“Got news, Tanner,” Sully replied and this could mean anything.
Since it all went down, Layne’s caseload hadn’t lightened. Now that his mother did his books and he had a receptionist, his caseload had doubled. Thus, his daughter’s room could be filled with girlie shit, his wife’s closet filled with clingy dresses, his credit card statement filled with expensive dinners so he could eat while sitting across from his wife while she was wearing clingy dresses, his youngest son had a Camaro and his family had an underground pool.
Therefore, with a heavy caseload that often involved work with the ‘burg’s PD, Sully’s news could mean anything.
“What?” Layne asked.
“Harrison Rutledge is dead, man. Happened yesterday. Shiv to the jugular. He bled out before the guards got to his body.”
Well, that took longer than expected.
“World’s not exactly a poorer place,” Layne muttered.
“Yeah,” Sully agreed. “But thought you’d wanna know.”
“Thanks, Sul,” Layne replied.
“One other thing,” Sully stated.
“Yeah?”
“Stew Baranski’s parole was denied.”
Layne grinned.
“Not a model prisoner?” Layne asked.
“Guy’s not only an asshole, apparently he’s an asshole magnet. He and his crew aren’t real popular with their fellow inmates or the guards. Dick’s seen a lotta solitary. Why they even put him before the parole board is anyone’s guess.”
“Probably were hopin’ to get rid of him. Not a good fix, turning him loose on an unsuspecting public, but at least he’d be outta their hair.”
“Yeah,” Sully muttered and Layne knew he was smiling, “that would be why.”
Layne chuckled.
“That’s all the news that’s fit to print,” Sully said then finished, “for now.”
“Right, later,” Layne returned
“Later.”
Layne flipped his phone closed and wiped his mind clean of Harrison Rutledge and Stewart Baranski. Those assholes had had enough of his time, his life and Rutledge had been responsible for taking Layne’s blood. They didn’t deserve to be in Layne’s house, not ever but especially not now, not when it was filled with the beautiful life, a place Harrison Rutledge, dead or alive, and Stew Baranski didn’t deserve to be.
Layne walked down the stairs and saw through the sliding glass door that Devin was outside with a stoagie. Then he saw his boys and their girls were in the living room, Blondie sitting beside Jasper with her head in his lap, his fingers scratching behind her ears, her eyes closed in apparent dog ecstasy. Vera was in the kitchen looking like she was going to cook something even though they’d all just left the barbeque and they’d all eaten enough for a week. And Roc was sitting at the island, opening mail.
Layne went to Rocky, fitted his front to her back, swept her hair from her shoulder and dropped his head to kiss her neck.
“You could save a move if you let me wear my hair in a ponytail,” she pointed out as she slit open an envelope.
“We’ll leave that ‘til I’m ninety and decrepit,” Layne replied.
“Right,” she whispered but he could tell she did it through a smile. “Like you’re ever going to be decrepit.” Layne straightened and Rocky asked softly, “She down?”
“And out,” Layne answered.
“Good,” Rocky whispered.
He started to move away when Rocky pulled something out of the envelope, studied it, twisted and asked him, “Do you know a Farrah Gerald or an Andre Washington?”
Layne’s body went still and he looked down at the thick, embossed card in her hand.
“What?” he asked.
She flipped the card back and forth. “A Farrah Gerald or Andre Washington,” she repeated. “This is their wedding announcement. I have no clue who they are but…” her head turned, she flipped the thick, cream envelope over and studied the address then looked back at Layne, “it’s addressed to us.” She went back to the card, flipped it over too and then twisted again to look at Layne. “And there’s a note, sweetheart. It says,” her eyes dropped to the card, “‘Don’t worry, he reminds me of you. He’s a badass but he’s got a soft spot too.’”
Layne stared at the card. Then he looked at Rocky who’d tipped her head back to look at him.
Then he grinned.
Three blasts from the past in five minutes, one expected, one inconsequential, one unexpected, none unwelcome.
Layne got close and locked eyes with Rocky then he slid his hand up her back, under her hair, his fingers curling around her neck.
“Marissa Gibbons, baby,” he whispered, watched her eyes grow wide then her head dropped and she stared down at the announcement.
Then he watched the dimple hit her cheek.
*
“Layne.”
Breathy, beautiful. Fuck.
Layne kept driving his cock into his wife.
“Baby,” she whispered into his ear through her pants.
“Don’t hold back,” Layne grunted into her ear, one of his forearms in the sectional, the other hand between them, finger at her clit.
“God, oh my God. Don’t stop,” she begged, lifting her hips for him, all her limbs wrapped around him, her wrists under her ankles, her fingers curled into his ass.
“Stop holding back, baby,” Layne ordered, she did as she was told, her hips surged up, her neck arched and a low moan slid from her throat as her * pulsed around his cock.
His finger left her clit, his hand went to her hip, he pulled her up to keep taking him as she kept coming underneath him and he thrust into her, hard, deep, fast and then his mouth found hers and he groaned down her throat as he exploded.
He came down and Rocky kept him trapped in her limbs as he kept stroking, slowly, through their combined wetness inside her. As he did this, his mouth explored her neck and hers returned the favor.
Then he rolled to his back, keeping their connection. He did an ab curl, grabbed the throw then laid back pulling it over his wife and his naked bodies.
“It’s summer, Jas is home,” Rocky said in his ear.