Had to Be You: Bad Boys of Red Hook (4 page)

Patrice and Elyse stared at her with their mouths hanging open in silent shock.

“Look, I know Pete’s heart attack scared him, and that ever since he’s come home from the hospital, he’s been doing his damnedest to see all his boys settled. Which is understandable as long as one isn’t settled on me. I’m not daughter-in-law material.”

Shit, bugger, bugger, shit! Why hadn’t she connected the blasted dots? A sailor, a computer geek—she’d heard all about him. She’d been so damn enamored with his body she’d obviously gone brain dead.

Patrice didn’t have to feign shock—she was really and truly stunned. “You didn’t know?”

“No! If I had, I never would have—” What? Come on to him? No, she would have run in the opposite direction.

Patrice put on her evil queen face—she was obviously unaware of her tell, but Rocki had been a willing participant of her high jinks long enough to recognize it. “I think Slater looks like a perfect temporary distraction for you. He’s out of here come the first of the year. And you have to admit that it’s been forever since you’ve dated anyone. And like you, he’s not looking for Mrs. Right—just a Ms. Right Now, and that’s your M.O.” She shrugged. “For you it’s always been Mr. Right Now, or at least it has been since I’ve known you.” Patrice hit her with her
tell-me-all
stare that for some strange reason always worked.

Rocki looked away to make sure her penetrating gaze wasn’t some kind of voodoo truth serum.

“Have you ever had a real long-term relationship?”

“No, and I’m not looking for one.” She still refused to look at Patrice. She didn’t want to take any chances.

“Good. Then a little fun, frolicking, and mattress tag with Slater would be great for both of you. Sounds like a temporary match made to get your mind and body back in the game. A woman shouldn’t go that long without an orgasm that’s not self-induced.”

She caught Patrice’s gaze in the mirror behind the bar, hoping Patrice’s mojo couldn’t work due to the reflection. Still, she felt the pull. She rubbed her bare arms, trying to chase away the goose bumps. “Don’t knock BOB. All he needs to get me going is three C batteries and he’s even good in the tub or shower. Besides, Patrice, you know how Pete is. He’s—”

“A grown man who knows his sons aren’t virgins. Heck, I’d be willing to bet that he even knows you’re not a virgin.”

Rocki held her head in her hands and then ran her fingers through her hair, which was already standing straight up. “Forget about it, Patrice. The last thing I want to do is disappoint Pete or have him think less of me. No, the only thing I’m going to do with Slater is practice avoidance.” She chugged the rest of her drink, grabbed her water, and signaled Simon to switch off the canned music. It was time to start avoiding the most fascinating man Rocki had met in eons. “I gotta get back to work. Night, ladies.” With any luck, they’d both be gone before she finished up at two. Too bad it was a Friday night—they could be here until close, and knowing her two friends, that was exactly what they had planned.

•   •   •

Slater spent the rest of the night watching Rocki perform. He couldn’t believe she played here at his dad’s bar instead of going somewhere she and her band would be disc
overed. It would be one thing if they’d lived in the middle of nowhere. But the woman worked in a town loaded with people who would be more than happy to make her a star. Rocki had it all—the looks, the personality, the talent . . .

He pulled out his phone and googled Nite Watch, and from what he could find, the band didn’t even have a Web site. What the hell?

He googled the Crow’s Nest’s Web site and cringed. It was a one-page disgrace with a picture of Pop and the gang, and a description of the food and music, the address, and the hours. It didn’t even have an app that would offer directions. It was worthless.

Patrice slid into the booth next to him and took his phone, looked at what he was doing, and then handed it back to him but not before she hit the kill button. “I don’t know about your chances with Rocki. She didn’t know she was flirting with one of Pete’s kids.”

“I’m hardly a kid, Patrice.”

“Doesn’t seem to matter. She’s under the impression that since his health scare, Pete’s trying to get you boys married off.”

“Is he?”

Patrice shrugged. “I don’t know. It could be that you’re all of a certain age—the age people tire of living alone and start looking for their other half. I guess before you do that, you have to know yourself pretty well, and as far as I can tell, Rocki’s still trying to figure herself out.”

One look at Rocki told him the woman knew damn well who she was and what she wanted. That was one thing that attracted him to her in the first place.

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know. Rocki’s different from anyone I’ve ever known. It’s as if every day is her birthday—she celebrates her life, she doesn’t simply live it. I love that about her. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her wish for anything she doesn’t have. Well, except maybe for a man with a body like Storm’s, but I think she only did that to give Bree a hard time.”

“Is she running from a broken heart?”

“Rocki? No. Rocki loves me and Bree, and the people who work here, but like I said, she hasn’t had a relationship since I’ve known her.”

“What about before you met her?”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s possible, but she’s never really been one to talk about her past.”

“And that worked with you? Hell, you just finished giving me the third degree. You know more about me than my own father does. How does she get away with it?”

Patrice shot him an incredulous look. “You know, I never really thought about it. She tells me everything—”

“Obviously not, since you don’t seem to know much about her before she started working here.”

“I know she had just graduated from college in Canada somewhere.”

“Wow, that’s specific.”

“She has a degree in music.”

“What about her family?”

Patrice’s brow pinched. “I don’t know.” She looked over at the server walking toward them. “Wendy? Do you remember Rocki ever saying anything about her family?”

“She has a family?”

Patrice cocked her head and gave Wendy the
don’t-you-know-anything
head shake. “She wasn’t hatched from an egg, girl.”

Wendy set her tray on their table and stretched her back. “She’s always just talked about all of us like we were her family—Pete, Bree, you and Francis, and the staff. I think she even celebrates most holidays with Pete and the gang. You know how we always end up back here after everyone does their family thing. She takes a couple of vacations a year, but all I’ve been able to get out of her was that she had a relaxing time. I don’t even know where she went. She came back with a great tan and joked about it being an all-over tan. I figured she went to one of those nudist colonies in Florida or something.”

“Girl, are we talking about the same Rocki O’Sullivan? A nudist colony? I sincerely doubt that. You just have a dirty mind.”

Wendy laughed. “Maybe, but do you know where she went?”

Patrice’s brow furred. “Bree and Pete must know.”

Wendy shook her head. “Not Bree—the two of us spent the entire two weeks guessing. We tried to get it out of her when she came home. She was all mum. We even accused her of being in the CIA.”

Slater ordered them another round and Wendy headed to the bar. “So how can you, the neighborhood busybody—”

“Hey, I resemble that remark.”

“Yeah, I gathered that. So how is it you know so little about someone you obviously think of as a best friend?”

Patrice was stunned speechless.

“Kind of makes you wonder, huh?”

“Maybe she’s just a private person.”

“Like me?”

“Fine.” Patrice raised her hands and held them out as if she were holding her own cartoon bubble. “I can’t explain it.”

“Yet you know everything about her since she moved here. I asked her where she was from and she said the Midwest and New England—no specifics. She’s good at dodging questions.” Which did nothing but make him more curious. “The band doesn’t even have a Web site.”

“Not everyone has a degree in computer security, Slater.”

“Yes, but you can pay someone to build a Web site. If she’s looking to make something of her band and her talent, she needs a Web site and a Web presence. It’s as if she’s trying
not
to be discovered, as if she’s hiding in plain sight.”

“Hiding?”

“Well, Red Hook is hardly the hotbed of the music world. That’s L.A. and Manhattan—just across the bay. Name one band that came out of this hole?”

“Red Hook isn’t a hole. And don’t you be letting Bree hear you talk like that. She’s spent the last five years working with the Red Hook Revitalization Committee. They brought in IKEA and the Fairway Market—the place is really changing for the better.”

“Fine, but you have to admit it’s not Manhattan. If you want to be discovered you play the hot clubs in the city, not a neighborhood bar in Red Hook.”

Patrice shrugged. “Rocki is happy with her life. She likes doing what she’s doing. In her mind, she’s successful. She has a full life, great friends—”

“Great friends who don’t even know where she came from.” He watched Rocki playing her heart out, singing about loneliness and hurt. She was a damn good actress, or she could relate to the familiar lyrics. She looked so . . . broken . . . that he fought the urge to jump up onstage just to hold her—if there was one person who looked as if she needed a hug, it was Rocki. She finished the song and stared at the piano keys, letting the sound die a natural death. Then he watched her shut that part of herself off. The pain he’d seen came out in her music, and when she looked up and saw him staring, her face flamed. Yeah, she was busted and she knew it. He’d seen that part of herself she thought she hid from the world, and she was not happy that he was the one who discovered the crack in her soul.

Patrice waved a hand in front of his face. “Earth to Slater? What the hell are you saying?”

“I’m just saying that the woman is intriguing.”

Rocki had never tried to sneak out of the Crow’s Nest before; tonight she tried to be invisible. A little hard to do, considering her outfit and the fact that Slater seemed to stare holes through her. Why couldn’t she be one of those New York women who always dressed as if they were going to a funeral? Still, it was too late to change now, so she hunched down and followed Mark out.

“Where are you headed?”

Shit. Slater had snuck up on her. She spun around to look at him and almost ran into his broad chest. If not for some fancy footwork on her part, she’d be plastered to him. “Mark usually gives me a ride to the F-train.”

“I’ll drive you home.”

“No, thanks.”

“Rocki, it’s two in the morning. I don’t want you running around the city alone this time of night.”

She shoved her hand in her pocket, grabbed her tiny bottle of pepper spray, and aimed it at him. She didn’t release the safety, but it took everything in her not to do exactly that just to scare him. “I’m armed and dangerous and I’ve been making the trip alone for three years. I’ve never had a problem.” At least not one she’d mention to anyone here. “Besides, I’m hardly dressed for a ride on your bike. If you haven’t noticed, it’s cold outside—”

“And raining. I have Pop’s keys. His car is parked right out front.”

“Look, Slater, I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need an escort.”

“What kind of car does Mark drive?”

“A white panel truck. Why?”

“Because it looks as if you’ve missed your ride.”

“What? Mark would never leave without me.”

Slater’s innocent grin reconfigured into a naughtier than naughty smile—one that had her sucking in a deep breath to make up for a sudden lack of oxygen.

“He would if I told him I’d be taking you home. It didn’t hurt that Patrice and Francis vouched for me. Mark’s very protective of you.”

“It must be comforting to know you have company on my shit list. I just added Mark’s name right below yours on my mental dry-erase board in bright red lipstick.” She pulled out her wallet, scrounged around for her debit card, and then dug for her cell. “I’ll just call a cab.”

“Come on,” he said, stilling her hand, “save your money and let me give you a ride. What are you afraid of?”

Other than losing her panties and her mind, she wasn’t sure, but she wasn’t about to cop to that. “Slater, if I can handle the New York subway system, I can handle anything and anyone. You certainly don’t scare me.”

“That’s good, because instilling fear is not what I’m going for.”

Her plan to avoid the man was failing miserably, but she didn’t know how to get out of the pickle jar she suddenly found herself trapped in. “What exactly are you going for?”

A slow sexy smile said all she’d feared. He was going for her and she didn’t want to be gotten.

“Just to get to know you better. We spent fifteen minutes talking and I learned one very important thing.”

“What’s that? What I like to drink?”

“Orange Crushes, but that’s not important. I learned that you’re a master of deflection when it comes to anything personal. All I know about you is that you’re from New England and the Midwest—no specifics. You left me with more questions than I had when we sat down together, and believe me, only a few of those were sexual.”

It wasn’t the words that shocked her, it was the way he said them. The man made her want to grab her panties and hold on tight—he didn’t look like the kind of man who needed to add to his collection. He was a good two steps away but she felt as if he were in her personal space—not just her personal space but her private, private, private space, and she wasn’t sure she didn’t like it. If he moved any closer, not only would she be unable to breathe, but she’d also lose what was left of her wits, and that would be bad. Very bad. “I’m not playing hard-to-get if that’s what you’re wondering. You’re a nice guy, but I’m just not interested in dating one of Pete’s sons. I don’t mix business with pleasure, and as soon as I found out who you were, I firmly placed you in the nothing-but-business category.”

Slater tossed a set of keys in the air and caught them. “Okay, you can have it any way you want it, Rocki.” It was just so wrong that every word out of his mouth made her think of sex. The worst part was he knew exactly what he was doing. “What can I say? You have me intrigued on multiple levels. I find it fascinating that you’re skillful enough to dodge your best friend Patrice’s questions. She’s a tougher interrogator than Pop—and that’s saying something. It’s amazing that you were able to pull it off without Patrice ever realizing it. Well, not until I pointed it out to her.”

“You didn’t!” God she wanted to wipe that sexy smirk right off his face with her pair of killer combat boots—too bad she wasn’t wearing them. “I can’t believe you would sic Patrice on me.”

“Why not? From what I saw this evening, Patrice is willing to share her extensive knowledge about everyone with just about anyone. How else did you expect me to get to know you? It’s a hell of a lot safer to get the info out of Patrice than to pick the lock on Pop’s filing cabinet and read your dossier. Oh, and don’t think for a minute he doesn’t have one on you.” Slater took a step closer. “I might just have to resort to that since it’s obvious I’m not going to find a damn thing about you on the ’Net. Your band doesn’t even have a Web presence. So come on, put me out of my misery and let me take you home. You can tell me all the interesting things Pop wouldn’t know—the info on what kind of undies you’re wearing, if any, is optional.”

Rocki pushed away from the wall and stomped out the door, drawing the collar of her coat close to keep the rain from streaming down her neck. By the time she slid into Pete’s car, her equilibrium returned.

Slater held the door for her while she pulled her dress down over her legs and checked to make sure she wasn’t flashing him. When she caught his eye, she almost groaned. The man wore that self-satisfied grin she was beginning to recognize.

Most men who stood in the pouring rain looked like wet dogs, but, unfortunately, Slater just looked like a man who had been sprayed down for a modeling shoot. His eyelashes were so thick, raindrops clung to them and sparkled in the light of the streetlamp. His hair curled in corkscrews just like she’d imagined it would. He was a walking, talking wet dream. She should be cold, but instead was just the opposite—she was tempted to turn on the air-conditioning.

After she was settled, Slater closed her door and ran around to the driver’s side—even the way he moved was predatory and graceful like some kind of jungle cat. He slid in beside her, taking up all the available space and oxygen, started the car, and turned on the heat and the defroster—yeah, she’d already fogged up the windows with just the heat of her thoughts.

“So, where do you live?”

“Chinatown.”

Slater wiped the rain off his face and pulled into traffic, heading toward the Manhattan Bridge.

Rocki expected a barrage of questions—questions she didn’t want to answer. She’d happily lived in her perfect little world for three years and, now, one day in Slater Shaw’s presence had blown it all to hell. They drove in silence so thick, it made it difficult to breathe. By the time he’d turned onto the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway she was at her wits’ end.

She turned in her seat to face him, which didn’t help. Still, she refused to utter a word but couldn’t stop the growl from escaping. Lord, he was driving her crazy.

He glanced her way. “Are you too hot?”

“No, I’m not hot at all.” A voice in her head screamed
liar, liar, panties on fire
and that little voice sounded suspiciously like Patrice’s.

“Want me to turn up the heat?”

“Isn’t that the reason for this little trip?”

“No.” He didn’t even bother to pretend the double entendre wasn’t intentional. “But I wouldn’t complain if it did. I don’t know what’s going through your mind, Rocki O’Sullivan, but I’d love to. So, since something is obviously bothering you, why don’t you just come out with it?” His gaze raked her from head to knee and sent a shiver through her. “But then maybe not. If I learned everything about you, you’d lose that whole woman of mystery thing you’ve got going.”

“There’s no mystery. I just don’t feel the need for everyone at the Crow’s Nest to know my life story.”

“I’m not everyone. And believe me, I know how to keep a secret.”

“That’s nice.” She patted his shoulder. “Still, for some reason, I don’t have the urge to share. You should understand that.” She licked her bottom lip and then scraped her teeth across it. “Think classified information.”

“Don’t worry.” He leaned closer. “I have Top Secret. Sensitive. Compartmentalized. Information. Clearance.”

All she could do was stare at his lips. “I’ll just bet you do.”

“So?” He leaned closer still, his breath brushed her ear. “Are you going to tell me?”

So much for her equilibrium. She needed to stay far, far away from Slater Shaw. “That’s need-to-know information. I’ll leave you to work it out.”

“Oh, a challenge. I love challenges almost as much as I love puzzles and you’re both.” He shot her an
I’ve-got-this-covered
grin and let out a laugh. “I guess it’s a good thing I have a diverse skill set.”

“Great.” She’d succeeded in doing the one thing she didn’t want to do—she’d practically dared him to dig into her background. But without her real name, he wouldn’t get far. Would he? She’d been using her stage name ever since she hit New York, and she used it for everything. She just wished she knew it would work.

Slater’s hacking skills were part of the Crow’s Nest’s lore. Rumor had it he’d been caught hacking into his school’s computer when he was just a child. He’d probably improved since then. She’d heard tales of him hacking into the NYPD database and deleting his and his brother’s juvenile criminal records. She wasn’t sure it was true, but looking at him now, she wouldn’t put it past him.

She caught him staring at her and hoped he had good peripheral vision. “What?”

“I didn’t mean to freak you out, Rocki. Are you in some kind of trouble? Is that why you’re keeping such a low profile?”

“No. You’ve been watching too much TV. I’m not in witness protection or anything. Is it against the law to be afraid of someone digging into your past? I share what I want to share, and the rest of my life is just that—mine. It’s not any of Patrice’s or your business, so just leave it alone.”

“Okay, but that’s sad.”

“Sad? Sad that you don’t have permission to snoop about me?”

“No, what’s sad is that you don’t trust anyone enough to open up. Not even your best friend. What’s got you so scared?”

“Nothing.”

Slater shook his head and his usual easy grin turned suspiciously empathetic. “You know sometimes we build things up in our minds until they seem so much bigger and more important than they actually are.”

“Are you speaking from personal experience?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t figured it out yet, but I’m letting it marinate. Maybe you should do the same.”

Rocki had never been so happy to see Canal Street in all her life. “Make a left on Canal and I live just on Mott.”

Slater took the turn and drove—not bothering to fill the silence, which was just fine with her. “Mott’s the next cross street. Make a left and stop in front of the restaurant.”

“Which one?”

“Here on the right.”

She expected him to just stop and drop her off but no, he was out of the car and had her door open before she could pull her collar up. He offered her his hand and she almost groaned. There was no way to avoid it. She placed her hand in his and before she could pull away he’d linked his fingers through hers. She’d never been big on handholding because it always felt awkward, but for some ungodly reason, this time it felt right—like his hand, arm length, and proximity was just perfect for holding hers. She couldn’t wait to get out of it. “Thanks for the ride.”

“I’ll walk you up.”

She pulled away and tried to quell the feeling of loss when she did. She dug through her bag for her keys. “Thanks, but there’s no need.”

“Humor me.” He held out his palm, obviously waiting for her to hand him her key.

She rolled her eyes and held the key to the outer door out to him. “I’ve been humoring you all night, but that’s going to stop at the door to my apartment. Don’t expect to be invited in.”

He opened the door and held it. “What floor are you on?”

“Just one up. I can take it from here.”

“I’ll see you to the door.”

“Fine.” She pushed her wet bangs out of her eyes and trudged up the steps, cursing under her breath. It was dangerous having Slater so close. She stood in front of her door, facing him, and then she remembered he still had her keys.

The smile on his face said he knew she was back in the pickle jar. He looked through the keys and found one with a bright red rubber piece surrounding the head. “Is it this one?”

“Yes.”

He leaned in, rested his left hand on the doorjamb, blocking her in, and fit the key into the lock.

She pushed back against the wood, the slats digging into her back. He was so close she smelled the rain on him. He was so close she felt his breath brushing her cheek. He was so close she felt his heat, but he didn’t touch her. Not that she wanted him to—much.

“When you go in, make sure you lock up.”

All she could do was nod.

“Sweet dreams, Rocki.”

Right. With the way her day was going, those dreams would not only be sweet, they’d be wet.

•   •   •

After a night of too little sleep due to way too many thoughts of one particularly hot blonde who had the ability to steal the spotlight while fading into the woodwork and some serious trust issues, something had woken Slater and, unfortunately, it hadn’t been Rocki.

He’d finally been out for the count and now he was wide awake. Shit. One glance at his watch and he let out a groan. It was too early to be awake. He rubbed his eyes and felt the foot of the bed dip. What the hell? There was a kid in his room. And a dog. “Nicki, what are you doing in here?” Hadn’t she ever heard of knocking? He pulled the sheet up and thanked God he wasn’t flashing her. Still, he was uncomfortable. He’d never before been naked under nothing but a sheet in the presence of a ten-year-old girl and her dog.