by Scott, S. L.
So, what just happened?
I know. Grinning as I recall how one minute, I was finishing my beer to the sound of spinning keys around my best friend’s finger, and the next, chanting was filling my ears. “Shot. Shot. Shot.”
I saw him first, an asshole ready to take advantage of an opportunity. The opportunity—a certain blonde in a loose white shirt, wide open between the top two buttons. Cutoffs reveal a lot of leg—shapely tan thighs—and a brown leather belt hangs around her waist more for decoration than for a purpose. Her sandals, only noticeable if you’re looking for them, don’t add any height. Bracelets of silver and gold with touches of turquoise covered her wrists, and the bar’s raggedy shot hat had just been placed on her head. Clearly, I spent more than a few seconds taking her in without regret.
She was a vision in any state—from New York to California, drunk or sober—but it wasn’t her outfit that had me acting on instinct and running into others to get to her. It was the asshole bragging about fucking her before she realized what hit her. Sure, I could have snapped back that no one would even know he was fucking her since he has a minuscule dick. But the hard lines of his face and the anger found in his dark eyes had me believing he meant what he said, not in jest or as a threat, but as a mission he intended to complete.
I should have punched him in the fucking face, but I didn’t have time. I dashed the second my attention was grabbed by the sound of a squeal, the sight of arms in the air, and the pretty woman flying toward the floor.
Because I’m good with my hands, I’ve caught everything from the attention of college football scouts to a swordfish on vacation. I’ve also been called a golden boy my whole life growing up in the Golden State. But catching this girl right before she hit the floor might be my best catch yet.
She weighed nothing but made quite the impression. I flexed my fingers under her back to rid myself of some weird energy burning through me. God, I sound like my mom.
I swore I’d never believe in that New Age stuff. She did her best to preach it, but logic has to play a part in our outcomes. But there’s no logical answer as to why I’m still thinking about the woman I held for so long as if more was at play than two people colliding into each other’s lives without their permission.
The back of Harrison’s hand lands on my chest. “Nice save, but why’d you let her get away?”
“She’s free to do as she pleases.”
“What?” he asks, his brow careening between his eyes. “No, I mean, why didn’t you get her number? She was hot, and the way you held on to her was like you had no intention of letting her go. It was becoming awkward watching the two of you cling—”
“We weren’t clinging to each other. I was—”
Shaking his head, he says, “Save it, Nick. I don’t need to hear about you falling for some chick.”
“Technically, she was the one who fell.”
“Let’s not make this weird.” He nods toward the door. “Taylor put us on the list. We’ve got to go before the yacht leaves the dock.”
I follow him toward the door, but not without stopping by the asshole on my way out. “Today’s your lucky fucking day because if we ever cross paths or you go within thirty feet of that woman again, you’ll be flat on the ground before you know what hit you. Got it, fucker?”
He stands up but quickly realizes he has to look up to meet my eyes and sits back down. “Fuck off,” he grumbles through a wiry beard.
My arm is caught before I have a chance to land a hit. “He’s not worth it,” Harrison says.
He’s right.
This fucker also isn’t worth a night in jail.
As the asshole cowers on the barstool with his head lowered, flinching from a hit that won’t come, I lower my arm. “Lucky fucking day.”
The conversation slowly resumes as Harrison and I head for the exit. My friend laughs under his breath just outside the entrance. “What gives, Christiansen? We haven’t been in a fight in a long time.” Cracking his knuckles, he adds, “Don’t get me wrong. I’m up for it, but why are we fighting some guy twice our age in Catalina?”
“He needs a lesson in . . .” Blonde. Tan. Blue-eyed beauty.
“In what?” Harrison asks as he whacks me in the arm.
Ripping my gaze away from the blue-eyed beauty kneeling beside a scooter, I glance at Harrison. “Huh?”
When I return my attention to her again, I hear him grumble. “Ah. It’s all so clear now.”
I seize the moment. “This is a coincidence. Hi, again,” I say, raising a hand while my voice pitches like a thirteen-year-old hitting puberty. What the fuck? Clearing my throat, I mentally berate myself for sounding like an idiot.
Harrison and both of the women turn to look at me. The blonde stands up with a reassuring grin on her face and shoves her hands into her back pockets. “Hi again, yourself.”
I’m not the only one seizing the day. Harrison saunters up and asks her friend, “What seems to be the trouble?”
“Trouble with a capital T. Hi, I’m Tatum,” she says.
Harrison takes her hand. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Harrison.”
Although she appears to blush, she pulls her hand and then points at the tire. “We have a party to get to, but we have a flat, and the rental company won’t be here for an hour.”
“That’s quite the dilemma. Maybe we can help,” Harrison says.
It’s funny how he was in such a hurry not three minutes prior. He moves in to take a closer look. Harrison Decker was born with two trust funds and a gaggle of nannies. He didn’t exactly grow up knowing his way around mechanics. I can’t judge him too harshly since my background is similar, but I can still laugh at him because at least I know how to change a tire.
He leans back, glancing up at the brunette. She’s pretty but doesn’t hold a candle to the beauty beside me. Speaking of . . . I walk around the Vespa and lean down. Squeezing the tire, I listen. My eyes meet Harrison’s, who’s stepped off to the side with his new friend. His lack of loyalty isn’t a surprise when there’s a pretty woman around.
Her friend called her Natalie, but since we haven’t been introduced, I just say, “You have a slow leak.”
“Announce it to the world, why don’t ya.” She can’t keep a straight face and cracks up. “Sorry, I had to.”
I chuckle because of how much she makes herself laugh. She still waves it off. “Sorry, as you were saying.” Another giggle escapes, though.
“The company shouldn’t have put you on this scooter without checking it properly.”
I look to my side to find those blue eyes staring into mine. “So we’re stuck?” She grabs the tire, pumps it a few times like that might bring it back to life, and then drags her hand over a few treads. Leaning awkwardly on it, she adds, “Together?”
Is she flirting? It’s not the approach I’d take, but it’s curiously entertaining. “Afraid so.” We both stand back up.
“You don’t have to be afraid. I won’t bite.”
Something tells me she might by how her gaze darts down my body and back up again.
“I didn’t mean I was actually afraid.”
“I know. I was just teasing.” If I didn’t know she was drunk, I’d assume she was odd. She definitely has a quirky sense of humor. Maybe I do too because when she rubs her temple, she smears black grime along the side of her face, and I have to stop myself from laughing.
I reach forward, determined to help her out, but a spark fires in her eyes, and she says, “I knew we should have rented the golf cart. Tatum insisted on the Vespa, but I don’t trust anything with less than four wheels.”
“Wise.” That response brings her earlier smile to the surface. “I heard your friend call you—”
“The party,” her friend cuts in, wearing an expression scrunched with concern. “We’re not going to make the party if we don’t leave now.”
“We can stay—”
“That’s it!” Harrison snaps his fingers. “You can stay and help with th
e tire, and I can give Tatum a ride. Problem solved.”
“A ride? Yes, that’s great,” Tatum says without missing a beat, already heading for the scooter with him in tow. He pats my shoulder on the way, the message already received loud and clear. Guess I’m staying.
“You don’t mind, right?” Tatum asks as she slips on a helmet and swings her leg over the back of the Vespa. I’m about to answer, but the beauty next to me replies instead. “What about our girls’ trip?”
“It’s going swimmingly, don’t you think?” Tatum points at Harrison and silently mouths, “He’s so hot.” For Harrison’s ears, she adds, “We’re turning lemons into lemonade.”
The beauty next to me exhales and then frowns, her eyes reflecting her change in mood from the fun-loving girl I met inside. The sun shines in her eyes just before she rolls them. “Swell. All we need is vodka.”
“Thought you didn’t know much about alcohol?”
Rocking her hand back and forth, she laughs. “I’m no expert, but I’ve had a few lemon drops in my life.” Looking right at me, she asks, “Have you had one before?”
“No.”
“You should.” It’s as if she’s forgotten about her friend altogether. “They’re really good.”
“Maybe we can get one together.”
“Maybe.” Her grin is sure and quite stunning. But that grease . . . I should really tell her about the smudge on her face, but it’s sort of cute how unsuspecting she is of the mess.
Harrison backs out of the parking space and stops in front of me. “I’ll see you back in the room.”
“Yeah. Sure.” I’m not bothered he’s taking off with a chick. That’s how we’ve always operated, not giving each other a hard time over a hookup.
Just as he pulls to the edge of the parking lot, Tatum motions to her friend’s temple area, but then says, “I promise to make it up to you back in the city.”
When they blend into traffic and travel around the corner, we’re left in their dust. I’m more interested in the blonde next to me. She stares down the street with her hand as a sun visor and then shifts to the curb, sitting down on it. She laughs at some inside joke, then turns to me. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”
I sit down next to her. “There are worse people to be stuck with, I suppose,” I reply, gently nudging her like we’re old friends.
“You sure about that?” Her smile breaks through the disappointed façade she briefly tried on for size, the other one never quite fitting her natural disposition. Nor her drunk one. “For all you know, I could be a nightmare to deal with.”
“I’m fairly certain I’ll be okay. You’re not a serial killer, are you?”
Offense colors her expression but is whisked away just as quickly. “Me?” Her fingers swirl near my nose. “I’m not the one with that boy-next-door face.”
Capturing one of her fingers, I hold it hostage and grin at her. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”
“Handsome guys are always so cocky, too.”
“All I heard was handsome.”
I’m granted another front-row seat to an eye roll, this one more dramatic and aimed at me. “Of course, you did.” Her eyes lock on something lower. “That Omega watch was probably stolen from a victim. If it’s real . . .”
“Let me get this straight. Your serial killer radar is going off because I’m wearing a real Omega watch? I’m no expert in detection, but I’m pretty sure that’s not a reliable method.” I reluctantly release her finger, but I hold onto the fact that she never once tried to pull away.
“Money is always a dead giveaway for lady killers.”
“I thought we were talking about serial killers.”
“Lady-killers. Serial killers. Tomato. Tamahto.” She nods. “It’s all the same thing.”
I chuckle. “I’m still curious about money being a giveaway. Care to expound on that train of thought?”
“Money makes people mean.”
“Do you know this firsthand or something you’ve surmised?”
“A little of both. Anyway, what other method would you suggest I figure out who the bad guys are? I can’t ask because what serial killer would ever admit they’re a serial killer?” The way she angles her head to the side as if I’m going to give her a meaningful response to this insanity causes me to sweat under the collar. Just a little. I’d hate to disappoint her.
“Serial killer conversation aside,” I start, holding my hand out. “I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Nick.”
She slips her hand against mine, and our fingers wrap around each other. Ah, there’s the gorgeous smile from before. “Hi, Nick. I’m Natalie.”
3
Natalie
I didn’t know sex was possible through a handshake, but I might need a cigarette after this one. And I don’t smoke.
Until that moment, I was content calling him Mr. Smug and Sexy. But temptation has a name, and it couldn’t be more perfect. Nick.
Nicholas.
Nicolai.
Dominick.
Although now I’m curious about the nickname, I exhale before glancing into those brown and golden-tinged eyes that made me feel safe inside the bar. I’d like to say he was better looking in the cover of the dimly lit bar, but nope. He’s still ridiculously attractive in broad daylight, if not more so.
Pulling my gaze away, I ask, “So now that we have that out of the way, are you a serial killer or what?”
He bursts out laughing, rocking back on the curb and sadly causing our hands to fall from each other. I fidget awkwardly with my belt, not knowing what to do with my hand in his hand’s absence. Continuing to chuckle, he says, “I’m not. What about you? Kill anyone, Natalie?”
“I have the perfect alibis regarding a few exes, but I never followed through.” I wink.
When his chuckles wane, he says, “I’m not sure if you’re kidding or not.”
“Guess you’ll have to take a chance.” I rest my palms on the concrete behind me. “Between us, my best friend just topped my list of future victims.” Suddenly feeling the need to stand, I pace a few feet and then return to him and prop my foot up on the curb. “You don’t have to worry about me, Nick. In fact, I can wait for the rental company to show up all by my lonesome if you want to take off.” I check the time on my watch and scowl, irritated when I see I still have some steps to cover to reach my daily goal.
"What’s wrong?” he asks, standing up.
He’s tall. I noticed that inside, but with him up on the curb and me standing lower on the parking lot, he’s absurdly giant. Even my brother would be jealous of Nick’s height, and my brother is no slouch. I reply, “It’s dumb.”
Seeing fingers flex reminds me I’ve caught what appears to be Nick trying to touch me several times. I would have karate-chopped his wrist, but I laugh, knowing that’s a lie I can’t even tell myself. I was forced out of his arms inside, so I’d wholeheartedly welcome a repeat.
Or maybe . . . Could I pull off a legit fall when standing on steady ground? Is it worth the potential injury if he doesn’t catch me this time? Or even worse, thinks I’m a lost cause of a klutz? Will it matter what I think about him catching me if his lips are on mine? Or even better, he kisses me so good that I can’t think at all?
Even though he’s great with his hands, I blow off the crazy idea.
“Natalie?”
“Yes?” I look up into his persuasive eyes, wondering if I should put my devious plan into action. I bet his lips would make the fall worth the embarrassment.
When he continues to look at me as though he’s in on some secret, which he isn’t, or there’s no way he would still be standing here knowing I’ve been daydreaming about mauling him and that mouth of his, I add, “Seriously, if you take off now you might make the party before they depart.”
“I don’t mind waiting.”
Shrugging, I add, “It’s your night.”
“Nah. I’m not missing out. Actually . . .” He steps down next to me. “I think I got the
better option for the night.”
“Beats end of the stick. Also, if memory serves, you weren’t given an option but rather a babysitting job.”
His laughter bellows from his gut. “I could say so much, but . . .” He reaches toward me again—just enough to notice but not close enough to touch. Then he retreats with worry creasing his expression. “You’ve got—”
“Stars in my eyes? They always shine like this when I drink. Speaking of, we can wait inside and have another drink.”
Glancing over his shoulder when a couple of guys come tripping out—boisterous and crude—I remember hearing them remarking on the size of the waitress’s breasts. “They’re horrid.”
Nick turns, blocking me in his shadow. I can’t see the other men, but I can hear them. My stomach tightens, but I find safety in the fact they can’t see me either. “I can think of a better word.” He doesn’t share that word, but I get the gist.
This time, I let his hand caress my cheek, the pad of his thumb rubbing my temple. The little gesture doesn’t seem to satisfy him, but it does me, and I move closer. He asks, “How are you feeling?” His voice is as warm as his touch.
On the verge of sobering up entirely too soon for my liking, I wouldn’t mind having an excuse to touch him right back. Alas, even under the influence of a few drinks, I remember my manners. “I shouldn’t have drunk so much.”
“Shots taken under peer pressure never end well.”
The other men have carried on to the next bar, and Nick and I are alone again. Considering how busy this place is, I’m starting to feel lucky I’ve been given the time to sober up. The last thing I want to do is throw up in front of him.
Nick—catcher of drunk women, flat-tire determiner with all-around movie star good looks. Among everything I’ve already learned about him, I can’t help but note his looks. What can I say besides he’s hot?
When I was in his arms, I was fairly certain he was the devil sent to make me sin. Now I’m starting to think he’s my guardian angel to keep me safe. I might be a little disappointed. Giggling, I add, “Truer words have never been spoken. I’m tipsy and hungry.”
