“Trust me.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Absolutely, one hundred percent. He knew it and I knew it. We both knew the other knew it because both our bodies tensed so tight, I could feel with the slightest movement my tendons would snap and I sensed the same with him.
Still, I buried it. We had to work together. We had to partner up. Which meant I had to trust him.
This sucked but it was my experience that a lot of shit in life sucked. This was just the most recent.
So I forced myself to relax and said, “Right. Meet you in reception.”
He lifted up, taking me with him and twisting me in my seat. I retrieved the camera that fell to the floor at my feet as well as my travel mug. I handed him the camera and avoided his eyes trying not to look like I was avoiding his eyes.
He angled out his side.
I angled out mine.
He moved right.
I moved left toward reception.
Clyde rolled his eyes when I entered.
“Please, a hundred dollars for a two minute phone call?” I asked as I walked toward the reception desk. “I am not a pain in your ass.”
“No, you’re killin’ me,” he returned.
“No, I’m sending your kids to college,” I retorted, pulling out my money clip and handing him the bill.
He snatched it out of my hand and it disappeared in a blink.
Bullshit moaning weasel.
My eyes went to the TV sitting angled toward him at the end of the reception desk. I leaned into my forearms on the desk and checked it out.
“Classic porn,” I muttered. “Odd choice.”
“Seen all the others, like, a gazillion times,” Clyde muttered back and I grinned.
I had no doubt.
“We havin’ a party?” Clyde asked because I usually paid him off then took off and I looked from the porn to him.
He was balding and not liking it, thus growing a line of hair way too long in order to do the comb-over, a tactic that men should abandon. I didn’t know when they’d get that bald was beautiful all you had to do was have the balls to carry it off.
Clyde clearly didn’t have those kinds of balls. Then again, he was slender, narrow-shouldered, had an unfortunately shaped nose with a hook at the end and a bump on the ridge and squirrelly eyes. Thus, just physically, there were a myriad of reasons he lacked confidence. Not physically, he was a whiner, not a good trait in anyone, man or woman.
It was my experience anyone could work anything. A man or woman could be what convention said was ugly or overweight and if they held their shoulders straight, looked you in the eye and had a ready, genuine smile, that shit melted away. The light shone from within and if you had the balls to shine it, all anyone would see was beauty.
Alas, people did not get this and Clyde was one of those people.
“Waiting for my partner,” I answered and his brows shot up.
“You got a partner?” he asked.
“Yup,” I replied.
“Since when?”
“Since a couple of hours ago.”
“I give it a week,” he muttered, his eyes sliding back to the TV.
I hoped it would last a day. I worried it would last a month.
I moved to a chair, sat my ass in it, lifted my boots up to rest crossed at the ankles on the coffee table scattered with Retreat brochures and settled in. I killed time by calling Serena to make sure she was okay (she was, kind of). Calling Knight and leaving a message that I’d connected with Creed and we were on the job. And last, calling Live to check in to make certain he wasn’t beating himself up too much. The last call lasted a while because he was beating himself up too much and it took some time and an arsenal of my teasing to get him to feel better.
I’d barely flipped the phone shut on Live when I heard a tap on the window and I looked there to see Creed outside, crooking a finger at me.
“The summons,” I said to Clyde. “Gotta go.”
“Don’t come back now, ya hear?” Clyde returned and it was my turn to roll my eyes since he was full of it. Sure, if his bosses found out he was doing what he was doing, he was shit out of luck and a job. He was also a survivor so his bosses would never learn and he averaged a hundred extra dollars a week for doing nothing so he’d keep doing it. Unfortunately, he’d also keep bitching about it.
I didn’t bother with a wave or retort as I walked out and stopped on the sidewalk next to Creed.
“Well?” I asked.
His answer was to turn the camera’s back to me with an image on it.
I leaned in and checked it out.
“Whoa, soccer dad likes pony play,” I murmured. “Ride ‘em cowboy.” I heard Creed’s chuckle and looked up at him. “How’d you get in?” I asked.
“They had other things on their mind and the TV blaring loud. Got in through the bathroom window,” he answered and I felt my eyes get big.
“Shit, man, those are high and tight.”
“Upper body strength and determination go a long way,” he replied.