Five Ways to Fall (Ten Tiny Breaths #4)(5)
Author: K.A. Tucker

“Your dirty talk is going to make me lose control.” What the hell is he talking about?

“Why’d you lie, Miss Marine Biologist from Seattle?” I can tell by his smile that he’s not angry, or even annoyed. Amused, if anything.

Oh . . . I shrug. So he figured that much out. Doesn’t seem like he’s picked up on the fact that we’ve been using cast names from Charlie’s Angels all night. I’m actually surprised. I could see him being the type of twelve-year-old boy to jerk off to reruns of a young Farrah Fawcett. “I don’t know. I like to role-play.” Adding coyly, “Sometimes I like to play dress-up, too.” I actually f**king hate costumes, but judging by the spark of excitement in Ben’s eyes, his imagination is taking that and running to all kinds of filthy places.

He’s fun to toy with.

That’s exactly how I ended up here.

That and too much tequila.

He leans in. His lips—so contradictorily sweet next to that obnoxious mouth—land on the nape of my neck, eliciting an embarrassing groan out of me as I tip my head back and coil my arms around his head. It’s not Jared’s mouth, but it will work.

The room is beginning to spin, but this feels so good that I force myself to ignore the revolutions as I lean farther into him. I continue to ignore them as his fingers slip under the hem of my tank top to pull it up and over my head. Tossing it aside, his hands quickly find and unfix the clasp to my bra.

“Damn, I knew it.” He shifts back to get a good look at my bare chest as cool fingers graze the silver hoop through my left nipple. He gives it a skilled tug, just enough to elicit a gasp and a burn in my lower belly. With a devious smile, he murmurs, “What else you got?” He has my shorts and panties on the floor before I know what’s going on.

“I thought there was no rush?” I mutter, grabbing Ben’s arm to stop myself from toppling over as I step out of them, a spike of nervousness jumping in me as I acknowledge that I’m completely naked in front of this fully clothed and fit man who works at a freaking strip club. I have a small waist and decent boobs, but the package comes with a tiny abdominal “bump” and an ass that’s a tad fuller than I would like.

I hope he’s too drunk to notice.

A frown mars Ben’s forehead as he peers down at my face. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“Because your eyes just crossed. That’s usually not a good sign.” The crease deepens. “Are you sure you haven’t had too much to drink? Because I don’t like to—”

I answer by grabbing the front of that red shirt and yanking him down into my mouth for what I hope is not a sloppy-drunk-girl kiss. But probably is. That seems to be all he needs, because his arms snake around my body to crush me against him. It may just be the alcohol but, damn, does this obnoxious bouncer have some skill. I hadn’t expected it. In truth, I thought he’d be the “no kissing on the lips” kind of guy. Now, though, I find myself mesmerized by him, letting my hands crawl all over his chest, ready to find out exactly how skilled he is.

If only this spinning would stop.

And this uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach . . .

Oh . . . no.

Call it gut instinct, an ounce of good luck buried within a pit of bad, I don’t know . . . but I intuitively peel myself away from Ben’s lips a second before a night’s worth of margaritas rushes up my throat and shoots out of my mouth.

All over the front of Ben’s red shirt.

Oh my God.

Did that just happen?

I’m temporarily frozen, staring at the streaks of green-tinged sludge all over his body.

“Oh, man . . .” Ben groans, the disgust plain in his tone.

Yes, that just happened.

I don’t even have to look at Ben’s face to know that all thoughts of getting laid have vanished from his mind. They’ve certainly abandoned mine, leaving me doused in an icky coat of mortification. That alone has my stomach churning more. I sense an encore performance coming. The hell if I’m puking anywhere in front of or on him again! Clamping two hands over my mouth, I turn and make a run for the bathroom. Unfortunately, something jumps out and trips me and a second later I find myself sprawled across the floor, the cool tile chilling my completely naked body, a dull pain beginning to ache in my toe.

“Shit, are you okay?” I hear from behind me.

I’m going to puke. I’m going to puke doing a facedown starfish if I don’t get up right now. The bathroom is no more than six feet away and I know I’m not going to make it all the way back to my feet. So I do the next best thing.

Scrambling to my hands and knees, I crawl toward the bathroom.

The bellow of laughter from behind me—oh God, the view he must have of me right now! I didn’t think this through!—only makes me pick up speed, until I’m crossing the threshold, slamming the door, and flipping the lock. I lunge for the toilet just as another wave of green shoots out, filling the bowl.

When I’ve purged my stomach of its toxic contents, all I can do is lean my forehead against the toilet seat and relish the cool porcelain as my rib cage throbs and my body breaks out in a sweat.

A soft knock sounds on the door. “You okay in there?”

I don’t answer. I can’t answer.

Why! Why did this happen to me? I’m not a puker! Lina is the puker!

“You know, if you hated the shirt that much, you could have just asked me to take it off. I was about to anyway.” I don’t know how he could possibly be making jokes about this. He’s the one covered in vomit. Just the thought has me shuddering. “Look . . . Some chick just puked on me and I really could use a shower. Can I come in?” The door handle jiggles and I thank baby Jesus for having given me the good sense to lock it. The last thing I want is to have him come in here and see my naked body hunched over his toilet. I need to get my clothes and get out of here without facing him. Ever again.

“You’re alive, right?” There’s finally a hint of worry in his tone. “I don’t have to bust down this door?”

That’s the last thing you have to do. “I’m good.” I pull myself up to the sink to splash my face with some cool, fresh water. Reaching for his mouthwash, I dump a mouthful in and begin gargling.

“Come on, Jill. We’ve all been there. I’m sorry I laughed.”

I’ve never been so happy that I used a fake name. The story will go down in history as a puking purple-haired girl named Jill who crawled to his bathroom, her naked fat ass wiggling the entire way. I’m fine with that.

There’s a long pause and then I hear his heavy sigh. “I’m leaving some bottled water next to the door for you. Don’t drink the tap water or you’ll be spending the rest of your vacation in the bathroom.” His footsteps move away just as another wave of nausea hits me, courtesy of my minty-fresh breath.

I dive for the toilet again.

Chapter 4

BEN

Two months later

“Not an ocean view, but it’s all yours,” Jack Warner offers, leading me into a tiny, empty office the size of a closet, with a window overlooking the small parking lot.

“Ocean views are overrated,” I throw back with a grin.

That earns a chuckle as my new boss slaps a strong hand over my shoulder. “Glad to have you joining us, Ben. My son credits you as the reason he graduated law school with such high grades.”

“Your son’s a smart guy, Mr. Warner.”

“He says you’re smarter. That’s why I hired you. And call me Jack.”

I’m liking my law school buddy’s dad more and more. After a rather intense interview, I was convinced he was an uptight prick and I had no hope in hell of getting hired. I was surprised when he personally called with the job offer a few weeks ago. What a f**king relief that call was! Given that I’ve been too busy making solid money as a bouncer at a strip club to try for an intern position somewhere, I have zero experience. So many firms won’t even look at you without experience, even if you graduated near the top of your class, which I did.

I’ve obviously pegged Jack all wrong. I mean, here he is on a Monday morning, the sole equity partner of a Miami law firm employing about forty people, taking time out of his jam-packed schedule to show me around.

“Speaking of sons . . .” Jack smiles at someone behind me. I turn to find a tall, lanky guy in nerdy, thick black-rimmed glasses edge into my office. I offer him a smile of my own as our hands find each other in a strong clasp.

“How was your summer?” Mason asks, adding, “Kent said Mexico was good?” Aside from some texts and emails, Mason and I haven’t talked since the day we took the bar exam in July.

“Mexico was great.”

By Mason’s little smirk, I know Kent gave him some highlights that shouldn’t be elaborated on. Especially not right now, in front of my new boss. Mason was supposed to come down with us, but he decided to start at his dad’s firm right away. I told him he was a f**king idiot for doing that. I mean, we’re not even “associate lawyers” until we get our exam results, which are coming in a few weeks. And then what? A lot of fielding client case update phone calls and proofreading briefs and motions for who knows how long before we’re actually trusted to take on our own clients. Why not enjoy the summer?

“Mason, I’ll let you help Ben get familiar with the firm. I’ve got a nine a.m. and court this afternoon. How about the two of you meet me in my office at noon and we’ll go out for lunch,” Jack says, tapping a thick folder. “Some paperwork for you to fill out and hand in to the HR department today, Ben.” With that, the man swiftly exits.

I stroll around my desk and ease myself back into the burgundy leather chair with a big grin. “This place is pretty sweet.”

Mason nods slowly, running a hand through his curly dark hair and then, as if realizing that he’s just made it even messier, he quickly tries to smooth it back down. “I’ve got a call I need to make and then I’ll come back, okay?”

“Yup.” In the three years that I’ve known him, the guy still hasn’t learned how to carry on a casual conversation.

“You’ll be shadowing Natasha in family law for the foreseeable future. I’ll introduce you two when I come back.”

“Natasha?” I raise a suggestive brow.

“She’s engaged,” he quickly throws out.

“But the more important question is, is she hot?”

Mason rolls his eyes. “I already told you about the policy against office romances here, Ben.”

“Who said anything about a romance?” What is it about these f**king cock-blocking employers? First Cain, now Jack? Dropping my hands onto the oversized mahogany desk in front of me, I give it a good pat. “Always wanted to see what a hot lawyer looks like spread out on one of these.” I’m not serious, but I like watching Mason go through his various stages of awkwardness, where he gets all agitated and starts fiddling with his glasses.

And . . . man is he ever fiddling with them right now. I smile. The two of us couldn’t be more opposite if we tried. Standing there in his plaid short-sleeved shirt and black tie, the guy looks like he’s heading for a seventh-grade chess tournament. I didn’t wear a tie today. Dress code states business casual is fine unless you’re going to court or meeting a client and I’m doing neither, so why would I dress like an office monkey?

I let him twitch for another few seconds before relenting. “I’m kidding, Mace! I promise. I’m turning over a new leaf.”

“As of when?” His tone screams doubt. He’s known me for long enough and has seen me in action with our friends more than once, so his skepticism is fair.

“As of my going-away party at Penny’s this past weekend. Nothing’s going to top that. I think my dick could use a break anyway.” I shake my head as I laugh to myself. Mercy and Hannah sure know how to send a guy off.

“Oh.” A small, knowing smile curves his lips, but it vanishes just as quickly. “Well, good. Just don’t forget that. Especially around my stepsister.”

Whoa. “Hold up. You have a stepsister? Working here?” This is new information. He’s never mentioned her before. Then again, he’s a private guy. “Is she a super geek like you?”

“She’s nothing like me. There’s probably a pot of fresh coffee in the break room down the hall and to your left.” He starts shifting on his feet. The guy can’t handle being late for anything.

“Go on, Mason. And thanks for the hookup.”

“Sure, Ben. I’ll be back in . . .” he checks his phone, “. . . eighteen minutes.” And he will. On the nose. I watch him take off at a brisk walk and I shake my head. The guy still lives with his father. Most days he’s wearing mismatched socks on account of being completely color-blind. If I hadn’t sicced Kyla from our first-year contracts class on him and witnessed her drag him into a bedroom at a frat party, I’d bet money that no woman besides his mama has ever seen his dick. Knowing Kyla as I do, though, she not only saw it, she made good use of it.