by Taylor Hart
All of her giggles dissolved into the hollowness that dwelled in the pit of her gut seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day. The emptiness was so profound, it had been the original cause why her father had sent her to that stupid psych hospital to have her checked out before okaying that she could spend the summer here. He just didn’t realize that she’d been deserted, not only by her mother, but by her tentative sanity.
“I’ll tell my father it was my fault. Don’t worry,” she mumbled to the tow truck guy. Her best friend, Tauni, would find this whole story amusing, down to the hot tow truck guy.
The bike rumbled to a stop and Duke dismounted, his carefree white tank top showing off the tan he’d already gotten from lots of rock climbing time. He turned to her, and the side of his lip curled up. Then he shook his head and let out a sigh. “A damsel in distress. Not your usual part.”
Jaycee threw her best glare at him. She’d practiced that glare in the mirror for years, and she’d been told it could kill a man. “Do. Not. Even. Talk. To. Me.”
Duke paused, sizing up the tow truck guy. “Shay Summerville.”
The tow truck guy glowered back. “Not gonna lie, you haven’t been missed around here. Why don’t you take your drug money and go somewhere else?”
Jaycee hesitated, noting the tension between her brother and the tow truck guy. Things had just gotten interesting.
“Right, like it matters what you think, Summerville.” He walked over to the car, letting out a low whistle as he opened the trunk. “Nice job, Jaycee. Always getting yourself in the middle of some mess. Get what you need, sis, and we’ll have him bring the rest over later.” He glanced back at the tow truck guy. “You’re going to pay for this, you know that? Your truck hit the car. You’re at fault.”
“Uh, no.” The tow truck guy pointed at her. “If your sister hadn’t been standing in the middle of the road and acting like she wanted me to hit her, this never would have happened, but I witnessed some little psychotic break.”
Duke lifted a shoulder and tossed a glance his way. “You don’t know the half of what psychotic break looks like.”
Anger burned into her. “Shut up!” Jaycee glared at her brother. How dare he say that! Was he talking about her mother or her … or both?
Duke stared at her for an awkward moment, like he had no idea who she was.
Jaycee moved to the back of the trunk and grabbed her backpack. “Whatever.”
The tow truck guy was already whipping his truck into position, hooking his tow to the front of the car.
With a huff, Duke swung himself on his bike. “C’mon, Jaycee. I have some people I’m meeting up with. Get the lead out.”
Jaycee was taken back to summers past, all the way to grade school. This is what her brother had always done—ditch her. She grimaced. Out of nowhere, dizziness and nausea hit her, making her want to barf and triggering her gag reflex. Her head pounded and she flashed hot and cold. “Oh my gosh.” She moved forward and held onto the tow truck.
“Jaycee, what’s wrong with you?” Duke called out. “Get on the bike.” His words were unsympathetic. In fact, she hadn’t sensed one ounce of compassion from her brother since the time she’d fallen out of the tree house and broken her leg because he’d pushed her. What was that—ten years ago?
“Are you okay?” Tow truck guy asked.
The feeling of being lost and dizzy quickly passed, and she inhaled deeply, actually trying to do what the stupid therapist had told her to do in these situations—smile and breathe. “I’ll be fine.”
Tow truck guy frowned, yanking off his sunglasses.
Even though she wasn’t at a place in her life to notice, he was not bad-looking. The sides of his black hair were shaven, but the top was long. He tossed his head to the side and his hair flicked over his eyebrows, making something inside of her feel alive again, the way she used to feel before the funeral.
He stared at her, looking all tough in his dark jeans, with grease spots on his arms and a larger smudge across his cheek. It all matched perfectly with the five-o’clock shadow that had taken up residence on his jaw. He grinned at her like he suddenly got her. There was something else in his eyes. Something that made them look mischievous.
“What?” she demanded, straightening. “What are you smirking about?”
His face got all-innocent. “That was not a smirk.”
Her brother now cleared his throat—overly loud and snarky, as with all things Duke—and revved his motorcycle. “Really, I don’t have time for you to play suck face with the mechanic. Get on the bike; you’re already in a heap of trouble with Dad. It’s going to be in more when he hears you’re responsible for wrecking the side of the car.”
At the mention of her dad, she wanted to run, scream, slap somebody. The mention of sucking face with this guy didn’t help. How dare Duke taunt her? How dare he sit on that bike and act all bothered their father had obviously dispatched him for her? It wasn’t like his trust fund put a whole lot of pressure on Duke to be anywhere else. “Just shut up, Duke.”
Duke leaned forward on the bike and threw his hands into the air. “Seriously, get on the bike. It’s not that hard!”
Jaycee made a choice then. She didn’t have to think about it that long, after all—the therapist had told her she was broken, and she shouldn’t be surprised when she acted out. It was just part of dealing with everything. “Daddy can go to hell,” she said, and she sauntered over to the grease monkey tow truck guy with the hot glasses and the good hair flicked over the side of his head. He was probably about six feet tall, the same size as her brother.
She noted the tow truck guy had beautiful sky-blue eyes, the kind one might see in a movie.
He pointed back to the car. “So you’ll tell your father this was all your fault, right?”
“Right,” she said, and everything seemed to slow down around her. “My father won’t be surprised, you see, because I ruin everything. That’s what he tells me.” She felt a twinge of naughtiness as she got closer to him. She turned back and winked at Duke.
“Jaycee!” Duke shouted.
“Are you okay?” the tow truck guy asked.
Jaycee invaded his personal space. She wasn’t as tall as him, obviously, but she was in the five-foot-nine range. She could smell grease and sweat and something spicy, like a cologne he’d probably put on before getting straight to work this morning. “Do you like to have fun, tow truck guy?”
A dimple made an appearance in his left cheek. “Oh yeah.”
“Knock it off, Jaycee.” Duke’s voice was not as cordial nor as patient, and the longer she stood in front of the guy, the more impatient he got. He revved the engine louder. “Jaycee!”
Jaycee swung her arms over the tow truck guy’s shoulders and then fiercely stared into his eyes. The surprise she saw there felt like a warm pull as he wrapped his arms around her.
She flashed her brother a wicked smile, knowing that he would be even more pissed now. “Thanks for this,” she told the tow truck guy, and she pressed her lips against his.
A jolt of heat ripped through her. Not heat, fire! The flames felt like they were licking at her heels. She felt locked in place and time, like the whole world shifted. His fingers tugged at her hair and she lunged closer to him, his mouth suddenly a life force like cool, quenching water that renewed her.
“Stop!” Duke yelled.
Jaycee heard him cut the engine, and she saw him approaching in her peripheral vision. She couldn’t care less, because she was still lip-locked, mixing her lips with those of the tow truck guy in ways she’d never imagined.
Duke pushed them apart and frowned at Jaycee. “You know better than to do that.”
There was nothing but electric air between her and the tow truck guy. They stared at each other, and as if on cue, both erupted into laughter—not crazy this time, but embarrassed.
“You’ll pay for this, Summerville,” Duke growled.
The tow truck guy laughed harder. “I think it might
be worth it, Duke.”
Jaycee turned and gestured to the bike. “Let’s go.”
Duke fixed his eyes on the tow truck guy. “You shouldn’t have done that, Jaycee.”
“Well, I did.” Jaycee couldn’t forget the cool, fresh feeling that had rushed through her with the kiss, extinguishing all the burning in her feet. She got on the back of Duke’s bike, barely noticing as Duke took off.
The tow truck guy shook his head, a grin on his face. He waved.
She waved back, longing to kiss him again. “See ya around, tow truck guy.”
CHAPTER 3
“What the heck is this about you kissing Jaycee McCade?” his father asked a week later.
Shay tried to keep his focus on his work. He was lying underneath the beat-up old Chevy that had been brought in earlier; it needed a major oil change and a transmission flush and a hundred other things. For the past week, he’d only been able to think about that kiss. It was like something inside of her had reached inside of him, sifting through all the other stuff and uncovering the piece of his soul that was reserved for song writing and his innermost thoughts.
A stray thought wandered into his mind: in the summers, he used to go over to his grandmother’s old house, and she’d be putting up jam—strawberry, peach, and apricot. He closed his eyes and realized that Jaycee smelled like strawberry jam. He’d been trying to pin down that scent over the past week.
His obsession with the woman was ridiculous. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his brain. He’d worked on that red Mustang for a long time before finally handing it over to a team of guys who’d been able to expedite its repairs according to “the Senator’s” orders. Now he just needed to return it to its owner.
“She kissed me,” Shay said, sliding out from beneath the truck.
His father looked doubtful, but his lip tugged up. “I got two reports, one from the brother and one from her, which said it was her choice to kiss you and that the crash was her fault because she wouldn’t move out of the way.”
He scoffed. “At least she told the truth.”
“Though I wouldn’t have you just kissing girls you pick up.”
Shay nodded and stood, wiping his hands on the rag hooked to his pocket. “Right. Listen, I’m going to enlist in some summer classes. I have to get to the college.”
His father let out a surprised noise. “Really?”
“Yep.” Shay headed over to his old, beaten pickup, which he’d inherited from the ranch.
“’Bout time.”
After hopping into the truck, Shay rolled down the window so he wouldn’t suffocate.
“You’re taking the car out to the McCade place tomorrow morning at ten. The girl requested you drop it off.”
Shay started his car and pulled out, confused. He turned onto Main Street and sped toward the community college. The girl requested him? That kiss filled his mind again. He knew that, more than anything, she’d done it to tick her brother off. Yet he couldn’t dismiss the memory of a fruity smell so solid he could almost taste it.
Yes, he would take the car out to her tomorrow. While he was there, he’d make it clear that she couldn’t just use him as a pawn in a game with her brother.
WHEN SHAY ARRIVED at the McCade manor the next day, he was nervous. He walked slowly up to the front door, taking stock of his surroundings.
The manor was official-looking, with stark white-painted walls and black shutters. Flower boxes were perched below each window, rosebushes were lined up in front, and large trees framed the building. From the wraparound porch, Shay was treated to a striking view of the lake.
Shay couldn’t say he cared for any of it. He remembered working the summer charity parties every summer for his friend’s mother’s catering business all through high school, walking around in a tux and sweating his butt off. For hours, he’d dealt with boring music, tiki torches, and huge white tents. It’d just been a huge reminder of how the townsfolk were nothing to these kinds of people.
He lifted his hand to knock on the door, but he paused when he heard someone singing. The music was … good. The voice was clear. He tentatively followed the wraparound porch to the side of the house. A huge garage squatted in the back, and through the open door came the song.
“There aren’t words inside my soul to let you know.
The time has gone too fast, and I can’t even ask.
Why did you leave me?
Why did you leave me?”
The music was enchanting, drawing Shay in like some ancient siren. It was the kind of music that he wanted to play, too. He edged toward the garage, appreciating the melody of the accompanying guitar.
“The first time I kissed you, on the side of the road, the only thing that led me to you was that look in your eyes. The look that you knew me, the look that you didn’t care. The look of pain from something I could not know.”
He paused, finding himself vulnerable all of a sudden.
“It was fire when we touched, nearly all at your feet. It was fire when we touched, and I know that you felt it. You had to have felt it.”
Unable to stop himself, he walked into the garage.
Jaycee was sitting with her back to him. She was gorgeous, with her red hair cascading over her shoulders. On her head perched a band patterned with pretty pink flowers. As she strummed out the chords, he longed to take the guitar and add to the melody.
She continued playing.
His heart thumped. Dang, she was good.
She hummed for a moment, then sang, “It was fire when we touched, nearly all at your feet. It was fire when we touched, and I know you felt it. You have to have felt it.” She paused, letting the last chord hang in the air. “And I won’t forget it.”
If it was true what they said about first love, that you fell hard and fast … Well, he was already there, and that was as far as it would go. Love couldn’t be possible, not with this girl. He cleared his throat.
She spun to face him, surging to her feet and holding the guitar close. Accusation darkened her face. “How dare you walk in on me? How dare you?”
He found himself putting his hands up, surrendering. “Heeeey.” He jingled the keys in his palm. “Only here to give back the car.”
She glared at him, and the deep green of her eyes was a striking contrast against the dark red of her hair. “Get out of here.”
“You’re good,” he blurted, not knowing why he was taking the time for this. “Really good, and I know good.” It was stupid, but he wanted to grab her, pull her into him, and prove to her that he was sincere. He also had this vision of kissing her again, but … He turned on his heels and rushed out of the garage. “Fine. Who do I give the keys to, then? Your brother?”
“Wait.”
He kept walking, bee lining it for the house. “No, you told me to go.”
She jogged to catch up to him as he got to the wraparound porch. “I said to wait, tow truck boy.” She added and snatched the key from his hand.
“I do have a name, princess.”
She breezed past him, opening the side door. “Come in.”
He paused.
To his surprise, she took his hand and yanked him into the house. They passed a clean black-and-red staircase and stepped into a room decorated in white, punctuated with sprouting green plants that climbed the walls and opened up below large, open windows. “What do you think, Tow Truck Boy?” She leaned up and into him.
Before he could think better of it, his lips were again pressed against hers. The power between them couldn’t merely be described as gentle or loving or anything so trite. Their lips needed each other’s. There was a pull between them, like some magnet out of a sci-fi movie drew them together.
Shay put his hands on her hips. Her fingers combed through his hair, intensifying this driving need to get closer to her. The jam smell fogged his senses and he couldn’t clear his mind—at all.
“Jaycee.” A voice thundered down the hall into the room they were in.
The
impending voice was enough to separate them, even left time for Shay to wipe his face and wonder what crazy thing he’d gotten himself into.
A large man with tall, bushy grey hair walked in. Wearing a slimming grey suit, he looked like a professor about to give a lecture. He did have a smile on his face, until he saw Shay. Then his eyes turned narrow, distrusting. “Well, a Summerville boy. How nice.” His words dripped with distasteful snobbery.
Shay suddenly recognized the man’s face. “You’re the Senator.” He felt stupid, just putting the connection together.
“Yes, I am.” The man cocked an eyebrow.
Jaycee glared at her father. “Yes, right, sorry not to introduce you to the Senator.” She whipped her head back to Shay and said, “This my father. A father who just happened to helicopter in this morning and doesn’t want to talk about the mistress I met a couple weeks ago back in Boston when I went home to find a picture and instead found her.”
“Jaycee!” her father said. “You have no right to talk to me like that.”
Shay shuffled from one foot to the other, uncomfortable. He didn’t know if he should stay or not, but it would be really awkward to back out right then.
She threw a hand into the air. “What, Daddy? What? You thought you could keep it hidden from me forever?”
The edges of her father’s lips turned down. “No. In fact, I’m bringing her to the summer charity event in three weeks. I’m bringing Kurt for you, too. He will have some free time, and I thought you two could spend a couple of days together.”
Jaycee’s eyes widened, and Shay thought she would strike her father with a bolt of lightning if she could. “I hate Kurt!”
Shay took a step back. “Excuse me …”
Jaycee glanced at him. “You think you’re going somewhere?”
“I was just here to give you the key to the car.” He wasn’t sure why he was caught in the middle of all of this.
The crease between her father’s eyes deepened. “Then where is it?”
Feeling put on the spot, he pointed to Jaycee. “I gave it to her.”
His father gave a wave of dismissal, dismissing him like he was a peasant. “Then go.”
