Hustle Page 5

  She smiles when she sees me, fiddling with the strap of her handbag in front of me. “Hello.”

  “Hello,” she replies.

  “Dinner?” I suggest, extending my hand.

  She takes it. I consider what it would feel like wrapped around my cock.

  Fucking incredible, that’s what.

  “Where are we going?” she asks, her hair now out, whipping in the breeze that’s barreling between the buildings.

  “How do you feel about Lebanese?”

  *

  Ten minutes later we’re sitting cross-legged at a table at El Phoenician, a small Lebanese restaurant I used to frequent when I was home. I’m surprised it’s still here.

  A belly dancer weaves between the tables, a man drumming on a tubla in the corner. The spices, the musk—it all smells amazing, but through it all I can still detect Shannon, the same cock-stiffening scent I remember from our kiss this morning.

  She nods towards the belly dancer, placing a dolma of grape and rice into her mouth. “If you think I’m doing that at our wedding, you can forget it.”

  I use the bread in my hand to scoop up what’s left of the baba ganoush. “No? I think it would be hot. You’ve got the body for it.”

  “Are you implying I have love handles?”

  “I’m not implying anything. I’m stating you’re very attractive.”

  She looks down, nervous again. Her eyes flick up. “Flattery will get you nowhere with me, but you should know that by now, being my fiancé and all.”

  I dip my head to my shoulder. “That’s funny, because I’ve found flattery gets you everywhere, and I’ve been around. Trust me.” It doesn’t come out the way I want it, Shannon seizing on it.

  “So, you’re a man whore?”

  I lift the corner of my mouth and left eyebrow. “Was.”

  Shannon shakes her head, but she’s smiling. “I barely know anything about you, husband-to-be.”

  I open my arms up. “I’m an open book. What do you want to know?”

  She considers this, playing with the side of the meze plate. “Alright. Why this restaurant?”

  I straighten up. “I’ve been stationed in and around the Middle East for years. I suppose I’ve come to a certain appreciation for the local cuisine, not that this is authentic, but it does the trick.”

  “What did you do over there, in the SEALs?”

  “I could tell you…”

  “…But then you’d have to kill me.”

  “With pleasure, wife-to-be.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You sound like Daryl.”

  I laugh. “Now that is an insult. The guy’s hitting the ’roids harder than the gym. There was so much water in those biceps I was worried he was going to burst like a fucking balloon, wet the carpet.”

  Shannon’s laughing in-between bites, struggling to keep the food in her mouth. “My god. You have no idea what I put up with.”

  “But there’s been no trouble today, right? Because I’m not adverse to popping a cap or two.”

  She shakes her head. “No. He was quiet as a mouse. What did you say to him?”

  “I told him I know a hundred ways to kill a man, five with a paperclip.”

  “You did not.”

  “More or less.”

  A waiter arrives, placing more dishes down. “Char-grilled garlic chicken and a freekeh salad with pomegranate for you, miss.”

  Shannon rubs her hands together. “Looks delicious.”

  “You don’t eat out much?” I question.

  We’ve got utensils, but she picks up the chicken with her hands.

  My kind of girl.

  “I don’t get out much, period. Catching me in the wild at that bar was a stroke of luck.”

  My eyes drop for a brief moment, sexual possibility turning my cock to steel under the table. “You can say that again.” I nod to the chicken. “I thought given your love for the animal kingdom you might be vegetarian.”

  She laughs, wiping her mouth. “I’m not about to eat my pets, if that’s what you’re asking, but I do enjoy my meat.

  Down, boy.

  I order mafroukeh for dessert, a delicious mix of clotted cream, semolina and orange blossom water. I’m back in the streets of Beirut from the first spoonful.

  I may be in Lebanon, but given the look on Shannon’s face, she’s in heaven.

  Her eyes are closed. She holds the spoon away, a hand ready to catch the crumbs under her mouth. “My god, where have you been all my life?”

  “Are you talking to me or the dessert?” I ask.

  Her eyes pop open, so damn fucking beautiful I want to sit here and stare into them all night.

  She places the spoon down. “We haven’t discussed the terms of our agreement.”

  “Shoot.”

  She straightens the tablecloth with her hand, her eyebrows furrowed. “Look,” she says, her voice resigned, “this is all just for show, right?”

  “Agreed,” I reply, my throat stiff.

  “Good, because…”

  “Because?” I fill, when she doesn’t finish.

  She looks up, those azure eyes killing me. “I’m a virgin.” She looks down again. “There. I said it.”

  Like a surface-to-air Stinger, I didn’t see that one coming. “Okay, but I’m not sure what that has to do with our arrangement.”

  I tamper down the excitement of the possibility of being her first, her warm, tight pussy uncharted territory.

  She looks up, unsure of herself. “I’m just saying I intend to stay that way until I meet the right guy.”

  “Alright,” I nod. “I get it.”

  “Great,” she smiles, reaching for the menu, “what’s next?”

  But what I want for an aperitif isn’t on the menu, and Shannon’s just made it clear it’s not going to be.

  Because one thing’s for sure: I’m nobody’s Mr. Right.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SHANNON

  The next few days at work are blissfully peaceful. I’m starting to realize just how useful having your own personal Navy SEAL is.

  You should put him to work on your clitoris…

  I stifle the sexual thoughts while I hunt through my wardrobe, read: very small collection of clothes, not very many of which seem to spark excitement.

  I’m not a girly girl. I never have been. To me, shopping for clothes is no more thrilling than hitting the supermarket. It’s a chore. But as I push dress after dress aside, a stunning realization occurs to me: I’m actually having trouble deciding what to wear.

  I don’t know why I’m getting so worked up about it. It’s not like I’m even going on a real date. I’m simply going over to Gabe’s to discuss this meeting with his mother—nothing more.

  I show up at Gabe’s in a simple peach shirt-dress thingy one of the girls gave me for Xmas… three years ago.

  I feel out of place in it, an alien, but when Gabe opens the door my reservations are gone. His eyes say it all.

  “You look,” he’s having trouble finding the appropriate words as he lifts his eyes, “amazing.”

  I hold the side of the dress. “Oh, this? Just something I had lying around.” I’ve been dying to use that line forever.

  He stands aside. “Come in.”

  I step past Gabe into the apartment, brushing his chest on the way through and confirming that, yes, the guy’s made of concrete, abs like an exit ramp leading down to…

  Do not even go there right now.

  I stop when I find another man standing in the lounge. He looks similar to Gabe—same height, same panty-frying features—but he’s dressed in a tailored linen shirt and pleated pants, far from the fresh-from-tour military chic Gabe’s going for.

  He smiles and offers his hand. “Hi, I’m Matt, Gabe’s brother. Nice to meet you.”

  I take his hand, finding my voice. “And you.”

  There’s a touch of disappointment when I realize Gabe and I won’t be alone, but then again this could also be a valuable way to get the in
side scoop on my future fake husband.

  I take a seat, wrapping the dress around my thighs and placing my hands in my lap.

  “Can I get you a drink?” offers Gabe.

  “Just water, thanks.”

  Matt relaxes on the lounge opposite, clearly at home here. “So, Shannon, tell me how my blockhead of a brother managed to reel you into this?”

  My eyebrows jump. “Um, I don’t know. There was a guy messing with me at this bar. I suppose Gabe was my knight in shining armor.”

  Matt laughs, slapping his knee. “There’s nothing shiny about Gabe, not when you’ve spent that much time in the sandpit. Ain’t that right, big brother?”

  “Don’t listen to a thing he says,” comes Gabe’s voice from the kitchen. “Matt wet the bed until he was fifteen.”

  I look to Matt. “O-kay.”

  Matt lowers his voice. “This from a guy who Mom busted with his dick in the vacuum cleaner. I’m surprised it didn’t suck the thing clean off.”

  “I can hear you,” Gabe calls.

  Matt winks. “Just wait until I tell you about prom. This girl with braces, Gabe—”

  “Shannon doesn’t not want to hear about any of that,” says Gabe, reappearing and placing two glasses of water down.

  “Why?” asks Matt. “You’ve seen There’s Something About Mary, right, Shannon?”

  “Uh…”

  “You know that scene with Cameron Diaz where she’s doing her hair thinking she’s using hair gel but it’s really—”

  Gabe places Matt into a headlock. “And I think that will be enough of that.”

  He lets Matt go, who takes one breath before continuing. “You’re not even going to tell her about the birthmark shaped like Colombia on your ass cheek, your aversion to shellfish, your love of lattes?”

  “Lattes?” I question. “Do all SEALs drink lattes?”

  “Only the ones with vaginas,” laughs Matt, and there they go wrestling to the floor again.

  Matt signals his surrender, both boys straightening up.

  A phone rings from the back.

  “I should get that,” says Gabe.

  “Yes,” says Matt, “can’t leave Commissioner Gordon waiting now.”

  Gabe punches him lightly in the shoulder. “Asshole.”

  “Knob jockey.”

  I pick up my glass. “Wow, you two have quite the relationship.”

  Matt puts his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I’m not the one who’s marrying the guy.”

  When I’m sure Gabe’s gone, I lean forward and ask, “Honestly, am I crazy?”

  Matt sits back and shakes his head. “No. It’s easy to get swept up in Gabe’s world. He’s a likable guy, even if he can be a little stiff.”

  “So he’s not going to murder me or anything?”

  “Rest easy. You’re in good hands. Well, not in his literal hands. Ah, hell. You know what I mean.”

  “He told me about the thing with your mother and I couldn’t say no.”

  Matt looks between his legs at the carpet, nodding. “Yeah, she’s pretty damn excited. She only wants the best for him, to settle down and all that. She says he’s been married to the Navy for long enough, and I’d say lucky even to be alive given the kind of situations he’s been in.”

  I can only imagine.

  “He’s a good guy,” continues Matt, clearly on his brother’s side.

  I’m not sure whether I should ask, but I’m genuinely curious. “Has he had any long-term girlfriends, ex-wives I should know about?”

  Matt laughs just like his brother, his thick, dark eyelashes framing his eyes. “Gabe doesn’t know the meaning of ‘long term.’ Even before the Navy, in his glory days, he wasn’t big on sleepovers. And the one long-term relationship he did have? It didn’t end so well. In fact, she died.”

  “Oh, I had no idea.”

  “He’s a stoic guy, honorable, but if he seems gruff or distant sometimes, that’s why. It really got to him.”

  Gabe returns holding his cell. “Sorry about that.” He tosses it onto an armchair, standing between us. “So, what’s the topic of conversation?” He looks to me. “He’s not still on the whole Gabe-used-to-be-a-player thing, is he?”

  I feel awful for Gabe after what I’ve just heard, but I put on a smile regardless. “Actually, your brother was complimenting you.”

  “On my excellent board game skills?”

  “Only if we’re playing Monopoly,” Matt interjects. “Gabe’s always been good with money. I mean, look at this place.”

  It is a beautiful apartment, but there’s a certain coldness to it, as though it’s a show home, not something really lived in. There are no photos around, no pictures on the wall. The sole personal touch is a set of dog tags hanging off the coat hook.

  Matt gets up. “I should be getting on. Some of us have to work these days.”

  “What do you do, Matt?” I ask.

  “I work in IT,” he answers, “but don’t ask for details. You’ll be asleep by the time I get to ‘MU-MIMO protocol.’”

  “He’s right,” says Gabe. “I swear he speaks purely in acronyms sometimes.”

  “This coming from the king of acronyms.”

  “So do you enjoy it, the IT job?” I question.

  “Yeah,” nods Matt, “though It’s a long way from the movie stunt driver I wanted to be growing up”.

  “When you were, like, seven,” laughs Gabe.

  “Hey, not all of us can be action heroes, can we?” replies Matt.

  Gabe smiles. “You’re damn right about that.”

  Behind the playful banter, I see genuine affection between these two. I was an only child. I don’t understand this sibling back-and-forth. I didn’t have brothers or sisters, yes, but I was never spoiled, never made to feel entitled. Dad was very particular about that.

  Matt gives a small wave in my direction. “It was nice to meet you, Shannon, and good luck.”

  “Thanks.” I smile back, still fiddling with my hands.

  Gabe sees Matt out and closes the door, walking back over to me to take up Matt’s spot. “What do you think? Can you see the family resemblance?”

  “You’re a little more,” I search for the right word, “bulky?”

  Gabe jerks back. “Bulky? I don’t know whether to say thanks or burst into tears.”

  I swallow. My mouth is way too dry. I reach for the water. “It’s a good thing. You know, you’re,” I try to flesh out my thoughts with a hand in the air, but it really just looks like I’m trying to jerk off the Invisible Man, “well sculpted.”

  Gabe continues to laugh. “Wait until our wedding night.”

  I let that one go, staring down into the water. I’m going to need to throw it over my head soon I’m getting so hot and flustered here. The tingling between my legs doesn’t go unnoticed. It’s nice, the beat of a butterfly’s wings.

  “Shall we then?” offers Gabe. “I’ll give you a briefing at lunch.”

  Pity. I was rather looking forward to a de-briefing. “Lunch?”

  “It’s just a short walk.”

  I stand and pat down my dress. “Sounds great.”

  I follow Gabe to the door, and I can’t quite get over how good he looks from the back, as if those jeans he’s wearing were spray-painted on. But even though I’m looking at him on this superficial level, I’m seeing him in a new light after what Matt told me. Gabe seems like he has it altogether, but maybe there’s a broken man inside.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  GABE

  One simple lift over her head and that dress would be gone. Hell, I could just tear it right off her body, but they’re just thoughts for now—‘for now’ being the operative part of the equation.

  I couldn’t have planned lunch better. We’re at a waterside restaurant, a cloud-spotted sky so blue and crisp it looked like CGI above.

  Shannon seemed surprised when I told her the restaurant was Turkish.

  “Turkish?” she’d said. “Are we on a world tour of cuisine?”<
br />
  “If that’s what it takes to win you over. I promise we’ll aim for a different continent next time,” I replied, holding her seat out.

  We ate, drank. I discovered Shannon’s never had a beer in her life, and she discovered I’ve got a serious sweet tooth. The Middle East was no good for that. Baklava, umm ali, kanafeh, balah el sham… It’s a wonder I didn’t return Stateside carrying an extra fifty pounds around my waist.

  I’m walking Shannon back along the river, the water still. People in this city don’t know how good they’ve got it, not having to watch the street corners or fear incoming missile strikes whenever they look to the sky.

  We don’t hold hands, but we are walking close—close enough for our fingers to brush from time to time. When I was younger I probably would have thrown her over my shoulder and jogged home like a true caveman, but something tells me a brute force attack is not the right way to play this. No, I have to bring my A-game to this firefight.

  She’s not going to go for anything, says my head, because you’re not going to go there. You can’t. You shouldn’t. You do not fucking deserve that kind of happiness.

  I exhale and box the thoughts away.

  “Everything alright?” asks Shannon, lifting her hair back over her shoulder so I can better see her face and its soft contours, the plump pull of her lips doing strange things to my nether regions.

  “All good.” I smile back. “I was just thinking about Mom.”

  “You know,” she says, “you’re going to an awful lot of trouble to make her feel better.”

  Oh, I’ve thought about that alright.

  Bullshit. You didn’t think about it at all.

  “She must be really important to you,” Shannon continues.

  “Of course,” I reply. “She raised Matt and I alone. She didn’t ask for any help or handouts, even though she was working two jobs to cover the mortgage, to put clothes on our backs and food on our table. I’ve never taken that for granted. She wanted me to go to university, told me she’d take on a third job to get me there, but I didn’t want to put that kind of strain on her.”

  “So you joined the Navy.”

  I nod. “That’s right. As soon as I turned eighteen, I was down at the local recruitment office. I didn’t want to be a burden on her any longer. The pay was good, the tax breaks appealing… I thought I could see the world, maybe do a little good while I was at it. I never expected it to be so full-on.”