Flash (Penmore #2) Read online

  “You have to be careful, Coop. His connections are serious. I think I was wrong to turn to you that night, to accept your help. Even now, you’re risking so much to visit me—”

  “This is important. He sent his old man to jail for shit he orchestrated while walking around like a god on campus. I can fix that. I just want you to be alive to see it.”

  “Coop—”

  “No. I told you I would fix this.”

  “You won’t kill him though, right? I don’t want another dead son. I know h-he’s—”

  “Tony, we already talked about this. We’ll just damage that fucking professional career he thinks he has all lined up. If I can make it look like an accident, no one has to know.”

  “I can make some calls,” he whispered.

  “You don’t need to do anything,” I said firmly.

  “You shouldn’t have to deal with your ghosts anymore either. I know it must be hard to be clean. You’re on the team now, so you could probably get away with some—”

  “We’ll worry about my shit when justice is done. I got through the withdrawals better than even I thought I would. I think looking at the way everyone treats that scumbag keeps me straight. Let’s not risk the plan.”

  “O-okay, if you’re sure,” he muttered, a single tear falling down his face.

  “I am,” I asserted before I stood and headed toward the exit, not bothering to say goodbye.

  I’d gotten what I came for—the reason I had to avoid Millie.

  I was reminded of a wrong that needed to be right.

  I needed to remember that Millie was in my past and destroying Grayson Waters was my future.

  ANTHONY

  I never tired of it: the game, the pretense. Watching the boy walk out with purpose and a grim expression because every tear was delivered so superbly.

  I wanted so desperately to laugh. He wanted to stick to the plan.

  It really was becoming too easy.

  I almost wished the guards would grab the fool now. The boy was bound to get handcuffed eventually. He’d be pushed to the floor and treated like the trash he was, and I really did deserve to witness the moment I’d spent so many hours preparing for. The exact moment when Cooper realized how stupid and pathetic he’d been was bound to be glorious.

  It would only take a whisper—the right name in the wrong ear.

  But I knew I had to wait. I had to be patient.

  The kid was only one con. One game. The more I pushed the right buttons, the better the finale. Hell, I hadn’t spent my time in prison pretending to love a bastard child for an arrest inside these walls with no cameras.

  There would be a bigger show. With the right amount of pressure on the right people, I’d get everything I wanted.

  The best game was a long game.

  MILLIE

  I HAD BRUISES EVERYWHERE.

  On my knees.

  Near my hips.

  On my arms.

  Anywhere I was grabbed and manhandled in that library three days before, I now saw a purple and green reminder. I didn't own large-enough clothes to cover the clues of my past actions, so I had to apply extra layers of makeup to hide what we had done. I’d gone through almost an entire bottle of concealer to cover the damage each night for work.

  At least the visual reminders were something I could manage. I couldn’t seem to switch off the memories. Each moment from the time he’d followed me through the library until the time I stormed out kept replaying in my mind. When I sat across from Tahnee all week talking about her new promotion, I couldn’t control the unexpected flashbacks. Mouths. Tongues. Hands.

  I was no longer forced to relive my final moments with Nate when I went to sleep now. Feel that pain of losing him. Instead these nights I found myself eager to go to bed, my mind filled with Cooper. It almost scared me how I had begun to dream again, how desperate my body was to return to those damn stacks and see if this need inside of me could be sated again.

  Even now I was sitting on the couch, my ear pressed against my cell phone, trying to listen carefully to everything Parker was telling me. But my thoughts kept drifting to the memory of looking into Cooper’s eyes as he thrust inside of me. Witnessing his hunger transform into acceptance, as if he knew exactly how it would feel when we finally came together. As if he knew the consequences us being together would bring and no longer cared.

  He had turned a switch on inside of me, and I was shocked at how much I worried about it turning off.

  “Millie?” Parker asked, pulling me back to reality.

  Shit. Please be a yes or no question.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure? You really don’t need me to organize the party? You’re completely okay with having Jessie’s party while Tahnee’s away for business and you have to organize all the food?”

  “Umm, sure. Definitely. Yes, of course. It’s only party food,” I replied, completely hiding the panic.

  “Okay great, because I was worried that Jessie wouldn’t get a cake—”

  “Parker, I’m fine. I agreed to let you and Grayson take Jessie tonight while I have work, and I trust that you have everything under control. When the party comes, trust that I’ll have everything under control. I can cook a damn birthday ca—”

  Before I had a chance to finish my sentence, I heard a noise through the baby monitor. “Mine.”

  “I actually better go check on the soon-to-be birthday girl. She’s awake and I hear her using her new favorite word,” I laughed. “I’ll see you later.”

  She's beautiful. That's mostly me, but I'll give you credit for her personality. I was never that possessive.

  "Thanks," I choked out. Half laugh, half Sob.

  I was sitting in Jessie’s bedroom watching her pick up each of her toys, look at me with suspicion, say, “Mine,” and then drop them in a pile near her bed.

  All while I was chatting with her dead father beside me.

  Let’s go back to my main argument. You need to hire a party planner or at least ask Marissa.

  “I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. I can handle a little girl’s birthday party by myself. Parker is just being ridiculous.”

  Please just buy a cake, babe. Remember, we want her to have lots of birthdays.

  “I only gave Tahnee food poisoning once,” I replied defensively.

  You know, it’s a few weeks away. Maybe just don’t buy any ingredients. Think about other options. Hey, in another week, you might not have to do it alone. That guy definitely doesn’t seem like the type to leave you in the lurch.

  “Tell me you’re not trying to imply that I ask a convicted felon to help with our daughter’s birthday.”

  Why not? I think he’s a good guy. Sure, he’s not as handsome as me, but we both know you won’t find that. At some point you’re going to have to lower your standards. Plus, I’m committed to any plan that helps save my baby from your cooking.

  “You’re dead, which means you aren’t handsome anymore. You’re blue. That being said, if you were alive, after your comments on my cooking, it wouldn’t be for long. Also, you couldn’t possibly know that he’s a good guy. He’s a criminal. He said so himself.”

  Real criminals don’t tell you they’re criminals, Pamela.

  “Or maybe they do in order to distract you.”

  You know that’s bullshit. Plus, he’s going to frighten away every boy who tries to take Jessie on a date, so he has my vote.

  “She’s not even two yet, so that’s not exactly a pressing issue. What if he was in jail for kidnapping?”

  Ask him.

  “I shouldn’t. I need to focus on work and school. I need to get Jessie out of this house, remember? Plus, I probably won’t even see him again. I ran out of the library like a crazy person.”

  Didn’t you decide to be partners? Now what sort of partner abandons the other? I bet he’s in the library. I bet he’d be willing to help fix this house up. I bet you could ask him what he was put away for.

 
“You’re only saying this because my stupid horny subconscious wants to go back to that damn library and is looking for excuses.”

  Or maybe your subconscious is ready to share some of its thoughts with someone who can actually reply.

  “Then why are you still here?” I asked before I looked up to see Jessie had stopped her hoarding and dropped her most tattered plush at my feet.

  “Yours,” she told me with a sweet smile.

  COOPER

  I left the prison repeating to myself that I was staying far away from Millie. With my fake ID still in my pocket, I thought about going to the nearest seedy club and toasting to the demise of Grayson Waters. I knew I needed to get back to the life I’d planned, one that existed in dirty establishments and didn’t have me wondering about the safety of a redhead.

  I need to get drunk, forget Millie, and take one of the girls dancing on stage home. A girl who knows the rules. One who’s pretty enough to fuck, doesn’t make me want to take another look, and is too busy dealing with her own shit to affect me and mine.

  I’m not meant for libraries and college chicks.

  As if possessed, I found myself driving to campus anyway, ignoring everything I’d told myself to pick at some invisible splinter embedded under my skin. I parked my motorcycle in the lot closest to the library, exhaled my self-control, and then followed the path across the quad toward the last place I should’ve been heading.

  As I reached the library doors, I replayed our conversation in the stacks in my head. I recalled telling Millie that I thought of her as a Harley Quinn—a villain. After leaving a prison filled with the scum of this town, it was the last thing I really thought. I knew what real villains looked like, and although I saw her temper, I also noticed the vulnerability. I should’ve called her a princess, told her she was precious, even if she got pissed at me because she hated asking for help. The invisible splinter embedded in my skin that couldn’t let go of Flash urged me to make amends, and fuck if I wasn’t going to follow through with it.

  I’d research a group of dead artists, write the whole damn assignment, and give the girl a break. I had already blown off my morning classes to go to the prison, so I figured I might as well blow the rest of them off for the real-life princess who was probably used to people waiting on her. Even if that did piss her off. The best part of my plan was it also meant I didn’t need to spend any additional time with her.

  I promised myself that I was really minimizing the distractions. I wasn’t following my initial thoughts to fuck others and forget about her, but getting this shit out of the way would allow me to focus on football. With a bad block or tackle, a few words to the opposition about their shit skills, I’d help Tony get his revenge and my time at Penmore would be done. I’d already accepted that I would probably end up behind bars, but with Lizzie and Beth protected, no connections, that wouldn’t be a problem. And after I helped Millie with this damn project, she wouldn’t have any ties to me either. It was the perfect solution.

  When I found my way to the back of the shelves, I swore the place still smelled like her. The faint mixture of exotic spices and common flowers that seemed to linger wherever she went invaded my senses. I felt like one of the arsonists I’d met in lockup.

  Addicted.

  Crazed.

  Sniffing the air and wishing I could get closer to the flame without getting burned.

  Determined to leave before someone caught me staring at the stacks, I started pulling art history books quickly. Made a damn mess and didn’t give a damn.

  “Were you in prison for kidnapping children?” she murmured behind me.

  Fuck me. I turned around and Millie was standing at the end of the row, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed. I almost couldn’t decide how I liked them better, widened in pleasure or spitting warnings at me. Damn, she’s gorgeous.

  “Nope.”

  “Did you rape and kill women?” Her solemn attitude almost made me want to laugh. I was tempted to tease her, make up some ludicrous story to match her crazy questions, until I noticed she was biting her lip. She was worried about who I was, afraid that she’d let a monster touch her. I’d never cared to explain myself, but something about her false bravado got to me.

  “I beat the shit out of a cop,” I replied honestly.

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did he deserve it?”

  “The judge didn’t think so,” I muttered.

  “But the dean did?” she deduced, the realization clearly calming her fears as she stopped biting her lip. When she ran the tip of her tongue along the part of her lip where her teeth had been earlier, the point of the conversation was lost on me. I wanted to replace her tongue with mine, forget about the assignment or understanding each other and focus on feeling our way to a shared familiarity.

  “Mostly he wanted a new running back. But he might have used the rumors about the cop’s willingness to look the other way when it came to child abuse in foster and group homes in the area to get the other bigwigs on campus to let me in,” I said quickly, shrugging off the harsh realities I had to deal with.

  I started leaning into her body. I should’ve been keeping things platonic, but I just needed to smell her. I caught the widening of her eyes before she looked off into the distance to process what I’d said. While she was distracted, I took a step forward. Like an addict, I was incapable of following my own decisions to keep away from her.

  “Damn, the law can really be screwed up.” She let out a soft sigh and turned her gaze back to me. She took in the limited distance that now existed between our bodies and I saw the heat ignite. “Okay, um, so I’m happy to still work together,” she murmured, her voice thick with desire. “We just need to have boundaries. This is probably a crazy suggestion, and if you just lied to me, potentially dangerous, but I think we should study at my house.”

  “Something wrong with the library?” I asked, smirking at her. I watched the blush creep across her face until I saw her steel spine snap back into place.

  “We go to mine and you’ll have a chaperone. You won’t be so inclined to say, ‘Fuck it,’ and we might actually get work done,” she replied haughtily.

  “Who do you think will prevent you from running your hands over me?” I moved until I felt her chest pressed against my own. I was seconds away from sliding my hands around her small waist, completely prepared to say to hell with my decision to stay platonic. With firm hands, I would remind her exactly how good we felt together and how much she wanted me. “Or will be able to keep my hands off you?”

  “My daughter.”

  COOPER

  “YOU HAVE A KID?” I asked, my hands frozen at my side.

  “A little girl, yes,” she said, smiling wide. “She’s nearly two.”

  “You have a boyfriend or husband as well?” I growled.

  “If I did, I wouldn’t have let you fuck me in the library shelves,” she hissed. “If you want to say stupid stuff, you can stay here.” She turned dramatically and headed toward the exit.

  Unlike her last library escape, that time I followed her silently, too shocked to speak.

  Princesses weren’t single mothers. Princesses lived lives full of frivolity. They needed people to take care of them.

  Single mothers were tough. They were warriors and saviors, women who took care of their children without support and with the determination of a pit bull.

  Lizzie and I decided at a young age that single moms were like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow: elusive, mysterious and utter fiction. Neither of us had mothers willing to go it alone without our father’s help. Sure, we’d heard of people talking about single mothers, but we had also heard people talk of leprechauns.

  I took another look at Millie as she strode across the campus. She was wearing skintight black jeans that hugged her hips and fit tightly into her gray ankle boots, a long-sleeve white shirt, and a gray leather jacket, her hair falling in curls over her shoulders. She didn’t look like she’d
struggled. She looked amazing. She looked like a mythical fucking creature come to life.

  Fuck me.

  “This is my car. We can take it my house, and then when I head to work, I can drop you back at your bike,” she told me. “I’m a mom, so I can’t just hop on the back of your motorcycle.”

  I finally snapped out of my daze, staring at her pickup truck.

  “All good,” I murmured before asking for the keys with my palm out.

  “It’s my car.”

  “Babe, I’m still driving.”

  “Babe, you don’t even know where we’re going. And I’ll repeat, it’s my car.”

  “And I’ll repeat, I’m driving,” I informed her. “I’d also like to point out that it’s a pickup truck.”

  “Yes. My pickup. Which is why I’m driving.”

  “Flash, a man does not sit as the passenger in a pickup while a woman drives him around.”

  “That’s ludicrous, not to mention sexist.”

  “Could be Beyoncé’s pickup and I’d still make her give me the damn keys. You want to call it sexist, go right ahead, but I’m going to call it being a gentleman and ask for the keys again.”

  “Gentleman, my ass. And by the way, no one would demand Queen B sit in the passenger seat.”

  “Babe, I doubt Beyoncé sits anywhere but the passenger seat. But we can continue arguing this fact, wasting study time, or you could just give me the damn keys.”

  I held back the smirk as I watched her contemplate how long it would take her to win this ridiculous argument. Then my smile widened as she huffed and stomped her way toward me.

  “This is ridiculous. Just because you’re male does not mean you need to be the one to drive a truck. There’s a car seat in the back, which makes this a mom’s car. Moms drive the mom car!” she rambled as she climbed into the passenger seat and buckled up.