless they marry someone like U or CJ

  Gray: Or U

  I pause unable to type for a moment, and in doing so, give away more than I’m ready to admit to him or me. I promised myself long ago to never put a ring on another finger.

  Me: Shit

  Gray: LMAO

  Me: Not funny

  Gray: Never knew you to be a woos

  Me: Took a bullet for you, dude

  Gray: Stop texting and go talk to her

  Me: Copy that boss

  Gray: thumbs-up emoji

  I stand, stretch, and look out the window. Her lights are still on. Maybe I’ll wait until morning, after we’ve both chilled out a little.

  Chicken shit? Damn right I am.

  Morning comes way too soon. Buddy whimpers and jams his wet nose into my face.

  “Shit. Can’t you hold it?”

  More whimpering follows so I wake and stumble out of bed with a raging hangover, wishing like hell I hadn’t finished the bottle of Jack.

  Paying the price for being an idiot, I put a leash on the dog and sit on the bottom step with my head in my knees.

  “We’re outside for Christ’s sake. Pick a tree.”

  In just jeans and bare feet, I anxiously wait for Lil. When she doesn’t show, I walk to the carriage house where there’s a note taped to the door.

  Home soon. I called Edna and got a few more jobs.

  I got so much pent up frustration there’s only one thing good for it. Since being shot, my Kung Fu has looked more like Tai Chi but I figure it’s time to get into shape. I head to my outside workout area, just as the sun is rising over the hills. The grass wets the bottom of my jeans.

  I tie the pup to the long runner I had a guy install yesterday. He bounds back and forth, the full length of the yard. I feel bad about not taking him for a run but I’m not up for that. Besides, if I do, Lilac will probably insist I dock her pay.

  What kind of upbringing would make her so fiercely independent?

  Slowly I stretch my arms to the sky until I feel a twinge from the stitches. Then, bending at the waist, I put my nose to my knees, hands flat on the ground to stretch my thighs. I squat, elbows inside my knees, hands in prayer-pose.

  Eyes closed, I envision the eleven moves of my practice. The first time through, I go slow, testing my body, each kick and punch more like a ballet. At one point, I’m balanced on one foot the other straight out behind me.

  I focus on nothing but my breath and intent. Clearing my mind of emotions, I continue my workout, fighting the wooden arms of the Wing Chun dummy until I’m dripping with sweat, my arms bruised.

  Suddenly, I feel her presence nearby and turn.

  Dog woofs and thumps his tail while Lilac gets him off the runner and onto a leash.

  My heart does a fucking double take at her simple beauty, my cock swells and yet she shoots me a look that says she’s still mad.

  Gray’s advice comes to mind.

  Apologize.

  “Lilac. Stop. Please. I’m sorry.” Taking a towel, I wipe my face and torso. Damn, I probably don’t smell all that good but as I close the distance between us her eyes pop open and her nostrils flair but in a good way.

  She’s stares at my chest, then her gaze wanders down to my cock, swelling even more at her interest. “Last night was my fault. I had too much to drink. I know you were just trying to help. We can talk after I take Buddy for a run, okay?”

  Because of what I saw last night online, there’s no way I’m letting her into the park. “You can’t take him out alone. I told you. It’s too dangerous.”

  “There’s plenty of people at the park today. We’ll be safe. I’ll call you if anyone or anything seems off.” She makes a face at the frown I send and her laughter is light, as if there wasn’t a murderer out there, the damn dog a possible witness.

  I touch her arm ignoring the sparks of electricity between us. “Give me a second to get my sneakers and I’ll join you.”

  “You know, you really don’t need a dog walker. You’re perfectly capable.”

  “I spoke with Grayson last night. I start work again next week. I need you.”

  Her face drops. “As a live-in body-guard?”

  “It’s what I do.”

  “Yeah, I know. I just thought… oh, never mind.” She gives me a tight smile. “Get your shoes so we can go.”

  Was that disappointment? Hell yeah, it was.

  She doesn’t want me to leave. I can work with that. I run up to the house, grab my shoes, and as a second thought, don my bathing suit under my sweats and grab a couple bottles of water. When I run out, I’m grinning like an idiot.

  She smiles up at me, the pink running bra teasing like frosting on a cupcake, begging to be licked.

  “Let’s go.” I touch her arm as I pass, then lead the way down my long driveway to the main road, jogging for about a quarter mile.

  Buddy lopes ahead and his long leash zooms out like a fishing line. He waits at the curb, tongue out, tail wagging, waiting for us to catch up.

  Lilac smiles and I up my pace. Her pony tail bounces as her long legs run faster. I don’t want this week to end. Hell, I don’t even want this moment to end. For the first time in my fucking life, I think I’m happy. I’m not even sure because I got nothing to compare it to, at least not in a long, long time.

  Something inside my chest is lighter, my cock is thrilled, and there’s a huge fucking smile on my face as we run through the park. To the right, a pair of geese curl their necks around each other in a pond so reflective, the clouds in the water can’t be distinguished from the ones overhead.

  An older couple holds hands. They part and turn at the sound of our feet on the gravel. They smile and wave as their little
mutt gives Buddy a snort.

  Bang!

  Gunshot echoes, a stone shatters at my feet, and I jump, pushing Lilac off the path and into the grass. I cover her body with mine and shout to the elderly couple. “Take cover! That was a gun!”

  I put my arm around Lilac’s waist and scramble deeper into the bramble, thorns tearing at my skin. No doubt there’s poison ivy but that’s the least of our problems.

  “Don’t move. I think the sound came from that ridge.” Slowly, so as not to disturb the brush, I slide down the hill and put a thick oak trunk between us and the shooter.

  She pulls out her cell phone and whispers. “No reception.”

  I got to hand it to the gunman. He planned this well. However, I’m surprised he missed unless that too, was carefully coordinated. If so, why go to such elaborate measures just to scare us off?

  “Stay put. I’ll be right back.” On elbows and knees, I crawl down the slope until I’m out of view of the upper ridge.

  When another shot rings out, my heart goes into my gut.

  Dammit. I need to take this guy down. At full pace, I double back up and around until I’ve got the high ground. Whoever fired the rifle is gone, carelessly leaving shell casings.

  Near the park entrance, a tall man with a guitar case big enough for a rifle, hurries away out of sight.

  From on top of the hill, my cell phone has got plenty of bars.

  “911. What’s your emergency?”

  “I’m at Darlington State Park, just above the pond on the main path. Rifle shots were fired.”

  The responder’s voice is clipped. “Anyone injured?”

  “Not that I can see.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “I’m on the upper trail looking down. I see shell casings where the guy probably fired. I think I saw the shooter leave the park. Can’t be sure.”

  “Stay on the line with me, sir. I’ve got help on the way.”

  I talk with her as I jog down the steep incline to where Lilac is hiding but lose reception.

  “Lilac? You okay?” My heart thumps, praying she answers, dreading what I might find.

  She crawls out from under a log, covered in dirt. “Just peachy. I love getting shot at and jumping into poison ivy.”