Chapter 7

Brynley

“You’re such a basic bitch,” I impishly criticize at the same time I reach over to the oblong shaped coffee table for another slice of pizza. “I mean pepperoni and sausage? My hypochondriac roommate back in college was more adventurous than that.”

“Have you ever considered your pizza may be too adventurous?”

“I didn’t hear Lucky complaining about having to make it.” Dropping one onto my plate is quickly followed by adding another. “Come to think of it…he sounded excited.” Locking eyes with J.T. occurs after my back hits the dark blue fabric pillow. “Like he was tired of making basic bitch pizza all the time.”

“Your pizza’s not even real pizza!” He squawks between bites. “It doesn’t even have sauce!”

“The olive oil is basically the sauce.”

“No, marinara is the sauce that belongs on pizza. I’ve literally had pizza all around the world. I would know.”

“Yet you’ve never had pepperoni, mozzarella, jalape?os, and pineapple on it before, so really…” the tip of one triangle is angled towards my lips, “ would you know ?”

He gags the instant I have a bite, inspiring me to snicker more.

I like hanging out with him.

I like making him squirm more.

It’s fun.

And easy.

So. Easy.

“That’s disgusting,” he gripes, wiping his greasy fingers on a napkin rather than his steel blue dress pants.

“It’s amazing.”

“It’s a crime.”

“ Excuse you ,” sassily precedes another playful beam. “The guest is always right.”

“ Customer. ”

“Same shit, Puppet Boy.”

“Different shit.” J.T. grabs his nearby vibrating cell. “And what did I say about calling me Puppet Boy?”

There’s no stopping me juvenilely joking, “Keep doing it?”

He grunts his disapproval in my direction yet keeps his attention on his device.

I divert my gaze to where Chris Pine is occupying the screen doing my best not to prod about the person on the other end of the phone.

Interestingly enough, since my mom’s been awake, I haven’t heard much from the goblin shark.

He even gets his briefings about her from Hamilton separately.

Sure, I’m spending most of my time with my mom, napping in the chair while she’s napping in her bed, muscling through Greys Anatomy episodes because of her unshakeable addiction to med dramas, and getting my ass kicked at card games – the woman cheats I just can’t prove it – meaning there’s no real rhyme or reason for our paths to cross but still.

You’d think having a visitor on his property – the thing everyone keeps claiming he never has – would warrant at least a couple of check-ins.

I know he doesn’t have to since there are practically more cameras around this place than the Pentagon, but I get the feeling simply watching from a distance isn’t truly enough.

He wants to be closer.

He wants to see me in person.

Hear me.

Smell me.

Feel me.

And…as fucked up as it is…the feeling is mutual.

I wanna look into his eyes.

Discover what he’s hiding.

Why he hides.

Maybe he even ask him about Strawberry Cuntcake and if he’s aware of her feelings for him, which are way more obvious now that my mom’s pointed it out to me.

Curiosity eventually gets the better of me prompting me to inquire, “Is that the boss?”

“Assistant.”

“Yours or his?”

“Mine.”

“You share a body, but you can’t share an assistant?”

The snarky retort leads to him sending a playful glare in my direction. “We don’t share a body.”

“But like, would you ?” Changing the subject is swiftly done. “ Would you bang the same chick?”

Redness threatens to take over his face during his verbal stumbling. “No.”

“Like no, you wouldn’t bang the same chick or no, you wouldn’t bang her at the same time?”

“Um… both? ”

“Is that both because you don’t like the same type of women or both because you’d never have a threesome or both because you’d never have a threesome with your best friend?”

“I don’t like this line of questioning.”

“Because you’re not used to being the one that has to answer.”

His mouth twitches as though about to say one thing but opts for another. “Has anyone ever told you that you have this odd way of making people uncomfortable?”

“ It’s a gift. ”

J.T. rolls his eyes and resumes his texting.

After another beat, I exchange my plate for my glass beer bottle and ask, “Got a computer I can borrow?”

“You don’t have your own?”

“If I did, why would I ask to borrow yours, Puppet Boy?” The nickname jab receives his full attention again. “To check out the type of porn you watch?”

“What makes you think I watch porn?”

“ Because you do ,” is unexpectedly interjected into the conversation causing both of us to whip our heads in the direction of the hallway that leads to the formal dining area.

While Wes’s appearance is a surprise, the fact his back is to us, preventing me from seeing anything more than a basic human outline, isn’t.

What’s his problem?

Does he have like an extra testicle hanging from his chin or something?!

“ Seriously? ” his best friend huffs in obvious amusement. “Did you really come all the way down here just to sell me out?”

“No.”

“Oh, so that was just a happy a coincidence?” I tease, wanting him to engage with me.

Hoping he will.

“Extremely.”

My giggling is buried underneath J.T.’s good-natured scoffing. “Embarrassing me makes you happy?”

“It doesn’t make me sad.”

More laughter leaves me and to my shock, Wes too.

Huh.

That’s quite a sound.

Dark and deep and delicious like the expensive alcohol he crafts.

Honestly?

I think becoming inebriated by it would be much better than getting wasted on his booze.

“Wanna come have pizza and beer with us?” I suggest at the same time I contort my frame to better face his direction. “I don’t bite…” A suggestive lick of my lips is taken despite the fact he can’t see it. “ You know… unless you want me to. ”

An unmistakable groan reverberates around the large room – most likely without his consent – allowing his best friend to be the who chuckles this time.

Hates me in his house.

Wants me in his bed.

It’s a tale as old as time.

“She’s not eating pizza,” J.T. states, tossing his best friend a lifeline. “ She’s eating blasphemy.”

“You must be eating something with jalape?os.”

“How’d you know?”

“He hates spicy food.”

“I’ve got ten bucks that says he likes spicy women. ”

A gargled mess of an objection happens from the other couch; however, I keep my stare posted on Wes.

Maybe he can’t see me see him, but I know he can feel it.

That he has my attention.

That I want his.

“Can we talk about something that isn’t me?” J.T. quickly insists. “Perhaps why you don’t have your own computer?”

Answering him is done in his direction. “Because they’re expensive and always the first thing I pawn when I need cash.”

“You need cash?” Wes unhappily questions, pulling my stare back to him. “How much?”

“Relax, Admiral Kirk…” The tilting of my head is attached to a smirk. “I don’t need cash at the moment.”

Could I use cash at the moment?

Absolutely.

Am desperate for it?

No.

Once I combine the amount that I currently have with a good couple of nights at the club this weekend, I’ll be in a better spot.

A much better spot.

The type of spot where I don’t feel like I’m lying to my mom about being able to take care of myself.

“What do you need it for?” J.T. casually investigates, summoning my attention his way. “And please don’t say so that you can watch porn.”

“I do that on my phone like an adult, thank you very much.”

“Do you even have a phone?” Impish chuckles bounce his striped shirt covered torso. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you actually use it.”

“That’s because I don’t know where it is half the time.”

“Fuck, what’s that like?”

His laughter sparks my own; however, seeing the shadow giant shift in new unhappiness over our bonding smothers it out sooner rather than later. “I need to look for a new place to live and apply for a few jobs.”

“Your file didn’t say you were jobless,” Wes viciously bites.

“It probably didn’t say I was homeless either, Captain.”

Additional displeasure conquerors his voice. “ You’re homeless? ”

“Due to a misunderstanding.”

“What type of misunderstanding?” the man across the room seethes.

“The type that comes from people who think just because my tits pop out of my top means I give mouth hugs for money.”

J.T. struggles to hide his snickers over my word choice prompting his boss to grumble in disapproval.

“However – for the captain’s log I’m sure you’re keeping – I do have a job other than battling with you on the bridge.”

He grunts, although I’m not sure if it’s done in irritation or entertainment.

“I’d kind of like to get some shit rolling before I go back in tomorrow, so what do you say, Spock?” This time I meet his gaze. “Can you spot me?”

“You’ll use one of mine.” Wes’s face angles itself just enough over his shoulder so that I can get a glimpse of his blue eye that I swore was brown. “I’ll have it setup in the library across from my office.”

“Need to keep me close?”

“Yes.” His rebuttal shocks him more than me given how fast he snaps his head away to hide the blush that was at a risk of being seen. “I…have work… I should do.” An uncomfortable throat clearing precedes a clipped. “ Enjoy your night, Bryn. ”

“ Try to enjoy yours, Wes. ”

Another word doesn’t leave him during his dismissal, and in spite of that, I continue to longingly gaze.

Follow him until he’s completely out of the room.

Back in the shadows.

At that point, I shift myself around to J.T., beer bottle floating up towards my lips. “Well, that was progress.” A small swig is consumed. “He actually had a real conversation with me.”

The gawking male on the opposite couch comments just above a whisper, “ If only you knew how much progress that truly was… ”