Dirty Work - Regina Kyle Page 0,49
elevator dings again, signaling that we’ve reached the lobby. Mrs. G. says her goodbyes, and she and Prince Harry take off in the direction of the park.
“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” I ask Jake as we walk the other way, toward the nearest subway station.
He spreads his arms wide, like Jesus on the freaking cross. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m an open book.”
“If you’re so open, why won’t you tell me where we’re going?”
“Because patience is a virtue. And good things come to those who wait.”
“You sound like a Chinese fortune cookie,” I grumble. With that line of conversation officially at a dead end, I decide to try another tack. “How long have you known Mrs. G.?”
“I met her a couple of months after I moved in. She was struggling with an armful of groceries, and I helped her bring them upstairs to her apartment. Rumor has it her late husband was some kind of mafia boss. She’s got a son, but he’s a big-shot Hollywood producer, so I try to look out for her when I can.”
Work-is-my-life Jake taking time out of his busy schedule to look after a little old lady? I study him out of the corner of one eye as I digest this new piece of information. Every time I think I’ve got him pegged, he changes the game.
I playfully shoulder bump him. Well, my shoulder, his bicep, since he’s so much taller than me. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a nice guy, Jake Lawson?”
“My mother,” he answers easily. “And my fourth-grade teacher, Miss Traylor. She saw me give Annie Pulaski my cherry popsicle when Annie dropped hers. What she didn’t know was that the gesture wasn’t totally altruistic. I was angling for a kiss.”
“So that’s why you’re sucking up to Mrs. G.,” I tease. “Or is it Prince Harry you want to smooch?”
“Very funny.” We’re at the entrance to the Canal Street subway station. Rather than go down the steps that lead to the tracks, he stops and pulls me roughly into his arms. “But there’s only one person I’m interested in kissing right now. And she’s right here.”
As if to prove his point, his lips lock on mine. He tastes like his minty toothpaste, mixed with the quick cup of coffee he downed while we walked Roscoe and raw, masculine need. His strong hands frame my ass, gripping and kneading until I’m moaning into his mouth. This being New York, our PDA goes virtually unnoticed, pedestrians ebbing and flowing around us like we’re rocks in a river.
“Any more questions?” he asks when he’s done turning me into a quivering mess. “Or can we get this party started?”
The subway ride is uneventful. We stand at first because it’s crowded, Jake with one hand on the strap overhead and the other around my waist, steadying me each time the train lurches to a stop. As we go farther into Brooklyn, the car empties out, and we’re able to find seats next to each other.
With each stop, I look questioningly at him, silently asking, “Is this the one? Do we get off here?” He just shakes his head and smiles until we’re almost at the end of the line and it begins to dawn on me.
“We’re going to Coney Island, aren’t we?” I say just as a disembodied voice comes over the loudspeaker to announce it as our last stop.
He’s thrown me for another loop. I love the beautifully, marvelously, gloriously tacky feel of the place once known as America’s playground. The boardwalk. The carnival games. The rides. The arcade. The air thick with the smell of fried fair food.
But I thought Jake’s speed was more sampling cuisines of the world at Time Out Market, or even hunting for treasures at Brooklyn Flea. Not wooden coasters and Whac-a-Mole.
“Beach or amusement park?” I ask, hoping it’s the latter. I’m not wearing a swimsuit, and it’s not like we brought any towels or beach chairs.
“Amusement park.” Jake stands and holds out a hand, pulling me up with him. “If that’s okay with you.”
“Are you kidding?” I hitch my drawstring bag over my shoulder and stand next to him, waiting for the doors to open. “It’s better than okay. It’s awesome. I can’t wait to kick your ass at Skee Ball.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, if I were you,” he says with an overly confident grin. “I happen to be a Skee Ball champion.”
I tilt my head up to meet his gaze. “Good.