Page 29 of Bad Situation

Fuck me. Or should I say, fuck you, Eli Pettit.

If this isn’t a game changer, I don’t know what is.

Chapter 9

This is Happening

Eli

This isn’t the way I planned to return to Jen Montgomery’s less than twelve hours after I left her.

Last night, after I finally got her to settle in with me, we watched the rest of the game and then flipped it over to a movie. We barely got thirty minutes into it when she fell asleep pressed up against me.

It did not suck.

I didn’t move but flipped channels as she slept and I stayed longer than I should have. With my hand cupping her ass and her breath whispering across my neck and chest, there was no way I was walking away from that. From her. If she wanted to sleep the weekend away, I’d gladly starve for the experience.

When she started to shift and woke herself, it was hours later. She apologized, blaming her lack of sleep on her shit week. She was rumpled and groggy and if I hadn’t experienced her turned on when we were at the club or her makeup-free the other night, I’d say that was the most beautiful I’d seen her.

I’m learning I prefer her anyway I can get her.

I left without taking her mouth—or anything else, for that matter. There’s still a lot of air between us that needs to be cleared. It sounds like all charges will be dropped soon. The evidence Bree has will never hold up in court.

Then I can make a real move.

That’s why I was more than surprised when I got a text from Flemming to meet here in the back of Jen’s building, that it was all hands-on deck, and told to be prepared to get dirty.

I just pulled up and parked in the maintenance area where everyone is meeting.

Dean shows just after I do and we make our way to the rest of the group. Almost ten of us have been called this morning.

Bree looks around and her eyes settle on me for a moment before she smiles and moves on. “It’s a trash run. Grab a pair of gloves and climb in.”

A trash run? She’s gotta be fucking kidding.

“But this is the trash for the whole building,” Dean clips, making the point I was just thinking. “She’s not dealing drugs. What the hell kind of evidence is she going to have that she’d throw away?”

“And if we find anything, how will we prove it’s hers?” I add.

Bree folds her arms across her chest and shrugs. “If we find anything, there could be proof if it’s hers. Besides, what are the odds anyone else in this building has information on shell corporations. This is one of the last things I can do without a search warrant.”

“Fucking hate trash runs,” Dean complains and walks over to swipe a pair of gloves.

I follow and we climb into the dumpster. The stench is strong, which just goes to prove swanky trash stinks as bad as everyone else’s. I’m glad I listened and dressed to get dirty because this is going to suck.

There are multiple dumpsters and hell if we aren’t going to have to go through them all. This is a stretch and I’m over it. Bree is grasping at straws. Trash runs aren’t done on wire fraud cases, that’s why it’s fucking wire fraud. People are paperless now and smart enough not to print off their own evidence.

After being at it an hour, all I can say is thank God it’s not summer. Trash runs in the summer are the worst. I haven’t experienced a summer in Texas yet, but I’ve heard they’re brutal.

“I think I found something,” Bree yells from the next dumpster. I stand straight, wipe my face with the back of my forearm, barely seeing her head peeking out the top. She’s looking down and when I see a sly smile creep over her face, she adds. “Yeah, I found something all right.”

“Does that mean we’re done?” Dean complains as I jump to the ground. I want to see what she’s got.

Bree flips through a messy stack of papers that are stained with food and other muck and smiles bigger. “Bingo.”

“Please tell me you got what you wanted so we can go,” another agent groans.

“What’d you find?” I keep my voice only semi-interested as I peel my gloves off and stomp my boots on the ground so I don’t track this shit in my car.

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