Creed

Again, I rolled my eyes.

“Takin’ it up the ass and beggin’ for it every time, baby, seriously, you and your body, slice of heaven.”

“Not sure any of that will make it into poetry books, hot stuff,” I informed him.

“If badasses read poetry, it’d be a bestseller.”

I couldn’t argue that.

“I just came hard twice, stop annoying me,” I ordered.

He transferred his gaze and grin to the ceiling, muttering, “Anything for my Sylvie.”

That got me a tingle, not the usual one, but a great one all the same.

I settled in, cheek to his chest and saw the still ugly, livid, blue and purple bruise edged with yellow that marred him where the bullet hit his chest.

I tipped my head back, my cheek sliding against his skin and saw the bandage that covered the stitches at his neck.

That would make another scar.

My arm stole around his gut as I righted my head and sighed.

If I asked, he’d become an accountant (or something) for me. I knew it. All I had to do was ask.

But then he wouldn’t be Creed.

“I’m okay,” he said quietly, reading my thoughts.

“I know.”

“You’re okay,” he went on.

“I know.”

“We’re together, we’ll always be okay, Sylvie. Always. It’s when we’re not together that we’re not. You with me?”

“Yeah,” I said softly, giving his gut a squeeze.

I was with him. I was so with him.

Gun jumped up on the bed, looked at me, looked at Creed, understood who her chances were better with and said to Creed, “Meow.”

She was right.

Creed moved, sliding out from under me, muttering, “Be back. Getting Gun some treats.”

I looked at Gun and shook my head.

She didn’t spare me a glance.

She pranced out of the room behind a na**d Creed.

I rolled to my back on the bed and stared at the ceiling realizing my ass burned a little.

It was then, I smiled.

* * * * *

Seven days later…

“Your round, Pip,” Live declared, grinning drunkenly at me.

“It was my round last time,” I replied, staring soberly at him thinking it was seriously unfun being out with the guys and not drinking.

“I know. You’re leavin’, you’re not gonna be around. That means you gotta get ‘em in before you go,” Live returned.

“That makes no sense, Live,” I informed him.

“Makes perfect sense to me,” Tiny put in.

I glared at Tiny then declared, “I’m not even drinking so I’m definitely not buying another round.”

“You’re supposed to stop drinking after you know you’re knocked up,” Live educated me. “Not when you think you are.”

“Man, were you not there when I explained my history with Creed? I’m not pushing my luck,” I shot back.

He swung his beer around, slurring, “Mishin’ out.”

He was wrong. I’d so take a healthy baby over a drunken night out with the guys. Absolutely.

“Go home.”

This came from behind me and I turned, looked up and saw Rhash standing there.

“What?”

“You got a long drive tomorrow, it’s after midnight, you aren’t drinkin’ and these guys are three sheets so, in about ten minutes, they won’t even know where they are much less why they’re here. So go home,” Rhash answered.

“Do I have to give out hugs?” I asked.

“Fuck, no. You hugged me, I might puke,” Live answered the question I asked Rhash and I turned back to him.

Tiny grinned stupidly at me. “You can hug me.”

“I’m not hugging anyone,” I declared.

“Aw, come on, Pip. Give me a hug,” Tiny encouraged, lumbering toward me.

“Tiny, stand down,” I ordered, retreating.

“A little one?” Tiny asked.

“Fuck off,” I snapped.

He lifted his hand with his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “A teeny, eeny, one?”

Jesus.

I put my hands to the massive wall of his chest and pushed. “Fuck off, Tiny, or I’ll shoot you.”

His hand shot out, curled around my neck and his face was suddenly all I could see. “I’ll miss you, girl.”

As fast as it happened, he turned and lumbered away.

Live caught my eyes and tipped up his chin before he looked away, swallowed and jerked his chin up again at the bartender to order another beer.

My eyes slid through the guys and I got more looks, chin lifts and then they turned away.

They were all going to miss me.

I felt a lump form in my throat.

“Go home,” Rhash said quietly from beside me and I looked up with him.

“Right.”

He held my eyes.

I lifted a hand and placed it on his chest.

“Quality, Pip,” Rhash was still talking quietly, “you are pure quality.”

I pressed my lips together, pressed my hand in his chest and jerked up my chin.

Then, before I lost it, I said not a word, turned on my boot and left.

As I was walking to my girl in the parking lot, I saw it.

A shiny, black Aston Martin.

My lungs started burning.

For over a week, Knight hadn’t returned my calls. At first, this was unsurprising. It happened often, he was a busy guy. Then it got kind of annoying.

Then it hurt.

He knew Creed took off a few days ago to get back to life in Phoenix and prepare for me to join him there.

He knew I didn’t like to be separated from Creed.

He knew that tomorrow, I was climbing in my ‘Vette and driving away from Denver and everything that meant whole worlds to me.

Including him.

Now he was standing in the dark, h*ps against his superior, high performance vehicle and I knew his eyes were on me.

I started to move toward him but saw his head in the streetlamp shake once and I stopped dead.

We stood there staring at each other through the lights illuminating the parking lot and we did this for some time.

Finally, Knight pushed away from his car, turned and opened the door.

He was beginning to fold his long body inside when I shouted, “Bottom of my soul!”

I heard his door slam, the car purred to life and then he shot around in a tight circle, stopped with the driver’s door beside me, his window down.

He looked out and said softly, “Bottom of mine, Sylvie.”

Then the window whirled up and he purred away.

Total badass.

Total cool.

Totally f**king sweet.