Promises Made, Promises Broken - SYTYCW (Bad Reputation)

Present Day (Chapter Sixteen) Wednesday

Joey

A soft buzz against my leg teased me awake.

Shit. My phone.

I started to stretch, and met with resistance.  It took me several seconds to register where I was, and why I was stuck in place.

Shit. Tucker.

I inhaled deeply, dragging the soft vanilla scent of her hair into my lungs and holding it there.

My arms were wrapped around her and she was pressed against me firmly, each soft curve hugging my body.  In her sleep, she wriggled a little bit closer, and my body lit up.

"Oh, God," I groaned softly.

Her perfect hair was loose.  The red tresses fanned out across my arm, building a heat that matched its radiance.  

The girl was getting to me.

Has already gotten to me.

Her passion.  Her drive.  Her sense of humour.  Her temper.  Goddammit.

If I didn't leave - right that second - I wasn't going to be able to control myself.

Would that be so bad? Would she think it was so bad?

I wavered.  I pulled the shiny mass of hair off her neck and pressed my lips against her neck.  She shivered, and sighed softly.

My phone vibrated again, somehow seeming more insistent than before.  I disentangled my body from hers and slipped my cell from my pocket.

Shit. Dad.

Tucker stretched and rolled onto her stomach.  Her shirt crept up, exposing a penny-sized, cherry-red birthmark on the small of her back.  I ached to kiss that tiny imperfection.  My eyes raked over her body as guilt waged a battle with desire. 

Guilt won.  

I slammed down hard on the answer button on my phone, and growled into it under my breath. 

"Just a sec." 

I eased my way out into the hall and closed Tucker's door carefully.  

I'll make it up to her.

I tiptoed to the stairwell, where I was less likely to disturb any of the dorm inhabitants.

"What is it, Dad? I'm in the middle of something."

"Does that something happen to be a girl?" 

Coming from anyone else, the question might've been a joke.  From him, it was a frosty criticism.

My reply was equally cold. "That's not exactly any of your business."

"I think it is. You didn't come home last night."

"I was doing some charity work."

"I'm sure you were. I'm assuming this little sleepover in a girls' dorm isn't directly related to the research I asked you to do."

An unsettled feeling crept into my body, and it translated into an embarrassing quaver in my voice as I asked, "How do you know where I am?"

"Have a look out the window."

I slunk over to the window at the end of the stairwell, and peered past the same plant I'd pushed aside to catch a glimpse of Tucker running across the commons a few days earlier.  My truck, glinting silver in the early morning light, stood out in the otherwise empty parking lot.  A familiar, hulking figure leaned against it.  He raised a meaty hand and gave me a casual wave.

"You remember Pete?" My dad's voice was full of dry, cruel humour.

"I remember he dragged me back to you against my will."

"If I recall it correctly, you were a drunk, slobbering mess. He brought you home. And since you don’t seem to be capable of watching yourself, he’s going to repeat the assignment."

“The assignment? For Christ’s sake, I’m your son.”

He’d already hung up.

Pete pointed up at me, then tapped his watch.

"I'm coming," I grumbled.

With a final, regretful glance toward Tucker's hallway, I hurried down the stairs.

***

Pete stoically ignored my biting comments as he drove.

"You follow me all the time, or just on the odd occasion?"

Nothing.

"Do you watch me sleep?"

No response.

"What did he put in the job description? Babysitter? What's the going rate for spy work nowadays, anyway?"

He didn't even crack a smile.  

When we finally pulled into a parking lot beside a rundown apartment building, I grinned at him

"Err, Pete? You're very handsome, in an I-ate-a-puppy-for-breakfast kinda way. But you're just not my type." 

The other man finally spoke. "Cell phone, please."

"I don't think so."

"You can give it to, or I can take it."

I eyed the big man carefully.  Could I outrun him?  Maybe.  Was I willing to risk having my ass kicked over a phone?  Not a chance.

I dug into my pocket and handed over my cell.

"Out."

I complied, and followed him to the building.  He grabbed a key from his suit jacket, unlocked the door, and gestured for me to go in.  I hesitated.  Pete's face told me he was just looking for an excuse to give me a shove.  I stepped inside before he could act on it.

"Stairs," he grunted.

"Now what?" I asked as we stopped in front of door on the third floor.

He shrugged. "Now you go in. Then you wait, I guess."

I took a step into the room.  It was bare.  The carpet was worn thing, there were bars on the windows, and even the appliances were missing.

I spun back to Pete and realized he was swinging the door shut.

"Hey!"

"Yeah?"

"You're just leaving me here?"

"Those are my orders."

"Your orders? What is this? A quasi-military operation? Christ," I muttered. "And what if I just leave?"

"I won't be far," Pete replied, and as an afterthought added, "Oh. And this door locks from the outside."

He slammed it shut, and the lock tumbled, emphasizing his words.  I waited about thirty seconds, then tried the handle.  It didn't budge.

What was my father up to?

I slid down the wall and prepared myself to wait out whatever game he was playing.