7
" We should break up,” she says. “I’m a disaster. I’ll fuck everything up. I always fuck it up.” Her voice is distressed and she looks like she’s on her way to hyperventilating. “And you’ll leave. Everyone leaves. And I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You can’t break up with me. We’re not dating,” I reply calmly and cross over to her, taking her hand so she’ll stop twisting the hell out of her hair.
“Oh.” She exhales in an audible puff as she tilts her head back to look at me. She swallows. “I can’t?”
“Nope.”
“Then what are we doing? Why are you so nice to me? You’re always so freaking nice to me, Boyd. And attentive. And good in bed. And—”
“We’re just Chloe-and-Boyding.” I cut her off before she gets any more worked up.
“Chloe-and-Boyding?”
“Yes,” I say then brush my lips along the shell of her ear. “Trust me, Chloe.” I give her a gentle push back, because I’m not above distracting her with sex. Not one bit. I lie on the bed beside her and pull her to me. “And you can’t go when there are so many fucks I haven’t given you yet, Chloe. I’d like to give you all the fucks.”
“All the fucks?” The tension eases from her body and her eyes flare, but in excitement instead of panic.
“All of them. The bossy fuck.” I slip my hand under the hem of her shirt and lift it up and over her head. “The rough fuck.” She lifts her hips as I grip the waistband of her leggings and tug. “The shower fuck.” She sucks in a breath at that and swallows. “So many fucks, Chloe.” I brush my lips against her ear. “The dirty talk fuck. The ass play fuck,” I whisper. “Do you want to miss any of those?”
“No.” She shakes her head and flexes her hips against me, already looking to move this forward. “I want all the fucks.”
“Good. Then we’re on the same page. Take off your bra. "
― Jana Aston , Trust (Cafe, #3)
8
" Was it as scary for you as it is for me? Falling for Sawyer?”
“Not really, no.” She shakes her head. “I’m sure I had some of the same worries, everyone does. But I’m a leaper. You’re a thinker. We process things differently.”
“You didn’t have a panic attack and run away?” I ask sarcastically.
“No,” she muses. “Not even that time he refused to have sex with me.”
“That was your first date, Everly. And you did have sex,” I remind her. I know, because I heard about it for a week.
“Whew.” She blows out a breath. “It was a tough few hours though. How is Boyd’s POD by the way? Can we talk about that?” She leans forward on the couch, looking at me expectantly.
“Um, no. I don’t think so.”
She shrugs good-naturedly then changes the subject back to me. “Chloe, why didn’t you tell me you were struggling with your anxiety? You know I’m never too busy for you, no matter how many husbands or children I have.”
“You have one husband, babe,” Sawyer says, walking into the room at that moment.
“You’re still the one, baby.”
“We’ve been married for three months, Everly. I sure as hell better still be the one.”
“Sawyer,” she sighs. “I was trying to have a moment, okay? Work with me.”
“Next time, try waiting more than a day after downloading Shania Twain’s greatest hits to your iPod. You do realize the receipts come to my email, don’t you?”
“Um.” Everly looks away and scrunches her nose. “No?”
“You’ve been on quite the 90’s love ballads kick this week. Which is weird, because you’re not old enough to have owned the CD’s those songs were originally released on.” He looks at her with amused interest.
“What’s a CD?” She blinks at Sawyer dramatically.
“Cute. Keep it up.”
“Nineties music is all the rage with the millennials,” she tells him with a shrug. “I saw a blog post about it.”
“Don’t worry, sweets. We’ll beat the odds together.” He winks and she scowls. “You’re still the only one I dream of,” he calls as he walks into the kitchen and grabs a bottle of water.
“See! I don’t even care that you lifted that from a song. It still gave me all the feels! "
― Jana Aston , Trust (Cafe, #3)
13
" So can I ask you a question?” She wraps a strand of hair around her finger and examines the end of it before dropping it to look at me.
“Sure.” I pass a slow-moving BMW and get comfortable, glancing at her to continue.
“Does the FBI monitor Google searches? Like, um, randomly? For normal people?”
“Normal people?”
“Non-criminal people.”
“What kind of a question is that?”
“It’s a real question!”
“But why are you asking it?”
“Because I Google some weird shit,” she says, blowing out a breath and shaking her head. “I keep expecting someone to show up on my doorstep and ask what the heck I’m doing, but I’m just a really curious person and all the answers are right there, you know? Just click, click and there’s your answer.”
“I think you’ll be okay,” I assure her. "
― Jana Aston , Trust (Cafe, #3)
14
" Did you have somewhere else you needed to be?” I ask, deflecting the question.
“Yes,” she says. But it’s lacking truth and comes out a little sullenly.
“Where? Is there a murder marathon on TV this afternoon, safety girl?”
“No!” she says. But she says it too quickly and fidgets in her seat.
“Holy shit, there is, isn’t there? You’re so weird.” She’s amazing.
“It’s a Criminal Minds marathon, jerk,” she retorts and this conversation starts to make sense. I’m competing with a fucking television show.
“So you wanted to get home to watch reruns, is what you’re telling me?”
“Fine,” she huffs. “I guess I can watch reruns another time.”
“Thanks,” I say drily. “That’s big of you.”
“You’re welcome,” she replies and I’m honestly not sure if she’s being snarky or serious "
― Jana Aston , Trust (Cafe, #3)
16
" Go away.” I stick my elbow in his ribs and force him to step back. “Sit on the couch and keep your hands to yourself,” I instruct, then follow him to the sofa and grab my Dating and Sex for Dummies books off the coffee table and shove them into my sock drawer while he laughs. “You’re making me miss my show,” I gripe as I toss things into the suitcase.
“Your show? You sound like you’re eighty.” He glances at the TV behind me then back to me. “Murder on Mason Lane,” he says. “It was the neighbor. She was committing Medicare fraud using the victim’s deceased wife’s information. He caught on so she killed him.”
I gasp. “You spoiler! You spoiling spoiler who spoils!” Then I shrug. “This is a new episode. You don’t even know that. It’s the daughter. She killed him. I’ve had her pegged since the first commercial break.”
“You’re cute.”
“Just you wait,” I tell him, very satisfied with myself. I’m really good at guessing whodunnit.
“Sorry, you murder nerd, I worked on this case two years ago. It’s the neighbor.”
“Really?” I drop my makeup bag into the suitcase and check to see if he’s teasing me.
“I swear. I’ll tell you all the good shit the show left out once we’re on the plane.”
I survey Boyd with interest. I do have a lot of questions. “I thought you were in cyber crimes, not murder.”
“Murder isn’t a department,” he replies, shaking his head at me.
“You know what I mean.”
“Most crimes have a cyber component to them these days. There’s always a cyber trail.”
Shit, that’s hot. "
― Jana Aston , Trust (Cafe, #3)
19
" I text her from the lobby and tell her I’m on my way up. Having a badge is a really convenient way to get past building security. Not that this place has much.
She’s standing in the open doorway of her apartment when I get off the elevator, hand on her hip with her head cocked to the side in question. “I brought donuts,” I offer by way of explanation for showing up unannounced.
“Did you need a favor or something?” she asks, taking the box from my hands and setting it on the tiny round dining table just inside the door of her apartment. Not a promising start, but she does allow me to follow her inside.
“I just brought you a favor,” I comment then eye her. “Do you own any pants?” She’s wearing another pair of those godforsaken leggings.
“What are you talking about? I’m wearing pants right now. And how does this count as a favor when I didn’t ask for it? It shouldn’t count towards my favor tally if I didn’t make the official request.” She pops open the donut box and peeks inside. “You’re like the worst genie ever.”
“I know. But your favors are piling up. I gotta work them off. And those aren’t pants.”
“Leggings are pants. They’re very popular.”
“What the hell is even on them?” I step closer and eye her ass, focusing on the print. Purely for research purposes. “Are those black cats?”
“They’re my seasonal leggings!” she retorts and selects a donut as I walk past her into the tiny aisle of a kitchen and pour myself a cup of coffee.
“Oh. Did you want something to drink? Let me get that for you,” she says sarcastically before biting into a donut.
I ignore her tone. “No, no. I’ve got it, thank you.” I take the mug and pass by her, taking a seat on her couch "
― Jana Aston , Trust (Cafe, #3)
