Blast From The Past 3 by Faith Winslow Page B

outcast at rEcore and any other tech firm in the world—let him keep thinking that. Let him keep thinking that you’re in the dark, and maybe then he’ll slip up and say or do something that can shed some light on this situation… I know it may sound a bit dangerous, but it’s safest for us to play him from the inside rather than calling him out.”
    My hand was still wrapped around J.R.’s, and, as I felt the warmth of his touch on my flesh balancing against the flames raging inside me, his plan began to slowly but surely make sense.
    “All right,” I replied, regarding each and every line on J.R.’s face. “But I already told him I was coming here tonight. I texted him after you left. I can’t just not show up, can I?”
    “I guess not,” J.R. answered as the lines on his face furrowed just a wee bit more. “Go up and see him, but act like it’s a social call… Now, I’m not telling you to sleep with him or anything—God knows I don’t want that —but just don’t bring up Gigi. Make it seem like you’re there to talk about you, or him. I don’t know how much you guys ‘caught up’ the other night, but try to keep it in that vein.”
    Easier said than done , I thought to myself. After what I’d just learned about Tommy, the last thing I wanted to do was approach him as a friend, and coming up with a suitable reason for rushing out to see him wouldn’t be easy at all. I wracked my brain for a bit, still enjoying the warmth of J.R.’s touch.
    “Okay,” I said, after a minute of thick silence. “I’ll do my best… Now, you get the hell out of here. If Tommy sees you, it’s up; my cover’s blown.”
    J.R. leaned forward and wrapped his free arm around the back of my waist. He leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead, taking a moment to breathe in the scent of my hair. I wished, again, that I was back in my apartment with him in my bed, on my couch, in my shower, or anywhere else we could enjoy each other’s bodies instead of the issues riddling our brains. But I shoved those feelings to the back burner, cognizant of the fact that I had something more pressing to do.
    I pulled away from J.R., looked him straight in the eyes, and arched my feet to stand up on the tips of my toes. I planted a firm, full kiss on his delicious lips, then turned to walk away.
    “Be careful, Trish,” he said as I made my way to the door.
    “Like I said,” turning back to take him in again, “I’ll do my best.”

~ Chapter 2 ~
     
    “Come on in, baby.”
    Tommy’s voice sounded a little static-y over the intercom, but the fuzziness of it wasn’t nearly as disturbing as what he said. The Tommy Ferguson that I dated in college wasn’t the type of guy to call a girl “baby,” even if he was seeing her, and, now, he definitely wasn’t seeing me.
    Before I’d pressed the button to ring Tommy’s apartment, I took a few moments to collect myself in the lobby and tried to develop my back story as per why exactly I was there. But as soon as I heard the buzzer buzz and heard the security lock on the interior doors “click,” that back story started fading away to the recesses of my mind, buried behind frustrations, aggravation, and fear.
    Nonetheless, I did my best to keep my story straight, and I walked through the glass door and down the long hallway to Tommy’s pad. When I arrived at his door, it was already cracked open a bit, and he was standing there, waiting for me.
    “I didn’t think I’d see you so soon,” he said, opening the door even more to let me in. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you came.”
    I looked at Tommy, and, good God, if it hadn’t been for who he was, how he’d lied, and whatever else he was up for, I would’ve drooled at the sight. He was wearing a pair of distressed, stained jeans and a black “wife-beater” tank that revealed his rippling muscles and well-inked tattoos. I tried to count how many tatts covered his form, but lost track in the words and images