Page 20 of Plum

He’s out with the ArrowXchange people tonight, slumming it at the clubs on the Riverwalk, trying to get them over their last objections. I feel a little guilty for bailing, but this kind of shit is Eric’s forte. It’s what he brings to the table. I won’t be missed. Besides, I can always meet up with them after this fiasco.

The sun is only now going down, and the crowds on the sidewalks are thinning. I made an early reservation on purpose. I might be a man of my word, but I don’t need to court unnecessary attention.

I check my phone. Plum is now officially late. No message. I prop my heel on the wall. I’ll give her five minutes. I ignore how my heart is speeding up, how my nerves grate with each passing second. I’m pissed to be wasting my time. That’s all.

I open Bleacher Report, and I’m forcing myself to read a piece on the post-season, so I don’t see her walk up. Despite the fact I’m amped as hell, she doesn’t register until she’s standing right in front of me. When I look up, I get the sense she’s been there a minute.

My abs clench, and my cock jerks. Shit.

She’s frowning, her arms crossed tight across her chest, her hip cocked, and one foot turned out the way girls used to do in middle school. She’s so short.

I go to straighten, but then I realize I’ll loom over her.

On first glance, she looks pissed off, but as I stare a little longer, I see she’s nervous. The scared kind of nervous. For some reason I cannot begin to fathom, this bothers me. I don’t want to scare her off.

My stomach’s still doing something strange, and I’ve got a semi that’s quickly growing into a full-blown hard on. Holy fuck. I didn’t imagine it. It wasn’t the sleep deprivation or the booze or the rush of the deal. What is it about this girl?

I mean, objectively, she’s nothing special. She’s pretty enough, and her body’s tight as hell. She’s showing it off in a skintight white spandex dress with bare shoulders. No one’s going to miss that she’s a stripper.

But she’s not holding herself in the way that women do when they know they’re hot. Her stance is defensive, not sultry. Her face is guarded, and her eyes are faded-blue pools of wariness and suspicion.

It makes no sense, but that expression? It makes me want to fuck her so bad. I want to turn her against this wall, shove that dress up to her waist. God, my hands itch thinking about baring that ripe ass and cupping it in my hands. Nudging her legs apart and thrusting my cock into her dripping pussy. I want to make her love it, tear her mask away, fuck it right off her, until she looks over her shoulder at me like I’m a god, and that mean, scared look melts away into neediness and greed.

“You gonna stare at me all night, or are we gonna eat?”

I kind of startle, shaking my head to clear it. What’s wrong with me? I don’t need to stress this. She’s a whore. If I want her, it’s negotiable.

“Okay. So how about while you’re staring, you hand me your card.”

She goes to root in her purse, I guess for her phone so she can take my card. Shit. I’m really gonna pay a prostitute on the sidewalk in front of Altimeter? I need to pull it together.

“I brought cash.”

“Okay, then hand me the cash.”

“Later.”

She looks across the street, and for the first time, I notice the huge motherfucker on a motorcycle parked halfway down the block. His biceps are so big, he can only cross his forearms near the wrists. His legs are tree trunks. He’s wearing a vest that reads SMBC, and he’s got an eyebrow raised.

She glances back at me, her eyebrows raised as well, and she puts her hand out.

I take the envelope from my jacket pocket.

She snatches it and trots off across the street. It takes everything in me not to stop her, hook my arm around her middle, and haul her back against my chest.

She doesn’t need to be running to this guy.

I don’t want her out of my reach, which is crazy.

She hands the envelope to the big guy; they exchange a few words I can’t hear because of passing traffic. Then she turns back to me, and the relief is so great, it’s like a band breaks and my lungs can inflate.

“You good?” the man hollers to Plum, but he’s staring me down. I hold his gaze.

She waves him off. “I’ll text you.”

He gives her a chin lift.

“I’ll be close,” he calls.

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