Page 38 of Fallen Rook

Figuratively, of course. My mouth couldn’t open wide enough for Agent Asshole in the literal sense.

After thirty minutes, I lit myself another cigarette. A sinking feeling weighed my entire body down. He wasn’t coming out.

At half past eleven I threw in the towel. Maybe he hadn’t attended. Maybe he’d stayed home. Or at the office. Maybe he was sick.

With a groan of frustration, I flicked the cigarette butt sideways, turning in the direction of my apartment.

“Pick it up,” a husky voice demanded behind me.

I spun around, finding Tom in a full tux, looking like the purest aphrodisiac, and every thought in my head evaporated into the ether.

How was he so good at sneaking up on me when I dedicated most of my waking moments to searching for his face in the crowd?

Struck speechless by his presence, I reached out to kiss him. He stepped back aloofly, hands wedged in his front pockets. “I said, pick it up.”

“Pick what up?” My confused moan grated in my ears. And did I really just try to kiss this man in the middle of the damn street?

“The cigarette butt. You’re littering.”

A laugh rippled through my tight chest. “Tom, we’re in New York.”

“Pick it up.”

I groaned. “Is this a degradation kink you’re exploring? Because you’re going about it a bit tediously, if you ask me.”

“I’m not gonna ask again. I’ll simply arrest you.” His tone gave me frostbite.

“You can’t arrest me for breaking city laws.”

“Federal land, federal jurisdiction.” He gestured at the building we were standing next to. “Now, don’t make me ask again.”

Fuck.

I stood there and stared at him, calling out his bullshit. Surely he wasn’t that fucking obstinate.

Only he totally was.

“Jesus fuck, this is not what I had in mind when I thought you were anal.” I stomped to the damn cigarette butt. I made a show of picking it up and dumped it into the nearest trash can. “There you go, Your Highness. Happy now? Thanks to you, New York is back to its pristine condition.” I motioned around us, at the mountains of garbage bags sitting on the side of the street, the flattened fast-food wrappers, and the pile of dogshit at my feet.

“What are you doing here?” He scowled.

Damn. He didn’t even tell me I looked good, and he made me pick up garbage. Why couldn’t he ambush me again and fuck me? I didn’t need his chiding right now. I needed mindless distraction, to drown the voices in my head, to forget the path my future was put upon, the charade I was expected to carry for the rest of my life.

“I came to claim my fuck. It’s been eight days. I’m horny.”

“I don’t care,” he deadpanned, amusement dancing in his sharp blue eyes. They sparkled behind his thick-rimmed glasses, which right now I had the urge to break. “I told you, we’ll meet on Friday.”

“Fuck Friday. Make time for me now.”

“It’s midnight.”

“Your obligations are over.”

“You’re not in my plans.”

“The best things in life usually aren’t,” I hissed, realizing I was breathless for some reason. “They happen spontaneously, without permission; this is one of those things.”

“No. You’re nothing special,” he insisted, his throat working around the words, like pushing them out took effort. I waited. Maybe he’d change his mind. I didn’t like begging, but this wasn’t a real relationship, and in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter who initiated our meetups, as long as they happened.