Betting on Stocks (Dead Presidents MC Book 7) Read online

  My shitty situation wouldn’t improve if I woke up earlier or unpacked my luggage, so why did it matter? There wasn’t a damn thing I could do to get me back to where I wanted to be. The sooner she realized that and let me live out my days in peaceful apathy, the better.

  Before Naomi could fire back at me, Emily pushed her way between us like a schoolteacher separating two kids about to come to blows on the playground. “The rest of us aren’t here to invade or intervene in anything. We just wanted to welcome you to the fire station. It’s good to see you again, Monica. We’re glad you’re here.” Her abrupt hug threw me off, crushing the irritation right out of me.

  My still healing back protested. Wincing, I slid away from her. “It’s good to see you, too.”

  “Yes,” Julia added.

  As she hugged me, her hard belly pushed into my side, and I looked down, shocked by the obvious baby bump. “I was gonna ask what you and Havoc have been up to, but I think the cat’s out of the bag.”

  “More like the sperm’s out of the condom,” Jayson said, gracing me with a side hug. “Not like a little birth control could stop a man like Havoc from procreating. Hell, every time he walks by me, I about get pregnant.” He clucked his tongue. “Mm. Mm. Mm. There is something about that well-built hunk of dark meat.”

  “Keep your overly-moisturized hands off my man, Jay,” Julia growled. “I will cut a bitch.”

  Jayson threw his hands up in surrender. “We’re kidnapping you for some much-needed pampering.” Pulling away, he looked me over and wrinkled his nose. “Girl, you have about five minutes to do something about this situation, because we’re going to my salon, and I’m not takin’ you looking like you just stepped off some eighties hair band bender. I only roll with sexy bitches.”

  “Noted.” I hugged Carly and Jessica next. “Where are the kids?” I hadn’t seen my niece since I got back, and my spirit could benefit from mushing her chubby cheeks.

  “They’re downstairs with the guys,” Naomi said. “I keep telling Maya her auntie Monie is a badass. She doesn’t need to see this mess.”

  Naomi was getting on my last nerve. “You’re gonna make me kick your ass, aren’t you?”

  “Please.” She sneered. “With those atrophied muscles? You couldn’t even catch me.”

  “Why don’t we wait downstairs for Monica to get ready?” Emily asked, stepping between us again. The woman was supposed to be a hotshot defense attorney, which would no doubt come in handy when I snapped and had to kill Naomi.

  My (debatable) best friend looked like she wanted to argue, but let her sister-in-law shoo her toward the door. I had no desire to get dressed and leave my room, but Naomi had rallied the troops, and there was no way I could shrug off their misguided attempt to revive me without hurting their feelings.

  Sighing, I stopped Jayson to find out what I was in for. “What exactly will this pampering involve?”

  “Pedicures and shopping,” he replied with a clap, clearly way more excited than anyone should be.

  “And then we’ll check out an office space for a special project we’re working on,” Naomi said over her shoulder. “I can’t wait to bring you in on it. Monie, we need your help.”

  Naomi and I wanted to kill each other, but she was still my best bitch. Whatever she was up to, I needed to at least appear excited for her. I was trying to force myself to engage, but couldn’t muster up the energy to even feign interest. Hoping to buy the necessary time to get my shit together and support my friend, I promised to join them downstairs, exhaling in a huff as they finally left.

  Changing clothes used to take me five minutes. Ten if I was torn between outfits and couldn’t make up my mind. Now it took longer than that just to change bras. I managed to get yesterday’s off just fine, but putting on a fresh bra for today…. That wasn’t so easy. Leaning against the door frame to hold the back still so I could clasp it, I took at least ten swipes at the clasps before giving up and tugging on a sports bra that I had to slowly unroll over myself.

  As for pants, buttons and zippers were out, so I dug through suitcases until I found a pair of leggings and a matching tunic. Pulling them on wasn’t easy, but I managed. Getting dressed was a huge, unnecessary pain in the ass, and I needed to figure out a way to make Naomi understand that so she’d cut me some goddamn slack. As if. Since we were getting our toes done, I slipped on a pair of cute sandals, grabbed my toiletries, and headed down the hall.

  Once my face was washed and my teeth were brushed, I mustered up the courage to look in the mirror. Jayson was right, I did look like I’d just come off an eighties hair band bender. I’d always prided myself on my healthy locks, but this shit was becoming problematic. One-handed styling options were basically non-existent. My normally styled, sleek dos were now a pipe dream since I couldn’t even braid it, put it up, or tie a scarf around it. Maybe it was time to kick vanity to the curb, buzz it off, and invest in wigs.

  What is the point of any of it?

  Clothes, hair, hell, even the promise of a pedicure didn’t make me happy anymore. I was just so fucking tired and discouraged. Keeping my locks down and natural for now, I brushed the tangles out until my arm started to fatigue, and dumped in enough product to minimize the frizz. The result wasn’t pretty, but at least I no longer looked feral.

  By the time I joined the women downstairs, I felt like I’d worked a full day. I was exhausted and ready to crawl back into bed, but they were raring and ready to go. Plastering on my best fake smile, I joined them, already trying to figure out the best way to cut this pampering trip short.

  Stocks

  AFTER SPENDING THE past six months wondering if Monica Johnson was really as incredible as my memory made her out to be, it felt wrong to know she was down the hall while I was sitting in my room, wondering how long I should wait before I knocked on her door. Despite the many changes she’d gone through since I’d last seen her, Monica’s magnetism was still off the charts. My chances of resisting her were about as good as my chances of sharing the treat bag her mom gave me.

  Not fucking happening.

  I’d killed those baked goods on day one, even dumping the crumbs into my mouth to make sure I got every last drop. Hell, I’d thought about turning the bag inside out to lick it clean, but somehow managed to show a little restraint.

  Which was more than I wanted to show for Monica.

  Having already tasted her, I knew she was better than any cookie. I also knew she wouldn’t appreciate me beating down her door to make sure she was okay. Even injured, she was independent, and I needed to respect her boundaries. I had it bad for her, but wanted her respect as much as I wanted her body and knew better than to paint myself in a desperate light. So, I kept my ass in my room and my phone charged, hoping she’d call me for something—anything—so we could pick up where we’d left off after I’d carried her bags up.

  We’d reconnected, I was sure of it.

  Yet two days had passed, and I hadn’t heard a word from her.

  Saturday evening, I’d gotten a brief glimpse of her. When she returned to the station with Jayson and the girls, I was playing pool in the common room with Wasp. She floated by, claiming exhaustion on her way up the stairs. That was the last time I’d seen her, and although I figured she was holed up in her room, I kept checking the lot for her car to make sure she hadn’t fled.

  “We need a game plan,” Naomi said, barging into my room with Maya on her hip. “Monica’s no longer ghosting me, but her one and two-word answers have me so frustrated I could scream. She’s right down the hall and still brushing me off, claiming that she’s too tired to do anything. All that woman does now is sleep. It’s time we put a plan into place to help her.”

  “I’m in,” I said, waving at Maya who giggled and hid her face in her mother’s side. Naomi didn’t need to convince me to help Monica. The only reason I hadn’t checked on her was because I needed a valid excuse so my attention wouldn’t seem suspicious, and all my ideas sucked ass. I couldn’t cook for
shit, but was about one desperation level away from making her a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich just to have a reason to knock on her door. Was she even eating? “Tell me what to do.”

  Naomi chewed on her lip and looked down at her daughter. “I don’t know. You’re supposed to be the expert on this.”

  Chuckling, I shook my head. “I’m no expert on anything, especially not women.”

  “Me either.” Situating Maya on her lap, Naomi perched on the arm of my sofa. “Monie and I have an unusual friendship. We bonded over beer, karaoke, and the desire to prove ourselves to our testosterone-driven competition. We’ve never been shoulders to cry on, because we were too busy kicking each other in the ass. I’ve tried everything I can think of to motivate her out of that bed, and nothing’s working. She’s gotta schedule an appointment with a prosthetist and start up physical therapy, and she doesn’t seem interested in any of it. It’s almost noon, and she hasn’t even eaten or showered. Hell, I don’t think she’s left her room at all.”

  Naomi sounded almost as fixated on Monica as I was. I wondered how she knew Monica hadn’t showered, but decided not to ask. If Naomi had stooped to something as low as using motion detectors or checking the shower stalls of the shared bathroom for moisture, I didn’t want to know. Since I was getting to the point that I’d roll over on my own mother to get close to Monica, I didn’t want the ammo to implicate Naomi if I was backed into a corner.

  Monica was fucking us both up, for sure. I felt like a junkie, jonesing for my next hit of her presence. After going months without seeing her, now that she was here, I couldn’t get enough. I’d even cracked open my door so I could catch a glimpse if she ever emerged from her room again. Pathetic, but I couldn’t help it. Something about her just kept drawing me in.

  “The Monica I know and love handles her business,” Naomi continued. “She’d have researched all the prosthesis options, selected the one to best fit her needs, and figured out how to obtain it and get it to work for her purposes. She wouldn’t be moping in her room like her life’s over. Money’s not an issue since the insurance company of the at-fault driver’s employer will be footin’ the bill. Besides, she banked the check from the sale of her house, so she’s not hurtin’ for funds. I just don’t get why she hasn’t gone forward with this, you know?”

  “What’s the point?” I asked.

  Naomi stared at me. “The point? To help her! Are you not paying attention to anything coming out of my mouth?”

  “No.” I shook my head, trying to come up with the best way to communicate what I meant. “I mean, yes, I’m paying attention, but that’s the question Monica’s asking herself right now… what’s the point? If she goes through the trouble to get a prosthetic arm, then what? She still can’t fly. She can’t go back to the Air Force, and that’s what she wants.”

  “But she can do other things.”

  “Like what? What else would she want to do?” If we knew what else she was interested in, maybe we could find a way to motivate her.

  “Anything… everything else. I don’t know. Look how much your leg enables you to do.” Naomi’s answer was no help at all.

  “I can walk without crutches, and that’s nice.” The help wanted ads were spread across my coffee table, all inked up with circles and Xs, showing which jobs I’d tried for, which had shot me down, and which I was still waiting for a response from. Just looking at all those rejections made me feel like I wasn’t worth shit. Scooping up the ads, I shook them to get my point across. “But I still can’t get a job.”

  Maya started to fuss. Naomi stood, bouncing the baby in her arms. “And this is why Monie needs your help. You know how she feels. You can relate to her in ways that I can’t right now. Go share whatever secrets of the disabled universe will help her get up in the morning and do something with her life. You’ve figured out how to make this work, help her.”

  If there were secrets to any universe, I sure as hell didn’t know them, but there was no talking sense into Naomi. Not when she was worried about her friend. I didn’t have anything figured out, but had learned long ago to hide my issues. People saw what I wanted them to see, and nothing more. Well… until I finally snapped and destroyed what was proving to be my one chance at stable employment. That probably should have clued everyone in on the fact I was not okay. But apparently I still had what it took to pull off that deception.

  Naomi bounced Maya out of my room, leaving my door open and waving for me to follow. She pointed at Monica’s door, and I stopped in front of it as Naomi continued on. Halting at the top of the stairs, she gave me a quick thumbs up before descending and leaving me to my own devices.

  I could have slunk back into my room, but now that I was so close, there was no denying the gravitational pull. I knocked. Seconds stretched into at least a minute as I wondered what the hell to say. There was no game plan, no prepared speech, I was going to have to wing it and hope for the best. Finally, Monica answered wearing a pair of cotton shorts and a loose T-shirt. Her arms were folded over her chest, her hair was big and wild, and there were sleep creases running across her cheek.

  Feeling guilty for interrupting her nap, I took a step back. “Hey. Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “That’s okay. What do you need?”

  No ‘good to see you’ or ‘hey, how you doin’?’ Just a down to business question about my presence. That didn’t bode well for my task. Unwilling to let it deter me, I retook my ground. “Nothing. I just wanted to stop by and talk. Can I come in?”

  She glanced down at herself and nodded before reluctantly stepping back. “Sure. Why not?”

  Another stellar response, putting me at two for two. Not ready to call the game yet, I took a look around her space to get a lay of the land and hopefully find common ground. Judging by the partially empty open suitcases, she’d started putting away her clothes but hadn’t gotten far. “How’s it goin’?” I asked, eyeing the luggage.

  She closed the door and beamed me the fakest, most unnatural smile I’ve ever seen. “Never better.”

  “I can’t tell whether you’re being sarcastic or legitimately trying to lie.”

  Pushing off the door, she shook her head. “Nobody wants to hear the truth. It’s uncomfortable.”

  “As uncomfortable as that smile?”

  “Nothing could be as uncomfortable as this smile.” Now we were making progress. “Promise you won’t narc me off to Naomi or my mom? I realize I’m a grown ass woman, but I can’t handle any more of their lectures or disappointed stare-downs.”

  “I’m a vault.”

  She sighed. “I swear I’m trying, but I don’t have the motivation to unpack. Probably doesn’t help that not even half of my clothes will fit and single-handedly defying the laws of physics is not in my skill set. I need to go through my shit and pack some of it up for charity, but even thinking about that makes me twitch. I haven’t felt overwhelmed since college, but now every little thing is paralyzing.” She sat on the sofa. “But this old sofa has a really comfortable butt imprint right here, so I’m planning to sit on my ass and read ebooks on my phone until either my coping skills magically kick in or Naomi busts down my door and physically drags me out of here.” She eyed me for a moment before asking, “Join me?”

  As she patted the seat beside her, her braless tits bounced, reminding me of their undeniable perfection. Bigger than a handful, dark pink nipples that responded to my tongue and fingers alike, they were one of my favorite features. She was opening up to me about her struggles, and I was ogling her body like a horny dog. Monica was overwhelmed by her situation, but I was awestruck by everything about her. Trying to keep my eyes on her face—and not on the perfection she covered back up by refolding her arms—I sat. “You need any help?”

  “Why? Can you extend my closet and pull an extra dresser out of your ass?”

  “I’m not much of a carpenter, and I’m all out of ass dressers, but I could take you to go look at storage options,” I offered. “There’s
a couple of furniture places down the road.”

  “Did you miss the part where my ass is trying to become one with this sofa?”

  “That would be a pity, since you have such a nice ass, and this sofa is kinda rectangular and lumpy.”

  She eyed me. “I don’t know that flattery will work here, but you’re welcome to keep trying.”

  “No flattery; all honesty. That ass should be on display, not hidden in this room. What’s the real reason you don’t want to go out?”

  “Look at me, Stocks. I have one arm and my hair is out of control. I can’t even tie it back.”

  “You’re worried about what people think?” I didn’t mean to sound so unbelieving, but that seemed so out of character for her.

  “No, I’m conscious of the image I’m projecting.”

  Not understanding the difference, I nodded like she made perfect sense. “Okay, I’m here to help.” Pulling my phone out of my back pocket, I forwarded her a contact card. “Just sent you the info for my prosthetist. He’s a fuckin’ wizard, I swear. He can hook you up with something functional that looks fly as hell. Something fit for a queen, even. Now… about that hair. What can I do?”

  “You?” She snorted. “You’re sweet and all, but I’m sure this is well out of your wheelhouse.”

  “I thought feminism was all about equality. Seems a little one-sided for a female badass fighter pilot to think a man can’t possibly fix her hair.”

  Her gaze dropped. “You forget, I’m not a fighter pilot anymore.”

  “Bullshit. What you do or don’t do has nothing to do with who you are. You earned your wings, and you’d still be flying if life hadn’t kicked you in the hand. That’s one hell of an accomplishment and nobody can take it away from you. Now, you gonna let me have a go at your hair or what?”

  “I don’t even know what to make of you.” She chuckled. “You have no idea what you’re asking, white boy. Touching a black girl’s hair is a good way to end up decapitated.”