Don’t Hit the Asshole

EMERALD

How does one tell their protective older brother, who’s trained in multiple modes of combat, that, instead of asking for a raise, I quit my job and started dating my former boss, all within the same hour?

~Hey, bro, so you know that problem with money? Yeah, instead of making it better, it’s about to get so much worse because I quit my job.~

~Oh, and I’m dating my dickhead boss and we’re going to be married in a few months.~

Yeah. I can ~totally~ see that going over well.

Tate ended up taking the day off and after Vince left with the very battered Leo in tow, he put on ~jeans~! Freaking ~jeans~ on Tate freaking King. I couldn’t believe it.

Seriously. I still can’t believe it, and it’s been half an hour.

The man looked like a walking wet dream in a suit that cost more than my monthly rent, and seeing him in lounge pants and a T-shirt last night was proof that he could make anything look like it belonged in a clothing ad.

But when he walked out of his room wearing denim jeans and a gray shirt, I think something in my brain broke.

~Hot damn, he’s a sight for my deprived (and I’m beginning to suspect “depraved”) eyes. Fuck a snack. Mama is ~hungry~ and I see a fucking feast!~

Tate King had moved from “sexy as sin” to “lust incarnate.”

This was doing nothing good for that insane crush I had on him. Nothing about any of this was doing ~that~ any good, but right now, I was going to blame the jeans.

“If the look of confusion wasn’t so amusing, I’d almost be scared by your creepy staring, Emerald.” Tate laughed as he drove back to my place.

Damn traffic had slowed us down significantly until we reached the less classy area of the city.

“I’m not processing this very well,” I admitted but didn’t stop looking him up and down for what had to be the millionth time since we got in the car.

Hell, no. I wanted to lick him and lollipop be damned. He needed to be savored far more than some cheap treat.

“You’re being unusually quiet, which is cause for concern.” He smirked at me before turning back to the road. ~Bastard.~

“Can you at least tell me you’re wearing ~some~thing ridiculous? Like silk boxers or cashmere socks? That way I can maybe salvage some kind of brain function out of the complete mindfuck I’m witnessing right now.”

“Cashmere socks? Really, Emerald?” He gave me an exasperated look. “No, they’re regular cotton socks.”

“You didn’t deny the silk boxers, though.” I narrowed my eyes at him.

“I do own some, but they aren’t something you’d want to wear under clothes, least of all denim.” He snorted and rolled his eyes. “And no. I’m wearing my normal underwear.”

“That didn’t help, Tate.” I glared but ended up ogling him again. “You could have lied.”

“I’m not going to lie to you, Emerald. I find it tends to be counterproductive under normal circumstances.

“Where you’re concerned, I find it particularly distasteful.” He spit out the last word like it was acid on his tongue, and I tilted my head a little before my eyes, once again, took in the oddity in the other seat.

“You’re doing it again.”

“You have no one to blame but yourself for this,” I replied. “The suits I’m used to. Very ‘Mr. King.’ I can deal with that. And last night’s attire screamed ‘Tate’ to me.”

“You do know it’s the same person, right?” He smirked a lopsided little smirk that made me want to climb over the center console and ride off into the proverbial sunset. Multiple times.

“But ~this~?” I gestured to him. “I got nothing. No thoughts to speak of. You broke my brain.”

His forehead wrinkled with this look that I swear was the phrase “what the fuck?” put into an expression as he laughed a rich, rolling laugh of amusement.

It was a nice look on the otherwise mostly serious face and the sound filled the car—and my “other places”—with heat.

“You know, right about now, I’m wondering why I wanted to remain professional at work, but also, I’m very glad that I did,” he said as he parked at the curb outside my apartment building.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Emerald. Both versions of me.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s a third.” I looked pointedly at him.

“Who’s holding out on whom, I wonder? I’m so calling this version Dresser King because I had no fucking clue that thing wasn’t some fancy decoration that hid…~this~.”

“~This~ is me. The suits are me. The pajamas are me.” He chuckled. “And think, you’re going to be seeing me in all my many forms for some time. Aren’t you lucky?”

“I’m questioning that assessment as we speak.” I glared and got out of the car. “So, can we maybe not mention the whole… ‘I quit my job’ thing?

“Lance will probably have a fit if he found out, and until I get another job, I’d like to keep that little fact to myself and save myself from literally getting skinned.”

“You don’t have to get another job. If you ~want~ to, by all means, but you don’t need one,” Tate said as he joined me on the sidewalk.

“I told you; this is going to be real, so you have complete access to everything I have. Maybe a few guidelines, like don’t go buy a five-million-dollar jet without talking to me first, but otherwise…

“You don’t really do extravagant anything, so I’m not worried.”

He shrugged, and I itched to punch him in the face. I doubt I’d hurt him because I’d have to reach ~way~ up, but I still wanted to hit him.

~Resist, Emerald. Do not hit the asshole. Do ~not~ hit the asshole.~

“I’ve never given anyone that kind of freedom with anything of mine, much less my money, but I don’t think you really care about appearances to do much damage to my account.”

He continued, oblivious to the dangerous waters he was swimming toward like an Olympian athlete. “At least, you never seem to put that much effort into it.”

~Okay. You can hit the asshole.~

I aimed for the gut, making him groan and double over, holding his middle.

“Welcome back, Mr. King. I’ve been wanting to do that for months,” I snapped and stomped toward the building, throwing the door open violently.

“What was that for?” Tate asked, sounding strained still as he rubbed at his stomach.

“For being an ass,” I bit out and stepped into the elevator. “You’ve been my boss thus far, which has been the ~only~ thing keeping me from doing that until now.”

“How was I being an ass?” he asked, incredibly confused, which made me stare at him like he was dumb.

“Do you honestly not think about the things you say or do you just not care how they come out?” I asked him.

“Does nothing at all about what you just said strike you as ‘dangerous things to say to someone’?

“I’m curious to know what level of education you might need because, obviously, you are sorely lacking in the ‘talking to women’ department.”

“I talk to women plenty.”

“Flirting at a bar and then asking them to fuck doesn’t count, King,” I growled and slapped the stop button.

I spun around and jabbed my finger into his chest.

“Lesson one—and you better take fucking notes—~never~ tell a woman she doesn’t put any effort into her appearance because ~that~ is enough to get your balls chopped off in some circles.”

“Wha—Emerald, I didn’t mean it like that.” He gaped like a fish.

“Sure as shit sounded like it to me, asshole.” I jabbed him again.

He grabbed both of my wrists and held them behind me gently so it wasn’t uncomfortable, and we stood chest to chest.

Well, more like boobs to upper abdomen because he was a freaking giant. God, I hated that he was ten inches taller than me.

“I meant that you don’t ~need~ to put effort into your appearance because you look ten times more attractive right now than any woman who spends hours in front of a mirror,” he growls in my face.

“You don’t need extravagance to shine. You’re literally a jewel, Emerald. So beautiful and precious, even when raw and free of corruption at the hands of others.”

“What did you just say?” I whispered as tears threatened to spring forth and drown us both in this little metal box.

“Wait. What ~did~ I say? Why do you look like you’re about to cry?” He reared back like he’d been stung, though he kept my arms behind me. “I’m really not trying to be a dick right now.”

“My dad used to say that to me all the time.” I shook my head.

“That he wasn’t trying to be a dick?” He frowned.

“Fucking idiot.” I groaned and stomped on his toes, freeing my hands so I could start the elevator again.

I crossed my arms and waited until we were on the fifth floor before I spoke again. “He called me his precious jewel.”

I went to my door and pounded my fist on it until Lance opened it with a charming smile and a box of cheesecake from Honey Cakes bakery.

“Peace offering?” he said, and I took the cake and gut-checked him as I walked by. “I’ll take that as a ‘not yet.’ What did you do to make her mad, lover boy?”

“Please tell me there’s an instruction manual or a road map because I’m so fucking lost right now.” Tate sighed as I went to the kitchen.

“Yeah. Funny.” Lance laughed. “Nearly twenty years being her brother and I still have no fucking idea. Come in, have a seat. She’s probably going to give us both hell in a little bit.”

“I’m right here, fuckwads,” I said, grabbing a fork from the drawer.

“Shut up and eat your cake, Em,” Lance called.

“You’re lucky you’re my brother,” I muttered as I took a bite.

I took the cake with me to my room and slammed the door. I took a shower and got dressed, picking a pair of black jeans and a white tank with some black ballet flats.

It took a little longer than usual because I was eating the little cheesecake. I never take very long to get ready, even when I’m taking my time.

Still, when I heard Lance stomping down the hallway, I knew Tate had said something fucking stupid.

Lance didn’t stomp unless he was mad, and judging from how heavy his feet were right now, he was ~pissed~.

~Fucking great.~

My door flew open, and Lance stood there like an angry bull staring down a matador. I smiled sheepishly and wiggled my fingers at him in a timid kind of wave.

“Before you go off, what did he tell you so I can be ready for the level of explosion?” I grimaced.

“You’re getting ~married~!” he bellowed.

“And nuclear it is,” I muttered.

“Two days ago, you said you weren’t even dating anyone, and now ~you’re engaged~! To ~that guy~!”

“Do you mind putting away the Marine voice before the cops get called?” I grimaced and edged around the room so I could maybe try to duck past him and run for relative safety behind Tate.

~I’m such a coward.~

“Screw the cops, Emerald.” He seethed, face red and nostrils flared. He really did look like a bull. “I want an explanation. Now.”

“Think Disney and ~that’s~ what I’ll go with.” I forced a grin that probably looked like I was trying to take a dump.

“Emerald!” he snapped, and I jumped, taking off under his arm and down the hall.

I slipped on the threadbare and hideous rug I’d found at a flea market when I’d moved into the boxy apartment as I grabbed for Tate.

I used him to sling myself around behind him and peeked through the gap between his arm and his body as Lance glared at me.

“Real fucking mature,” my brother snapped at me.

“Trust me, I don’t fucking feel like it right now,” I snapped back. “I am an adult, Lance. Stop trying to scold me like a child.”

“~This~ is childish, Em!” He pointed to Tate. “Yeah, he makes you smile and he came to get you last night when you needed someone not too close to the shit that went down with Mom.

“I can look past the fact that you stayed the night with him, but now you’re suddenly getting ~married~? What do you even know about this guy?”

“Plenty,” I retort.

“Oh, ‘plenty,’ huh? I’m calling absolute bullshit on that.” He laughed humorlessly. “Guys like that know how to lie to girls like you.”

“Hold the fuck up right there, Lance Wells.” I point at him as I stalk around Tate and get between him and the very angry Marine-bull-man. God, he’s fucking terrifying.

“I know enough to say that Tate is a ~great~ fucking man. And what the fuck do you mean by ‘girls like me’?”

“Needy and vulnerable,” he said, then the look of anger vanished, replaced by fear. “Wait, that’s not—”

“Exactly what you meant to say.” I glared at him. “You forget, I know you, Lance. You ~never~ say something you don’t mean, especially when you’re angry.”

“Em, I didn’t—” He shook his head, and I held up my hand.

“I think you need to go stay with Mom,” I said and grabbed my purse and key to the door. “Be gone when I get back.”

“Em, wait,” Lance said, and with a feral sound, I threw an umbrella at him. He ducked, and suddenly, Tate was blocking my view.

“He’s your brother, Emerald,” he said softly when I looked up at him, fuming mad.

“You’re right,” I said and walked around and stood in front of Lance. I punched him in the face, then shook out my hand.

~That freaking hurts!~

“That means he should know better.”

~I totally hit the asshole.~