Page 30 of Beaten

Jamie

Ashley had always been a force to be reckoned with, and it appeared time hadn’t mellowed her one bit. She’d convinced Emily to call me, then insisted I sleep on her couch. I’d never admit it to them, but a sleepless night on Ashley’s couch sounded way better than a sleepless night in my SUV.

It was going to be a long night and my bladder already felt like it held my body weight in coffee, so it’d be nice to have a bathroom nearby.

I’d probably help myself to some of the left Chinese food they’d offered earlier. Meg had packed a sandwich and some snacks, but it wasn’t enough to get me through an overnight shift. In her defense, she would have packed more if she’d known I’d be staying. I’d been up since six-thirty that morning and knew I’d need more food and coffee to stay awake.I’m not as young as I used to be. Overnight stakeouts after a full day in the office weren’t as easy as they used to be.

I rang the bell so Ashley could buzz me in. She was waiting at the door when I got off the elevator, waving like a maniac.

I held back my laugh as I waved back. I ushered her inside, then closed and locked the door behind us before saying, “Thanks.”

Ashley pushed me towards the couch. “Your bed for the evening thir.”

I didn’t bother hiding my amusement. I was pretty sure she was trying to sound like a butler and failing miserably. Partly because she was slurring her words, partly because she was wobbly on her feet, and partly because she couldn’t stop giggling. Neither of them could. They reminded of Madi’s slumber parties when we were kids.

“Thanks Ash,” then I remembered and corrected myself, “Ashley.” I gave her a quick half bow, which set off another giggling fit. My God, they’re like a couple of teenagers tonight. Then I smiled; Emily needed a night like this. No worries, no fear, just fun.

I tried not to notice how cute Emily looked in Ashley’s pajamas. At least I assumed they were Ashley’s since Emily hadn’t planned on staying the night. The bright pink shorts and matching tank top had cute little designs all over them. The shorts showed off Emily’s lean legs. Muscular, but not too bulky.Sexy.Shit, I shouldn’t be thinking about her legs.It’s better than thinking about her small, firm breasts pushing against the thin fabric. I shifted my stance to hide the uncomfortable evidence of my reaction to her.Get your head in the game, Sheppard!

Emily blushed.Shit. She’d noticed me staring.

Ashley broke the silence, which couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but felt like a lifetime. “Come on, Em, let’s give your hot bodyguard some privacy.” She grabbed Emily’s arm and turned her down the hall towards the bedrooms. They skipped arm in arm, or tried to—they bumped into the walls a lot. I heard Ashley’s loud whisper. “If we’re lucky, he sleeps naked.”

“You suck at whispering Ash.” I laughed as I used her old nickname, just to be a wiseass.

“I wasn’t trying to whisper, James.” She called back over her shoulder.

Touché. She knew I'd never liked being called James, it always felt too formal, too stiff.

I set my phone alarm to go off every sixty minutes, it wasn’t my intention to fall asleep, but I was only human. After setting the alarm on vibrate so it wouldn’t accidentally wake the girls, I turned the TV on, lowed the volume, and watched old sitcoms to pass the time. I’d dozed off a few times throughout the night and was grateful I’d set my alarm. I wasn’t worried about taking cat-naps, knowing I was between the door and Emily and would wake up at the slightest wound, but after his stunt at her apartment, I didn't want to risk sleeping too long or too soundly.

Around six-thirty, I started a fresh pot of coffee. By that point, I’d been up for over twenty-four hours and was in desperate need of a cup. While it brewed, I searched the fridge for something I could make for breakfast. Emily and Ashley would need something greasy when they got up. Unless they were still drunk, which could very well be the case. They’dhad a lot to drink last night. Unfortunately, Ashley’s kitchen was pretty bare bones.Apparently, she doesn’t like to cook.

There were a few eggs and some cheese in the fridge and I lucked out when I found a pound of bacon in the freezer.Perfect hangover food. I put the bacon in the sink to thaw, then poured myself a coffee and checked my emails. I’d emailed Meg at the office after texting Jack last night, wanting there to be an official record of the overnight stay at Ashley’s. It didn’t affect billing since we were providing round-the-clock coverage, and I was volunteering my time, but I’d always been detailed oriented and was a stickler for keeping accurate records.

I checked the clock: seven-thirty. I didn’t expect the girls to wake up for a while, but I was hungry, so I started frying the bacon. The thick, rich smell quickly filled the tiny kitchen. I ate a slice while I cooked the second batch. While the last pan of bacon was sizzling, I scrambled some eggs, then cooked them in the bacon grease, sprinkling on some grated parmesan cheese. I’d offer to replace the food I cooked this morning, though I didn’t think Ashley would mind since I’d feed them, too.

I’d just sat down to eat at the bar separating the kitchen from the living room when I heard groaning coming from the hallway. I stood up and checked to see who it was.

“Morning Ashley. How’re you feeling?”

She lifted her head and grunted at me. Her hair was a rat’s nest, and her eye makeup was smudged, giving her a raccoon mask.

“I made coff-.”

She perked up as she cut me off. “Do I smell bacon?” Her voice was deep and scratchy.

“You do. I can cook you some eggs too, if you want.”

“Marry me.” She said as she walked by me, rubbing her temples.

I followed her to the kitchen and watched her pour herself a huge mug of hot coffee. Her large yellow mug had a smiley face on it, in complete contrast to the grumpy expression she currently wore. She inhaled deeply, her nose almost touching the dark liquid. “Mmm, Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” I grabbed the eggs from the refrigerator and turned around to find Ashley sitting in my chair, eating my breakfast. I chuckled; apparently, she couldn’t wait.

She looked up sheepishly. “Oops,” she circled the fork over the plate, “was this yours?” I couldn’t help but notice she’d used the past tense. If I wanted my breakfast back, I’d have to fight her for it. Not that I would, it was her food.

“Eat up. I’ll make more.” I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and put it down in front of her. “Drink this.”

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