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I couldn't figure out what had awoken me. Did my front door slam or did I dream that? Shaking my head to clear my jumbled thoughts, which were bouncing around inside a disoriented brain, I sat up slowly and scratched my eyes with one hand as the other grabbed the cigarettes from the nightstand. Cigarettes never tasted as fantastic in the morning as they did after a big meal, but the craving was worse following hours of sleep.
I hadn't slept so good in I don't know how long, and I tried not to think about the reasoning behind it. Blindly, I reached for the closest pair of jeans on the floor, pulled them on and left them unbuttoned as I headed for the bedroom door. A crash echoed from somewhere downstairs resembling a broken dish - I knew this because I'd broken plenty of dishes; accidentally and on purpose - compelling me to halt any movement instantly.
Who the fuck was in my apartment?
Seizing the cigarette between my lips, I gripped the aluminum bat I kept near the door, held it in batting position, and descended the staircase quietly but swiftly. My cell phone was downstairs and I didn't have a land line, so there was no calling for help. The logical thing for me to do would have been to stay in my room and lock the door, but then what? Being the girlfriend of Bobby Mercer, you learned to protect yourself, stand up for yourself and yours. Basically - and I'll be quick to admit - sometimes I just wasn't the brightest Crayon in the box.
Stepping off the last stair, I turned the corner into the kitchen, virtually running into a black hoodie worn by the intruder. I planted my feet and reeled back with the bat, my hands constricting around the rubber grip.
"Whoa!" Lynda Manning shouted, hands flying up as she jumped backward. Halfway through the swing, I barely had enough time to whip the bat back in the opposite direction, saving her brain from painting my kitchen walls. The cigarette fell from my mouth, flipping through the air, bouncing near my bare feet.
"Ahh!" I howled, throwing the bat to the floor. It clattered noisily on the linoleum. "What the fuck are you doin' here?" I pointed. "And what the fuck did you break?"
"Trey kicked me out," Lynda confessed, "and I knocked a glass off the counter."
My heart thudded in my chest, endangering the stability of my ribcage. It was hard to catch my breath. I clutched at my stomach in hopes that I would not throw up all over the place. I nodded absentmindedly.
"Well, you're not staying with me," I declared, bending down to retrieve the still lit cigarette. No need to waste it.
"Hey, this is half my apartment," Lynda argued, following me through the living room. Sighing, I all but fell onto the couch, wishing I hadn't gotten up this morning. Or, at the very least, that Trey hadn't kicked Lynda out of his apartment for the sixth time this month. "I have a key!"
I should've hit the bitch.
"It hasn't been half your apartment since you stopped paying rent," I reminded her. Not meanly, just sternly. She needed to understand that I was not going to be her mother, I was not going to take care of her every time something didn't go her way. Especially being out of a job.
Shit. I didn't have a job. I'd almost forgotten entirely about being fired and having not gone into work lately. An odd feeling washed over me and my brows furrowed. Bobby had gotten me fired from a job that I loved, and yet I still wanted to be back with him. Because of Bobby, I had no way of paying my bills or buying food or getting gas, and yet I still wanted to be back with him. Evelyn always told me to save money; put the money I didn't use to buy necessities in the bank, and I'd thank her later. No surprise that she was right.
"So, you're just gonna put me on the street?" Lynda snapped. She placed a hand on her hip, I guess trying to look threatening. I remember beating her up in high school for stealing my boyfriend. She had to know she didn't frighten me and no amount of begging or yelling would change my mind.
"Lynda," I started, but I was cut off by my ringing cell phone. "Help me find my phone." Though I know it pained her to do so, she aided my search. I found the BlackBerry I would no longer be able to afford tucked safely in one of my sneakers.
I got weird when I was tired. Or worried. And I'd definitely been both last night. I couldn't stop wondering where Bobby and his brothers had headed after leaving the gymnasium with whatever information they'd obtained. The wonderment had kept me up late, made me smoke lots, and apparently had me hiding my cell phone in my shoe.
"Yeah?" I answered. I didn't recognize the number.
"Abby?"
Angel.
"Yeah, it's me," I said.
"Hey. Uh ... you busy?" He was nervous, which in turn made me nervous.
"What's wrong? Is Bobby alright?"
"He, uh, he got a li'l hurt last night."
"Christ," I mumbled, carding my fingers through my hair, wincing against all the tangles. "What happened?"
"He got bit by some dogs ..."
"Some dogs? As in more than one? What the hell were you idiots doing? How bad is it?"
"Listen!" Angel shouted. My mouth closed. "He still got all his body parts, alright, damn. There's just some bites on his arm and I don't think Sofí knows what she's doin'."
"Sofí's helpin' him?" I asked skeptically.
"Exactly. You a doctor, right?"
I inhaled deeply, fighting back a yawn, deciding not to correct him. Hand on my forehead, eyes closed, I submitted, "Alright. Give me ten minutes."
"Thanks, Abby."
"Does he know you called me?" I inquired. Angel laughed.
"You think I'd have a workin' cell phone right now?"
I chuckled. "Right."
As I buttoned my jeans and slipped on shoes that I never untied, Lynda hounded me. She wanted to know how Bobby was. She wanted to know if we'd talked. She wanted to know why I would talk to him if I was talking to him. She wanted to know why I was going over there and what had happened. She wanted to know who Sofí was. She wanted to know lots of things that simply were not any of her business.
She was also still pursuing a place to live. My place to live.
"You can stay here for three days," I contended. "Three days. You either find a job or you give me my key back and find another place to stay."
"Deal!" Lynda agreed.
I knocked faintly on the Mercer home door. Two things I noticed straight away: I wasn't here to pulverize Bobby, and Evelyn Mercer would not be the one to greet me. I felt isolated, irrelevant, standing there with a backpack full of medical supplies I'd stolen from my last place of employment hefted over my shoulder.
Bobby didn't want me. What the hell could he possibly want with me after seven years? I was older and I looked older. I'd changed - for the better, in my opinion, but did Bobby agree with that? Bobby looked older, too, but he hadn't changed even slightly. I probably wasn't even his type anymore.
"Thanks for comin'," Angel said after opening the door. I nodded, saying nothing, and followed him through the living room.
"Ahh!" Bobby exclaimed.
"You're such a pussy, Bobby!" Sofí hissed.
"Glad to hear nothin's changed," I mumbled, uncovering an amazing amount of fortitude as I walked briskly toward the dining table. Sofí glanced up at me, groaning with either relief or irritably - it was hard to tell with Sofí, and it was no secret that she and I never really got along. She was too loud for me and, oh yeah, utterly insane.
"Thank God!" she proclaimed, gesturing wildly, throwing something small and white on the table. Probably a cotton ball. "You deal with his dumbass!" She stamped off passed me, nudging my shoulder probably not accidentally.
Bobby glanced briefly at me, though I could see in his eyes he already knew who was standing behind him. He turned back around, shaking his head. I looked at his tattoos, the strong muscles of his back and arms, his broad shoulders. The pit of my stomach broiled with desire, manifesting itself in my increased respirations and sudden hot flash.
"Who called you?" Bobby asked. His voice was grating, but his words were articulate enough. He did not move from the table, didn't move away from me, didn't even move his injured arm to a place where I couldn't get a hold of it. "The fuckin' black asshole with the expensive teeth!" He yelled loudly enough for Angel to hear him, wherever Angel was.
I took the seat Sofí had occupied, dropping the backpack on the table. I kept my eyes on his wound, examining it as closely as possible without actually touching it, as I removed the supplies from my bag.
"Heard you got bit by a dog," I said. Hopefully we would continue to be civil. Hopefully we could carry a conversation without it ending in yelling. Hopefully I could see his smile again. What the hell. I'm a glutton for punishment.
"Two dogs," he replied placidly. Still it was amazing that such a soft voice could come from such an abrasive man.
"D'you kick 'em?" After snapping on a pair of purple latex gloves - couldn't be too careful - I finally took Bobby's arm gently in my hands and inspected the wounds both on and below his forearm. The bites weren't too severe. "They didn't actually bite your skin, did they?" He shook his head. I nodded, happy to hear the risk of infection was minimized. "I think you'll live."
"Good to know." His eyes were on me then, my eyes stayed on his arm, and I got the distinct feeling that he was keeping something from me. Bobby was easy to read, just not easy to anticipate. He wanted to tell me something. Tell someone something.
I cleaned the bites with a saline solution, and Bobby didn't yelp in pain. He also didn't say anything to me like I know he wanted to. He sat there, watching me, watching my purple hands, watching me again. I liked his eyes on me even if I didn't look my best. He was giving me attention; attention I'd been horribly deprived of over the years.
"What happened last night, Bobby?" I asked neutrally, not wanting to seem obtrusive. I didn't expect him to answer.
"We got 'em," he replied, his tone hardly above a whisper. Our eyes met, locked, and I knew what he meant.
"You got 'em?" I breathed. He nodded. He didn't have to say it. Because we had our own form of communication. Because I could read his eyes. Because he knew I didn't have to hear it. I cleared my throat. "And when you say got 'em ..."
"Got 'em."
I placed the final piece of tape on the bandage, smoothing it down for longer than it normally took. What happened next was out of my control. My need for him engulfed my insides, conquered my common sense and fear, annihilated any apprehension. Standing, I leaned over the table, grabbed Bobby's face, and crushed my lips against his. At this point, I didn't care if he kissed me back, I didn't care if he shoved me away and told me to get out of his mother's house. I just wanted to taste him, feel him against me. I wanted to remind myself of everything I'd lost seven years ago.
Bobby's lips were still the first few moments of our one-sided kiss, probably the product of shock. And then he joined the party. His mouth moved with mine, and we found a long-forgotten but wonderfully familiar rhythm. He tasted the same, kissed the same. His hands were just as rough and talented. I knew this because they'd come up to cradle my neck, his thumbs on my cheeks. The same. We'd picked up right where we left off. Like we'd never been apart.
When I finally came back to myself, when we'd stopped kissing to catch our breath, I realized I was sitting on Bobby's lap and his arms were solid around my waist, almost painfully so, and my hand was tangled in his stiff hair. I pressed my forehead against his and closed my eyes, reveling in our position and the sheer joy one kiss brought out of me. I breathed his air and he breathed mine. He licked his lips, and so did I.
"Well, that's not the smartest decision I've made, ever," I commented. I spoke only the truth, and I didn't mean it as an insult. He knew what I meant. Like always, with our own form of communication and everything.
"What? Tryin' to lick the back of my neck through my mouth or climbin' all over me in front of my brothers?" he asked haughtily.
"You're the one not lettin' me get up," I indicated his arms still secured round my middle.
"Hey, yo, police in the house!" Angel shouted from the back door.
"Shit," Bobby whispered, for all intents and purposes lifting me off his lap. While he and Sofí talked about finding him something to wear over his arm, I gathered all my supplies, stuffed them back in the bag, and tossed the bag under the chair.
I rushed over to the couch to assume our act natural positions and I ran into Bobby. He was no longer bare-chested. Instead, covering him from head-to-toe, was his mother's robe - all colorful and pretty and girlie. I missed Evelyn just a little bit more right then, but I couldn't help the laughter that escaped my Bobby-bruised lips.
"I wish I had a camera," I admitted.
He ignored me, yanking me around the coffee table and then yanking me down onto the couch beside him. His lips were on mine again, and I melted into the kiss, melted into Bobby, melted back into our old life.
"Angel, mind if we come in?" Green. I knew his alluring voice anywhere.
Bobby was still kissing me, but he'd moved on to my cheek and neck. If he wasn't careful, we'd be giving just a few people quite a show in a matter of minutes.
"You're already in," Angel replied. "Cops are always welcome at the Mercer's, it makes us feel safe and cozy." Smartass. "Just the way we like it."
I glanced at Green as he and Fowler strolled into the living room.
"Well, well, well," Green said. Bobby placed one last kiss on my sensitive skin before pulling away and leaning back against the cushions. My leg was hanging over his, his hand on my thigh. Like we'd been here all day. Like we'd done nothing wrong. "Whole gang's back together again." He referred to me and Bobby. "How ya holdin' up, Truelove?"
"I am hunky-dory, Green," I sighed. "How're you?"
"Good, good," he nodded, switching his attention to Bobby and the garment he wore that so obviously was not his. "Ooo wee! Ain't you sexy?"
"Thank you," Bobby said, standing, my leg sliding off his. He walked around the coffee table. "Jackie wanted this little number for himself, but I fought him for it."
I rolled my eyes. Jack wasn't even in the room, and Bobby still made fun of him. When would it end?
"What happened to the hand?" Green asked. I leaned to my left so I could see Bobby's hand as he held it out. Blood was dripping down between his fingers. Oops. Sofí probably could have done a better job with all the attention I hadn't been paying to the wound.
I touched my lips. They were warm and swollen. I wasn't worried about Green. If I knew Bobby - and I did - he covered his tracks perfectly. He wasn't in any rush to go back to prison.
"You know, Volvos are one of the safest cars out there," Angel said. I looked up at him. What had I missed for the few minutes I'd been thinking about the kissing that had gone on today that they were now talking about Volvos? "Volvos are incredible, man, when there's a blizzard outside -"
"That's fascinating," Fowler interrupted. My eyes shifted to him. Jack had joined us by now. "Hey, Gretzky, you know what this is?" He held up what appeared to be an empty baggy from where I was sitting.
"Hair from your wife's tit?" Bobby asked.
Glowering, I knew exactly what was in the baggy, or, rather, what was not in the baggy.
"Try from your thick skull," Fowler snapped. I giggled and put my hand over my mouth immediately. Bobby glanced at me over his shoulder, smiling, too. Fowler went on to explain they'd found the hair on some contract killers.
"Come on, Green," Bobby said, strutting back over to the couch, his eyes on me the whole time. "You know when I'll know you got my hair off a dead body, right?" He reclaimed his seat next to me, propping his feet up on the table, his hand back on my thigh. "When I hear the jail house doors close behind me, girls."
I didn't want to think about that - Bobby going back to prison. One of the worst years of my life was spent visiting him every Sunday, sleeping alone every night, and accepting a long distance phone call every Wednesday morning. Never again.
"You think you're pretty cute, don't ya?" Fowler asked Angel. Rhetorically, I think, but I sensed Angel would have replied with the affirmative. "He does." He uncrossed his arms, and I tapped Bobby's arm to warn him. "Everybody's a smart guy till I bust 'em in the mouth." He stalked over to Angel, Angel stood, and I waited for punches to be thrown.
Bobby didn't seem worried. Especially when he turned his head to look at me, his eyes descending down my body then back up again to my face.
"You look good," he said. I laid my head back on the cushions, gazing at him.
"You need to shave," I said. Bobby chuckled.
"Look, Bobby, if you got somethin' -" Green started, and we looked up at him. "- you give it to me. And if it's somethin' vital, man, we will run with this, but don't try and take on Detroit your damn self. You keep knockin' on the devil's door long enough and sooner or later somebody gon' answer you!"
My eyebrows rose and I nodded.
"That was a fantastic speech," I said. Bobby snorted. "I liked it. Especially the whole devil thing. You really captured the moment, Green."
The lieutenant shook his head in disbelief. He opened his mouth, narrowed his eyes, then closed his mouth again, like he'd wanted to say something but then thought better of it. He muttered a few goodbyes and left, hauling Fowler along with him.
"Let's get outta here," Bobby said.
Arching an eyebrow, I asked, "And go where? Lynda's at my place."
"So? We'll kick the bitch out. Not like we ain't done that before."
It wasn't difficult to kick Lynda out. She hated Bobby almost as much as she hated hearing us have sex. One night, Bobby and I had come home drunk and made it as far as the staircase where we removed half our clothes and fucked right there while Lynda slept on the couch. She'd awoken when I'd screamed - I screamed only when intoxicated - and hurriedly left the house, cursing the whole way. I found her sleeping in my car the next day. Bobby and I'd had a good chuckle. Lynda hadn't found it so hilarious. So with one look at the "happy" couple, Lynda bolted.
When Lynda slammed the door, Bobby shoved me against it, locked it, then began the removal of my clothing. He only took enough time to discard my shirt, my jeans, and his shirt before hoisting me into the air, my legs mechanically wrapping around his waist. This wasn't the first time we'd had sex standing up, but it was intoxicating just the same.
"You're a bitch, you know that?" Bobby seethed, one arm holding me up while his other hand made quick work of his jeans.
"Fuck you," I puffed, waiting painfully impatiently for him to shut his mouth and get on with it.
"Havin' me leave town," he persisted, panting hot air all over my throat when he wasn't licking or sucking on the skin there. "Actin' like you knew what was best for me ..."
"Bobby, shut the fuck up and make yourself useful," I ordered, glaring down at him. "Fuck me ... if you still know how."
Taunting Bobby usually resulted in him doing whatever I wanted, and this time was no exception. He was inside me then, filling every one of my senses to full capacity roughly. Bobby never troubled himself with whether or not he was being too vicious with his thrusts as he trusted me to tell him when enough was enough. Right now, however, he couldn't possibly have been rough enough. I liked it hard, I liked it fast, and Bobby had been the only man not too scared to give it to me that way.
"Ah, fuck," I wheezed, rolling my hips into his, pulling him in deeper. My nails scraped across his back in the area of his no mercy tattoo and I licked at his lips, kissed them, sucked on the bottom lip.
"Shut up," Bobby snarled.
"You sure know how to turn a girl on," I ridiculed. His hand clamped over my mouth, knocking my head back into the door, but I didn't mind much. I'd sensed it might happen. Bobby was nothing if not predictable. In the bedroom, that is.
"You think if I wanted to hear you talk -" he chuckled "- I'd have your legs spread right now?" I nodded, his hand following the movement of my head, and he laughed once more, entertained, eventually removing his hand from my mouth.
No more talking or derision, no more giggling; just Bobby moving in and out and in and out as rapidly as his pelvis would allow. My back began to ache, my lips started to dry, but there was nowhere else I'd rather be. I felt sweat pooling between Bobby's shoulders where I'd scratched before, felt the sweat on my own skin, felt Bobby lick it away. It wasn't often that I achieved orgasm during sex - our sex usually consisted of Bobby getting his then me getting mine - only this time was different; this was reunion sex, which was a hundred times better than angry, make-up sex.
"Son of a ... oh, my God!" I moaned, clenching around him, wave upon wave of ecstacy rushing over and through me. Only Bobby could make feel this way, only Bobby could bring this out of me. And only now did I realize how much I'd truly missed great fucking sex. No pun intended. "Jesus, Bobby," I keened, slumping forward, burying my face in the crook of his sticky neck. "I missed you so damn much."
I felt his hand slide along my neck beneath my damp hair, cradling me against him, panting in my ear.
"I'm back now."
