like you better

He’d become Pavlov’s fucking dog. Every time he went to do anything these days, his gaze would drift towards his phone before he cursed. It wasn’t bad enough that she’d dragged around by the balls in New Orleans, now she was dragging him around by text message too – the bitch on his shoulder rather than the devil sitting there, although the roles seemed to have some overlap. His normal methods of relieving the frustration of writer’s block, or finding muse had been narrowed down one by one by the messages. Frustration building instead of evaporating, his forearms quivering as he punched the mostly fuck you messages into his phone.

Mitch puffed out a breath, flipping the first few printed pages over on top of the phone. There, he couldn’t see the damn thing. Out of sight, out of mind – on the damn page. She’d show up in two chapters time, the mouthy side kick he hadn’t intended to include, but Magnolia (a fucking ironic name if he’d ever used one) had stomped in anyway, inserting herself right into Colton’s life before he’d been able to escape. After that it had been impossible to strip the character back out. She’d become the foil for Leah’s femme fatale – the woman who was going to kill Colton Beck one way or another (or at least try to, he wasn’t ready to kill off his biggest darling yet).

The incessant texts hadn’t been the only reason he hadn’t been back to the club – that was mostly from self-preservation. Just thinking about how easily Hannya could play him left a shiver that wasn’t entirely remembered pleasure running through him. It was like the angry hum of wasps – a warning against being stupid enough to stick your hand (or some more delicate part) in the nest. At least he’d had the excuse of the book to float when invites had been floated or the thought had started to creep up on him. Maybe it looked like he’d started working towards sainthood, but he was just getting choosy.

Frowning, he plucked the red felt-tip from the pot on his desk and cracked on with his edit. Notes already littered the margins, his editor’s suggestions that he’d now merge with his third attempt at sharpening the book up. There wasn’t much fat left there, the first two edits had already started to cut it out. Progress was fast, working through the insulated flask of coffee he’d brewed in anticipation. The first two chapters set aside in their neat stack a top his phone. Halfway through chapter three he’d had to turn his laptop on – it was further research not some attempt at allowing procrastination to creep in. He wasn’t Sadie, he didn’t dip in and out of the work like some butterfly that couldn’t settle on any spot for more than five seconds without needing to move on. Clamping the pen in his teeth he’d plugged the hotel’s name into his search engine, tumbling into the rabbit hole of Google Maps as he’d tried to calculate whether the route he’d taken Colton on through Jakarta worked in the way he’d planned.

Ha!

Ten minutes later he was jubilantly circling the query with thick red lines. Mitch bared his teeth, almost sneering – alright, it was probably childish, but there was something satisfying about having proved himself – as he slashed a red cross through the centre of the oval. He scrawled an extra sentence in the thin space between the marked paragraph and the next, would maybe pad it out further later as he typed the changes into the manuscript, but for the moment it was enough.

His attention stuttered for a moment as Magnolia made her appearance. He hadn’t gone down the cliched route of making her five foot nothing in stature and 9 foot tall with a third leg she liked to beat everyone over the head with at least. There was aspects of Lucky to her, and that was as much as it’d be. Sharp tongued, demanding, the pain in Colton’s ass that had him grinning with less arrogance and more amusement as he reread her introductory paragraph. Mitchell T. Davis Jnr. had earned his top spot on the New York Times bestseller list, even if the pain in his ass herself didn’t believe so.

That warm bubble of satisfaction had him blind to the name on the screen when his phone started to shriek Led Zeppelin. He flopped back in his seat, twisting it back and forth as he tapped the pen he held butt end down against the first mention of Magnolia’s name. ”Hello.” Polite enough, although the momentary silence that usually followed was immediately filled. Fuck. Lucky. Were texts not good enough anymore? She had to phone and bitch at him instead, probably about not yet calling Snr to chew him out for winning ‘shittiest father of the year’ for the twentieth in a row.

Mitch hissed a breath out through his nose, flipping the lid off the end of the pen and sealing it up. If this was like any other conversation, he wouldn’t be getting back to work any time soon, she’d keep jabbing him with verbal needles like he was a damn voodoo doll. The bitching didn’t following that first muttered greeting though. Her car had broken down – oh ho, and he was the last option, was he? It was fucking petty, but he was grinning again. ”So I’m the one you’re hopin’ pulls your ass out of the fire, hmm? They’ve got these…” Things called cabs now – that she’d bitch about after, because it wasn’t like he had a real job or anything.

”You think I’m just gonna put down whatever I’m doing and come save you?” One of those tiny fists had closed around his crown jewels that first drunken night and still hadn’t relinquished their grip. He tipped his head back, closing his eyes and cursing. ”Yes, mistress. Just remember this the next time you wanna tell me how useless I am.” Not that he ever expected her to be gracious about any of it. He gave her an ETA, huffing when Lucky cut the call off. The message came in moments later. Not far at least. He wasn’t picking her up from West Virginia, it was close enough that he might still get some more work in today.

Jesus. She had to drag him out on a day that was sweatier than Satan’s balls too. Mitch grumbled as he fiddled with the AC. The humidity might ease off once the sun was down, but he was still gonna get back to his place damp and probably gritting his teeth to stop him from saying something rash and stupid to a woman who’d do her best to wring it out of him. He slowed as he approached the spot she’d indicated, his teeth baring in a grin she probably couldn’t see through the window. Not wanting to end up with some asshole smashing into the back of his car he pulled onto the side of the road just ahead of her car.

He wasn’t stupid enough to step out of the car, not even bothering to roll the windows down as she approached, bags and – flowers? What in the fucking hell had she been up to – in hand. She opened the back door, setting them down in the back seat. At least the flowers wouldn’t wilt in the chill of his car on the way bag. They’d have been mildly scented rags by the time they made it back to town in the piece of crap she’d been driving.

Mitch’s brows hitched as she flopped into the passenger seat, enough leg bared by her dress to earn those legs he knew so well a glance before he snorted. He looked pointedly out at what she drove. ”The sort of prick who doesn’t end up broken down out in the middle of nowhere.” She’d barely got past his skin with that first jab – the bitchy attempt of a woman whose ego had to have taken a knock with that call to bring him down to her size. ”I make a better living than that, or I did ‘til I got dragged away from it to come and save your ungrateful ass.” His scowl settled in as she started to bitch at him. ”Late for what? Birthday celebrations? It’s not yours is it – although considering how grateful you are, I’d be surprised anybody’d give you anything for it.” Someone else’s maybe – not that it would make any more sense, friends required more than having their ass roasted every couple of weeks.

Starting the car up despite the thanks for saving my ass not arriving, Mitch pulled a wide U-turn and headed back towards town. Maybe he could’ve taken a look under the hood of that thing and got it running, but considering the state of it, it was probably best to put it out of its misery. It wouldn’t take much to get something a step up on it – a reliable runner – from the dealership in town. Pocket change if you really weren’t fussy about it.

Tagged: LUCKY CHRISTMAS * Word Count: 1526 (yikes)

Millions had shown a bit more appreciation than a woman who probably hadn’t read a single book since the 8th grade. He hadn’t been an overnight bestseller – the original version of his first book had received dozens of rejections before he’d reworked it enough for an agent to sign him. Once he’d started getting stacked on end caps and picked up for celebrity book clubs there’d been no question about it. People loved him.

Mitch bit down on his tongue, ignoring the jab about only writing to piss his dad off – it had been a side benefit at best. He’d gone the cliched, but fucking tried and tested route of writing what he knew and it’d worked out for him. ”Mediocre vengeance apparently gets bought enough to make me a best seller.” His lips pursed, fingers tapping against the wheel impatiently. He wasn’t about to tell her that he’d been working on what he’d written about her. Lucky’s attention would immediately switch, those metaphorical fingers closing in a vice grip around his sac. It wasn’t a wonder that she was driving a piece of shit given that she was in a job that likely needed some sweet talking to bring in the tips. Lucky didn’t have a silver tongue, she had a rusty razor of one.

She might have said the S word, but that bitter, nicked edge was still on the words, turning them to bullshit. Gratitude wasn’t going to come easy, not even with the AC chasing the damp from her skin. What there was of her chest rose and fell in his peripheral, a show to stop him from sniping back at her undoubtedly. Get his gaze solidly locked there and he’d be a good little boy all the way back, expecting his thank you of getting to leave her all damp again when he got there.

He swirled a finger around, indicating the car before he started it up again. ”I’d say you being in here instead of poaching like a damn egg out there makes it my business. I could’ve told you to fuck off and left you to it.” He wouldn’t though and she’d fucking known it. Dick he might’ve been half the time, but he was the sort who wouldn’t ignore someone in trouble. Years in the army had proved that, putting his neck out for other people, willing to give up his life for them – and it had always been something that Snr didn’t understand at all. Coming from that stock it shouldn’t have been a surprise to anybody if he’d ended up a selfish bastard, but he hadn’t.

It wasn’t gonna stop, was it? His tongue plastered against the roof of his mouth to avoid repeating himself in a way that would just give her more fuel. He’d drop her off in town, slamming the door behind her. She could go on and make whichever poor bugger she’d been heading for suffer while he cracked on with work. Practically digging into his mouth with her words, she dragged at his tongue, digging nails in until it loosened and Mitch found himself scoffing at her. ”You mean like a sane person. I’m at the speed limit. You get that’s how you’re supposed to drive right? If you’ve been running that piece of crap like a fucking race car it’s no wonder it fell apart on you.” His car, his rescue, he’d drive how he wanted, thank you very much.

Hazel eyes narrowed as she huffed and started moving. Mitch stiffened in his seat, his brows drawing together. ”Oi, what the fuck do you think you’re doing? Sit … fuck me …” Her foot was as tiny as the rest of her, but she was pressing down on his feet heavy enough to mash his into the pedal. Mitch clutched at the wheel, his eyes shooting from her to the road up ahead, the one whipping by far faster now. The wheels squealed faintly as he took a curve far too fast, rocking Lucky back into his lap.

There was a brief impression of hair, of warm body brushing over his thigh and then she was back in her own seat – the one he should’ve fucking tied her to with bungie-cords. His chest heaved with deep breaths, his gaze stuttering from the road back to her, down to where she was still sprawled part over him, the dress hitched high enough that she had to be feeling the AC there at least. ”There?” he muttered, dragging his gaze back up to her. ”We’ll get back in one piece, maybe. What the fuck was that about? Are you trying to get us wrapped around a tree or is this another dare? Drag me out, play chicken on these roads?” Play chicken in the car. He glanced down again at that length of bare thigh and cursed.

He hadn’t taken his foot off the accelerator though, had he? Mitch glanced back at the road, the fairly lengthy straight that’d take them a handful of miles before it started to snake through the woods again. His lips quirked, one hand dropping easily away from the wheel. If she wanted to play, who was he not to join in and shut her up, again. His hand settled on the delicate ankle he’d explored from all sorts of angles. ”I guess you goosed me good enough to speed up, just like with the train.” He’d won then, hadn’t he? She’d bugged out, bolting away from the train with her heart pounding hard enough he’d felt it all the way down. Mitch dragged his fingers up her leg, eyes off the road, running on pure instinct and that innate ability to split his attention under the most dire circumstances. Fabric brushed his hand eventually, but that didn’t stop him, only she could do that when she flashed that yellow belly at him again.

Tagged: LUCKY CHRISTMAS * Word Count: 984

His fingers actually twitching as he set them back on the wheel. Of course, he didn’t reach for the lock though, shoving the door open and planting a foot in that scrawny ass to hurry her out of the car. He’d still have denied being a sap over Junior – there was a difference between picking your fights and just laying down and letting someone roll right over you – but for her? Fuck. Mitch pursed his lips, trying not to roll his eyes so hard he ended up off the fucking road. Was what happened when she pissed him off enough worth getting his balls busted every single time? Frowning, not bothering to answer the smug question, he glanced over at her (he didn’t need to overtly take in those subtle curves to make his appraisal, he’d mapped them out enough times by now). Maybe.

That assessment was rapidly shrinking as any proper sort of ‘thank you for putting your day aside to get my rude ass out of trouble’ vanished beneath more bitching. It was worse than having a devil on your shoulder, it was like one constantly crawling up your ass instead. No matter how many times you tried to defend yourself against it, it came back, digging into vulnerable flesh, giving just enough pleasure to stop you from digging your nails into it to tear it out (and if a little flesh came with it, then at least it was gone).

Mitch puffed out a breath, not bothering to look her way. One disgusted look from her and he might just snap. ”The legal speed limit. Leeway or not, it’s that for a reason.” Partly to make sure those old folks didn’t go around stomping on the accelerator when they were too damn blind and too slow to react if anything stepped out in their path. ”Have you got a thing for criminals? Is that it?” A speeding ticket wouldn’t get you on the FBI’s most wanted list, but stacking the misdemeanours would do more than just piss Junior off in the end. He wasn’t Oscar Wilde, he wasn’t gonna rekindle his career by writing The Ballad of Sussex State correctional facility.

Maybe he’d have goosed the pedal himself if she’d yapped at him long enough, but as per usual she had zero fucking patience. His barked question fell on deaf ears (one day soon he’d buy her some hearing aids, jam them in her ears so maybe she’d listen for two fucking minutes). By the time she slumped back (partly) in her own seat, a fresh sweat had broken out in the hollow of his spine. ”And you’re a bitch. Which one of the two of us got taught how to drive through a battle, huh?” Instead of mortars falling around him he had a walking mouth dangled half over his lap. ”You didn’t look unhappy to see me. I’m good for a rescue, but you get to control it all, hmm?” Cause Lucky still had that leash around his sac and she was yanking him on it – dragging some interest out of him as she went.

He wasn’t sure if there were worse roads to play on, especially not in this company. She’d dare him to edge closer to the trees, to go off road, yanking until it was a matter of letting her cut off his air or snapping. Hazel eyes narrowed as the smirk started pulling at her lips again. Yeah, he was fucked. All he could do was make sure she was too.

Muttering under his breath he started mentally trying to loosen that leash and make it happen. If she wanted to play chicken he could make it happen – and maybe she’d stagger out of the car at the other end, having had the ride of her life with his hand on the wheel. Mitch smiled wolfishly at her. ”Always takes me a while to figure out where the fuck you’ve put ‘em for me. One of these days you’ll learn to keep your hands off of them.” Fair was fair. She had her hands on his, those delicate fingers holding him in a chokehold, his own mitt …

Mitch grinned as he realised there was some premeditation to it at least. He’d been with enough women to realise that it wasn’t always about self-care – no matter who you were, you let yourself go a little bit if you weren’t expecting anybody else to be involved. You pulled on clothes from the bedroom floor, you didn’t shave until you couldn’t take the itch, you let your teeth get that furry feeling before you went and brushed your teeth (not that he could stomach that feeling personally).

Confidence had him boldly taking advantage of the newly exposed territory, doubling down as she let out that little sound for him. Of course, she was struck by impatience. Sliding up over him, leaving him clutching for the wheel, looking past her in little darts as she started exposing territory too. Bare thighs revealed again, draped over his, her head resting back beside his so he wasn’t having to play hide and seek with the road in front of them. ”You’re crazy, you know that?” he muttered. Baring his teeth, he went to nip at the lobe of her ear, but she was there first. Turning her head towards him, her teeth latching onto that delicate bit of flesh, making him grunt as his body strained.

”God forbid you take five minutes out to do anything safely.”{/b] Mitch took a corner a little too sharply, recovered enough to have his loose hand skimming over her hip again, adjusting everything so it was just mmmm. Let her chicken out first, clutching at him like he’d been lying about those driving courses. Fat chance. He’d won on the train line, he’d do it again.

His grip had been twitchy at times, a sudden acceleration somewhere about a mile out of town wring a curse out of him (rapidly followed by the groan that bit as the car bumped over the edge of the road and jostled him in a way that stole his breath, maybe hers too). Mitch finally turned towards the square – both hands on the wheel, fingerprints ghosting from one onto the leather. He was all tucked away, but he could practically still feel her sitting right in his lap instead of smugly occupying the seat next to him. ”Next time you wanna call for a ride – make it clear the sort you want, yeah?” Arrogance curled his own lips. He’d remind her of the way she was likely to stagger away from the car, looking like the ride back into town had been far harder than she was expecting. She might take his balls in her purse with her, but after that little drive that was neither here nor there.

Tagged: LUCKY CHRISTMAS * Word Count: 1145