Zero to Sixty Read online

  The dog cocked his head, and Sam allowed himself a smile. He didn’t often have crap to smile about, but this dog made him happy. Something about Cookie had gotten to him. “Don’t fuc—screw it up. You don’t want to get picked up by the dog police. Doggie jail is not a good place to be.”

  Cookie went back to his bone, and Sam drove home, for once hoping Foley wasn’t in. They’d never had pets in the town house they shared. Eileen, doubling as mother and landlady, hadn’t said no to a cat or dog, but Foley had never seemed too keen on things with four feet. Had actually made a point of insisting the house be pet free—forever.

  Since working with Willie, Sam had taken to briefly hiding rescues in his room for those odd instances when they had to wait to farm them out to her friends or adoptive families.

  He pulled into his parking spot at the town-home complex in North Beacon Hill and glanced around. He didn’t see Foley’s car. So far so good. Quickly leaving the car with the dog, bone, and a bag of supplies from the trunk, he locked up and hurried inside. He rushed upstairs to his room, prepared to hide Cookie all night, and froze when he saw Foley lying on his bed, looking at an old Penthouse magazine.

  “Shit.”

  Foley quirked a brow. Nearly as big as Sam, the guy Sam thought of as brother was a carbon copy of Eileen. Same black hair and gray eyes. Except Foley had thick arms covered in tats, height, and the brawn of a pro wrestler. They used to do everything together. Up until Foley had grown up—three months ago—and got himself a real girlfriend, not just some one-night banger, but a smart chick with goals, her own house, and a job.

  The kind of good girl who normally wouldn’t glance twice at someone like them. But Cyn had good taste, and Sam liked her. Or at least, he liked her now, since he’d gotten used to her.

  Foley sat up slowly. “What. Is. That?”

  Cookie whined and shifted in Sam’s arms, causing Sam to drop his pack and some kibble to spill out. The dog wriggled like an eel, so Sam set him down to eat the mess he’d made. “On my planet, we call this a dog. D-O-G.”

  Foley snorted. “Surprised you can spell such a big word.”

  “Suck it, Foley.”

  “I knew those cages were for something living.” Foley nodded to the cages he must have obviously pulled out of Sam’s closet.

  “Seriously?” Rage built. “You’re going through my closet now?”

  “No, moron. You left those out.”

  Sam deflated. “Oh.”

  Foley’s eyes narrowed. “Why? You have more cages in there?” He opened the closet door before Sam could stop him, and a mountain of stuff spilled out. “Christ, Sam, get help, would you? Hoarders has an eight-hundred number.”

  Sam flushed. “I am not a hoarder, I keep telling you. I just like to collect stuff.”

  Foley rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and you work at the garage because you love cars and the money means nothing. Give me a break.”

  They both studied the stacks of stuff Sam had piled in his room. Magazines over there. Clean clothes by the dresser on the floor. Dirty ones by the closet. Maybe in the closet, if he wasn’t mistaken about that pair of crumpled socks. It had been a while since he’d opened that door.

  Hmm. Seemed he also had some animal cages, tools he kept forgetting to take to the garage, a football and basketball, and maybe more clothes, though they had probably been hanging up at one time because he didn’t see too many left on hangers. What did he have in his dresser?

  “How can you live like this?” Foley sounded disgusted.

  The neat freak. Sam bit back a grin. “What’s wrong, your OCD flaring up?”

  Foley shivered. “I have to get out of here. My skin is itching. I feel the need to clean.”

  “Such a pussy.”

  Foley shot him a finger and said over his shoulder as he walked out the door, “I have beer downstairs, where it’s clean.”

  Sam considered the room, thought he might straighten it up later, then pointed a finger at Cookie. “Be good. I’ll be right downstairs.” He took two steps before realizing the dog might not be housebroken. He grabbed the puppy and another handful of dog food, and joined Foley in the kitchen.

  The town house had been a gift of low rent from Eileen years ago, when Sam and Foley had made the permanent move back to Seattle. Though they’d grown up in the city, they’d left to explore the U.S. after that stint in prison. A fresh start. After several states and more automotive classes across the country, they’d managed to get enough education to be fully-fledged mechanics. Not that the shit was that hard to figure out anyway, but managers seemed to like book smarts. And when they got wind of Foley’s and Sam’s pasts, sometimes those classes had been all that stood in the way of unemployment.

  Then they’d met Liam Webster and his daughter, Del, and hadn’t looked back since.

  Life was good in the garage. Or it had been, until everyone started making decisions with their dicks. Stick it here, get a girlfriend. Stick it there, move in together. Get stuck by one of those McCauley assholes, get married. He still wasn’t sure about Del’s guy, though his dog and kid were cool enough. Del had never seemed the happy-homemaker type. And the McCauleys were all about tradition, family, and the white picket fence. When Del had been dating the guy, her emotions had been all over the place. Especially when the dickhead had dumped her.

  Sam would have bashed his face in for screwing with Del, but Foley had cautioned him to wait it out. Apparently, Del had been wrong about the rejection, because Mike McCauley had made it up to her with not only apologies, but also a freakin’ engagement ring. Now the guy looked at her as if she could do no wrong. Sam didn’t know what was worse—an annoyed Del or a cheerily happy Del.

  He set the dog and the food on the floor. “Funny finding you here.” Sam sat at the table across from Foley. “What? No love time tonight with sexy Cyn?”

  Foley smirked. “I wore her out. She’s spending the weekend with friends in Port Townsend. A baby shower for a girlfriend, I think.”

  “You feel okay letting her out of your sight? I mean, what if she finds someone better than you? A guy not so into being a neat freak, who has a much better car?”

  “No such thing.” Foley slid Sam a beer and took a swig of his own. He stared at the puppy munching on kibble. “Now, about this dog…”

  Sam held up a hand. “I’m just fostering. I swear. I’m holding Cookie until his new owner is ready to take him in. Besides, Eileen never said no to pets.”

  Cookie took a few tentative steps toward Foley, sniffing. But when Foley jerked his foot back, the dog ran into the living room.

  “Quit scaring my dog,” Sam warned.

  “Whose dog?”

  “He’s mine until Ivy gets him back.” Until he knew for sure she wouldn’t turn her back on the poor thing needing her affection.

  “Ivy?” Foley pounced with a shit-eating grin. “Who’s Ivy? Do I know her?”

  “No. She’s not one of your bazillion ex-model girlfriends.” That I know of, because she’s pretty enough to be one.

  Foley smiled through his teeth. “Oh, then I guess there’s no reason to introduce her to Cyn, is there?” Foley still hadn’t all the way forgiven him for the New Year’s Eve fiasco.

  Sam had been a little envious of all the attention Foley had been focusing on Cyn, so he’d decided to test her—for Foley’s benefit—by inviting a ton of Foley’s exes to the party. Instead of being intimidated by a half dozen gorgeous women, though, Cyn had held her own.

  Sam still felt bad about that. His insecurities had made him act like an ass. Foley would never dump him for some babe. Even if she was totally Foley’s type—with long, dark-red hair, a pin-up body, smarts, and attitude. No way Foley would ditch him for all that, or so he kept telling himself.

  “You know”—Sam toyed with the bottle—“instead of getting all pissy with me about that, you should
be thanking me. Now you know for a fact she won’t toss your sorry ass because you were a whore.”

  “I prefer the term ‘player.’”

  “Whatever. You had more sex than me and Johnny combined before Cyn. Not sure about Lou, though. He’s a mystery.” Johnny and Lou, their other garage buddies. Johnny was a charmer whose dad owned a strip club. Johnny knew how to seduce women like he’d been born to it. Lou was a dominant asshole who pretty much did whatever the hell he wanted and women loved him for it. He worked that dark Latin-lover angle and had a pretty good racket going for him.

  “You got me there.” Foley clinked the neck of his bottle against Sam’s. “But admit it. You like Cyn. She’s smart and funny. My woman is fine as shit.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Good. At least he’d gotten away from—

  “But this Ivy. Who is she, exactly?”

  Crap. “I told you. She’s taking Cookie.”

  “How’d you meet her?”

  How to explain without sounding like a stalker…

  When Sam didn’t answer right away, Foley sat up straighter in his chair. Hell.

  Sam hadn’t planned to tell Foley about Ivy yet, because the woman made him feel strange. He’d been with pretty women before. Nice, mean, thick, thin. Sam had done them all. He didn’t know Ivy. But from the moment he’d seen her, she’d refused to leave his brain.

  “Well?”

  Despite the subject of conversation, it felt good to have his best friend back, talking, sharing a beer. They’d always spoken about women and work and whatever bullshit passed for a good story.

  Cookie tentatively entered the kitchen once more. He made his way over to the food on the floor and began to eat again.

  Sam drew in a deep breath, then let it out. “I’ve had a few strays wandering around First Ave, you know, near McClure Middle School and that playground, park area. I was looking for Cookie since I’d found Macho there last week and—”

  Foley snorted. “Macho I get. But Cookie? That’s what you named the dog?”

  “She did it. I was calling him Scruffy. But whatever. Point is, I was there a few nights ago and found him at the back of her place, where Ivy works, I mean.”

  “Where’s that?”

  Sam studied his friend, but seeing nothing more than vague interest, he answered, “Bodyworks on Queen Anne. So it’s—”

  “She’s a stripper?” Foley’s eyes widened.

  “On Queen. Anne. Avenue. Dumbass. She’s a massage therapist.”

  “Oh.” Foley looked relieved. As if he could throw stones.

  “Anyway, it’s dark, the dog is in the back of her place in a fenced-in courtyard, and I’m standing in the shadows hoping I don’t get confused with the guys knocking places over.”

  Foley nodded. “Right. That string of robberies in Queen Anne. Yeah, that wouldn’t look good, you being found there.”

  “So Ivy comes out to get the puppy, and I left. But Willie was worried, so I—”

  “Who’s Willie?”

  “What? Are you writing a fucking book?”

  Foley ignored his growl, so Sam grudgingly explained the rest. “Anyway, like I said, I’m holding Cookie for her. We’re maybe going to grab a beer tomorrow; then I can tell you exactly when the dog will be gone. Okay with you, boss?” he asked drily. He pretended he couldn’t care less about the date with Ivy. Date. Ha. It was just a meet up to see if she met his standards for the dog. Not anything personal. This was all about Cookie.

  Yet his speeding pulse said otherwise.

  Foley just watched him and drank his beer. “That’s your story?”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Uh-huh.” Foley smirked.

  “What now?”

  “So this Ivy chick. What’s her deal?”

  “She’s just some woman who wants a dog.” Who had the prettiest smile. Big, green eyes that dominated a sweet yet sexy face. A husky voice that could talk all day and he’d never get tired of hearing it. Then there was that body that didn’t stop, breasts and an ass that—

  “That.” Foley pointed at his face.

  “Huh?”

  “You only look like that when you’re into a woman.” Foley drained his beer. “What does she look like?”

  Sam shrugged. “I didn’t notice.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Foley was getting on his last damn nerve. “Fine. She’s fuckin’ hot, okay? Respectable.”

  “Yeah? Cyn was respectable.”

  “Until she fell for you,” Sam muttered.

  Foley ignored him. “I thought Cyn was too good for me once, but look at us now.”

  “But I’m not you, and Ivy isn’t Cyn.”

  “How the hell would you know? You just met her.” Foley stared at him. “You haven’t looked this interested in a girl since Jennifer Roland.”

  “Yeah, and we both remember how that turned out.”

  “So we went to prison. We got out.” Foley grinned. “You’re older and wiser now. No way you’ll break into Ivy’s house to leave a love note, right?”

  Sam rubbed his eyes. “I can’t believe I was ever that stupid.”

  “I can. You’re pretty stupid on a regular basis.” Foley chuckled and ignored the hand gesture Sam shot him. “Look, you like this Ivy.”

  “Dude, I just met her. Give it up. This won’t go anywhere. There’s nothing between us.” Though he might have wished for literally nothing to be between them while he took advantage of that smokin’ body…

  “She’s pretty, and she’s taking in a stray dog,” Foley continued as if Sam hadn’t interrupted him. “I’d say you guys already have that in common—you’re both into animals. Why not see where it goes? It’s not like you’re asking her to marry you. Just enjoy a beer and some conversation together.”

  “I plan on having a beer, okay?” Did Foley not understand him? He’d already said that. Twice.

  “Nothing to be nervous about,” Foley just had to add.

  “I’m not nervous.” His palms were sweating at the thought of being near her again.

  “I mean, it’s not like she’s someone you have to see after tomorrow night. It doesn’t work out, you move on. The girls at Strutts are still asking about you. Johnny told me to tell you.”

  “Great.” He’d served as security at Strutts, the strip club Johnny’s dad owned. The girls were pretty and nice, and the sex had been good if not great. The last girl he’d been with had moved out of town, and he hadn’t been back since. Not because he missed her, but because he’d lost his taste for easy sex that didn’t mean anything.

  And damn it, sex and Ivy didn’t go together. Sam had no reason to see her other than to make sure Cookie would be getting a good home. Period.

  If he wanted sex, he could go back to Strutts and take Bubbles up on her offer. What guy would turn down no-strings-attached sex from a woman who could kiss her own ass? Yet he forgot about Bubbles five seconds after leaving the club.

  He hadn’t stopped thinking about Ivy since that first time he’d seen her cradle Cookie to her chest.

  Foley nodded, still watching him, so Sam grabbed them more beers.

  “What’s up with Eileen lately?” he wanted to know, since he hadn’t heard from her in a week.

  Foley groaned. “You had to ask, didn’t you? Mom is losing it. She’s all nervous about the wedding and calling me every other day, asking what I think about place settings.”

  Sam raised a brow. “You?”

  “Exactly. Woman has lost her damn mind. I keep putting her through to Cyn. I mean, centerpieces and color schemes for a wedding? I say elope and put us all—and Jacob—out of our misery.”

  Jacob, Eileen’s fiancé, would do anything for the woman he loved. “Poor guy. I like him.”

  “Me too. He has the patience to deal with Mom and her nuttiness, and
he still hasn’t called off the wedding. And he stayed with her even during her time in the cast. He really loves her.”

  The car accident Eileen had been in back in January had scared all of them. Worse, it had brought out the ugly patient in Eileen, a woman Sam would vote into sainthood without thinking twice. Yet Jacob had stood by her through it all.

  Sam knew it had been difficult for Foley to accept his mother moving on without him. Granted, she was a grown woman living her own life while Foley lived his, but Eileen had never been devoted to anyone other than Foley since his father had passed. She’d taken Sam in, but that was different. She hadn’t taken a husband or significant other.

  Then she’d met Jacob last year and fell hard.

  “You going to be okay with Mommy moving out?” Sam taunted. “I mean, no more tucking you in at night or wiping your ass once she’s got a husband around.”

  “Dick.” Foley sighed. “Yeah, I’m good. Cyn helps. Takes my mind off losing Mom.” He sounded sad, but Sam caught the sparkle in his eyes. “When I tell her how depressed or confused I feel, Cyn comforts me. Takes my mind off my misery, you know?” He wiggled his brows.

  “Nice.” Sam raised his beer in a toast. “To finally growing a brain in that fat head.”

  Foley nodded and clinked his bottle. “To finally growing a set and asking a decent woman out. Even if you had to use a dog to do it.”

  “It’s not a date,” Sam growled.

  A strange sound caught him off guard, and he glanced over to see Cookie vomiting up the kibble he’d just wolfed down.

  Foley shook his head. “You’re cleaning that up. With any luck, Ivy doesn’t give you the same reaction tomorrow night.”

  Sam had a sudden image of her staring at him in horror, realizing who she’d accepted an invitation from. He wondered if he should just cancel the date that wasn’t a date and save her the trouble. He could text her for details about her ability to care for a dog and—

  “Ow.” The balled napkin thrown at his eye startled him. He threw it back. “What the hell, Foley?”