“Coast is clear,” B said, still on the other side of the couch.
The concrete bit into my palms as I pushed up to stand. “I changed my mind. This is a terrible idea.” I didn't look up, focused on dusting the debris from my palms down my dress. “I'll go.” Maneuvering around him, I took two steps before his hand wrapped around my wrist, tugging me to a halt.
“What?”
“This isn't a good idea. What happens when someone finds out, or when you remember everything? What happens when I can't do this?” I motioned between us with both hands and tossed them in the air, his tight grip releasing. “You don't know how it ended, B, and maybe that's a good thing. Even though I want to know why you did it, is it worth the repercussions?”
“No.”
“What?”
“You're in this. I can handle whatever happens from here. I have to know. And as for you, I can't keep you from hating me or loving me, but I can give you the reassurance that my track record has been shit with women. Most end up hating me in the end. I'm an arrogant asshole.”
“Good to know some things haven't changed,” I said with a laugh. “But you can't kiss me like that again, no matter how bad you want to.”
“Oh that.” He shoved both hands into his pockets and turned toward the main house. “That was for you. Thought you'd like to know what you're missing out on.”
“Arrogant bastard. You liked it too.” Not wanting him to have the last dig, I stormed after him. “Admit it.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged without turning to face me, but from that angle, I still saw his cocky-ass smirk. “But I wasn't the one moaning like a porn star.”
Anger like I hadn't felt in years surged forth. Gripping his shoulder, I yanked him to a stop. His smirk faltered as I jumped, wrapping my thighs around his trim waist and hooking my arms around his neck.
A low growl rumbled from his chest, vibrating against the apex of my thighs.
“Now who's moaning?” I whispered against his lips. “One thing you'll want to remember about me, I don't back down.”
“Well, Beks, that’ll be a problem because neither do I.”
“And I get the last word.”
“Not always.”
“This will get interesting, then.”
“What point are you trying to prove right now? From my perspective, you couldn't keep your hands off me, so you just attacked a man trying to walk away as you asked him to.”
“That you want me too. This isn't a one-way street.”
“Trying to prove it to me or you?” Slowly he lowered my feet to the ground. “Make up your mind. You want me to want you or not?”
Embarrassed because he was right, I shoved his chest and turned. Hell, I was the idiot female who couldn’t fucking think straight when he was around. “I have to run home tomorrow to get some clothes for the week. All I have is this dress.” For emphasis, I gripped the hem and pulled it out wide. His gaze zeroed in on the bit of upper thigh showing.
“Just buy new ones.”
“Wow, you're... oblivious. Arrogant, oblivious, and cocky as hell. Can't wait to see what else has changed with you. I live forty minutes east. I'll be back by lunch, and then we can start whatever we're doing.”
“I need clothes too. Wasn't planning on sticking around, so all I have is this suit.” He spread his arms and gestured down his body. “And whatever is in the house from years ago. I'll come with you, and we can stop somewhere for me.”
“Fine. Meet me at the truck at six. But remember, don't let—”
“Anyone see me. Yeah, I get it. Wish I could remember why you're this neurotic about no one finding out.”
I paused my retreat and kept my back to him as I said, “Wish I couldn't.”
Chapter 6
Rebeka
WITH EACH STEP, BRADLEY's old mesh shorts sank lower on my hips, forcing me to hitch them up to keep them from falling to the dirt and exposing my bare ass. With the soft material fisted in my grasp, I shuffled toward the truck, my attention on the mild morning sun peeking over the horizon and shining a glow across the flat land.
When I woke up at five, Bradley was already out starting chores, and Daddy was sound asleep in the recliner where he'd passed out the night before.
Most people were anti-mornings, but not me. The fresh air and coolish temperatures set the tone for the day. Plus, mornings offered that first glorious sip of steaming coffee. Most nights I'd fall asleep with visions of that first sip in my dreams.
But last night, my thoughts were not of coffee. I tossed and turned from varying dreams with Brenton as the star. Some were good, X-rated good, but others were quite terrible. The terrible ones had him leaving the moment he remembered why he’d forced us apart thirteen years ago and proceeded to recount, in heartrending detail, why he decided to walk away.
“Whose clothes are those?”
I jerked my head in the direction of Brenton's voice. He leaned against the other side of the truck, glaring with narrowed eyes. Was that jealousy in his tone?
“Not mine.” I knew I shouldn't egg him on, but where was the fun in that? “Problem?”
Annoyance flashed behind his green eyes, making them sparkle in the morning sun. If I didn't hate him, I'd swoon at the sight. But I did hate him. Yep. Hate. That was the warm tingling feeling simply hearing his voice invoked.
“No problem besides it's fifteen after and already fucking hot out here. I don't like waiting. Be on time when you suggest meeting up.”
“Wow, someone's grouchy this morning.” I gave him a wide smile and pulled open the driver door. “And hate to tell you, but the heat part is about to get worse before it gets better.”
Brenton slid into the passenger side and slammed the door shut behind him. “Oh, and why's that?”
After situating my sunglasses, I shifted in the seat to tell him about the broken air conditioning, then cursed under my breath and looked back out the windshield to avert my eyes from his bare arms. “Nope. Out. Get out of my truck. Right now. Out.”
“What the hell is your problem?” He tossed his hands into the air in exasperation but didn't make a move out the door.
“Nope. Out. We can't do this. Not with those.” I gestured at his elaborately tattooed arms. “I can't.” Shit, this was not happening.
Gorgeous. Military. Tattoos.
Did any woman have enough willpower to withstand that combo?
“What’s your problem?”
Banging my forehead against the hard steering wheel, I kept my eyes sealed shut. “Can you put long sleeves on or something? A parka maybe?”
When I didn't get a response, I rolled my forehead along the hard plastic to sneak a peek at the sexiest man alive. His green eyes locked with mine after my long perusal up each arm, a cocky smirk pushing a faint dimple in his left cheek.
Shit. Dimples too.
Hell.
I might as well strip right here.
“Have a thing for tattoos, do you?”
After clearing my throat, I took a deep breath and twisted the key in the ignition. Keeping my eyes out the windshield and hands at ten and two, I started us down the drive. “Nope. They're quite offensive actually, so I'd appreciate it if you don't show them again. Ever.”
“Right.”
We didn't make it halfway down the long gravel drive before he was fiddling with the AC controls and adjusting the vents. Without making it visible, I cut my gaze back to his arms, watching the way his biceps flexed and moved beneath the ink. The pictures were elaborate and detailed with black and blue shading.
“Shit,” he blurted and grabbed the door handle.
Oh hell. “Sorry,” I yelled and focused on not overcorrecting the truck into the fence. “Guess I'm not awake yet.”
Yep, that was it.
“What's wrong with your damn air conditioning?”
I tucked a rogue brown curl behind my ear with a grimace. “Uh, yeah that. It's broken.”
“You're fucking with me.”
&nbs
p; “Unfortunately no.”
“And what’s that damn smell?”
“Cow shit, probably remnants of some animal placenta and...” I took an exaggerated whiff. “Old tacos mixed with Sea Breeze air freshener. Which is failing terribly at its one job.”
While mumbling a stream of colorful curse words, he rolled down the window. “And I thought a helicopter filled with soldiers after a ten-day assignment was bad.”
“Told you I always win.”
“Is this something you want to win?”
“Winning is winning.”
“How long has your AC been out?”
Right. The last thing I wanted was Brenton Graves to know how broke I was. “Not long.”
“You just fucking lied to me.”
Sweat beaded along my palms at the intensity in his statement. “What?”
“How long, Beks?”
“You can wait in the truck while I grab my stuff. Then we can run by Cavender’s. Out this way, no one knows about our past drama, so we’re okay going in together.”
“Answer my question. Now. And don't lie to me again or I'll whip your ass.”
On their own, my thighs clenched together in an attempt to relieve the rising throb his threat caused. “Last summer.”
When he didn't respond, I glanced his direction. His attention was focused out the windshield, staring at the blank landscape as he white-knuckled the door handle.
“It's fine. Better for the environment.” I shot him a wide smile, which he didn't notice. “Sorry, I'm sure you're not used to being uncomfortable. So fancy.”
Still no response.
Whatever. One-handed, I popped the Stevie Nicks tape in and turned up the sound. Halfway through the first song, me singing along word for word, Brenton broke his random pouting session.
“What the hell is this music?”
“Um, Stevie Nicks,” I said defensively.
“Who?”
“Stevie Nicks, lead singer of Fleetwood Mac who also went on to have an amazing solo career. You know, Stevie Nicks.”
“She sounds like a dying cat.”
“You sound like a dying cat.”
“What?” he said through a loud chuckle.
Ignoring his comment, I twisted the volume knob to the right and went right back to singing along with the fantastic rock star.
An inner self-conscious piece cringed as I pulled into the parking spot in front of my building number and cut the engine. It wasn't the most beautiful place, a little old and run down, but it was cheap and safe. I’d never cared about the looks until that moment with him sitting beside me. Judging.
“I'd love a shower, and I need to pack. Do you mind waiting that long?”
I shoved his shoulder to gain his attention. Those green eyes cut over with annoyance behind them.
“There's a Starbucks up the road. Take the truck and meet me back here in an hour.”
Not waiting for an answer, I tossed the keys in his lap and shoved open the door.
HE WAS DEAD.
I didn't give a shit how pretty he was or how much money he had, Brenton Graves was a dead man.
Two fucking hours—gone.
After pacing the sidewalk in the blazing hot sun for twenty minutes, effectively negating the shower I'd taken, I’d stormed back upstairs to wait in my somewhat less hot apartment. I peered through the thin metal blinds like a crazy neighbor, staring at the parking lot. What was worse, I was the idiot who never asked for his number, so I had zero way to get ahold of him.
For the hundredth time in the past thirty seconds, I spread open two of the blinds and peeked out.
“What the hell?” I muttered, leaping from my perch by the window. Overnight bag in hand, I stormed down the metal stairs, making a beeline for the smiling Brenton.
“Where in the hell have you been?” I seethed, dropping the bag at his feet, which his amused eyes tracked, to cross my arms over my chest. “You've been gone for over two hours. Did you get the shits or something?”
Behind his sunglasses, both dark brows shot up in surprise. “The shits? No. I skipped coffee to fix the truck’s AC problem.”
My hands fell to my sides and I sighed, now more frustrated with myself at jumping to conclusions. “You didn't have to do that, B. I was going to get it fixed when I had a chance. I've just been working a ton and need my truck so—”
He rested his callused hands on my shoulders. “Say thank you, Beks. I had the time.”
Unable to resist, I matched his smile with one of my own. “Thank you. Really, thank you.” Shifting my attention around the parking lot, I searched for my vehicle. “Now let's go get you some clothes. Where’s the truck?”
“Behind me.”
Eyes wide, I gaped at the brand-new F250 he leaned back on. “What. The fuck. Is that?”
“I didn't say how I fixed the air issue. Now remember, you said thank you.”
“B, this is....”
“Amazing? Perfect?”
“The most arrogant gift. Ever.”
He shrugged, hit a button on the key fob that started the engine, and tossed the keys into the air. Still staring at the beautiful vehicle in front of me, I snatched them before they hit the ground.
“You drive,” he stated, grabbing the bag at his feet before walking to the passenger side.
My fingers brushed along the bright red paint as I inched toward the driver door. It was precisely the color I would've chosen out of all the options. Through the window, I smiled at the staring Brenton, rewarded with a broad smile of his own.
I shouldn't accept it. It was too much. Who gave someone a truck?
Brenton fucking Graves, that was who.
The heavy door swung open with ease. Giggling, I lifted myself inside and settled into the cold seat. My eyes shuttered closed at the air wafting against my ass and back while near-arctic air blasted my face.
“This is heaven,” I mused, rubbing a hand over the soft leather steering wheel. “It's too much. I shouldn't accept it.” Rolling the back of my head against the leather headrest, I slowly opened my eyes to meet his. “But I really, really want to.”
“Then do. Consider it payment for helping me. And it was a bit selfish too. I was fucking hot.”
“Fancy pants,” I joked with a wink.
“I've been in rougher conditions in Afghanistan, but here, stateside, if I can help not being balls hot, I'll do whatever I can to be comfortable.”
“Yeah, I needed to shower earlier. I had total sweaty ass from the hot drive out here.”
“You’re telling me you had swamp ass.”
“Yeah, I guess, if that’s the technical term.”
“Wow, the shit you say, woman,” he grumbled and looked out the window, almost like he was trying to hide his chuckle. “Come on, let's go get my clothes now.”
“Where did you get those?” I asked as I carefully backed out using the backup camera. Damn. Maybe with this I could parallel park.
“Found them in my closet. Guess I've gained some weight since the last time I was out at the ranch. These things are damn tight.”
“You don't hear me complaining,” I mumbled to the window.
At a stoplight, I fiddled with the stereo, programming my favorite stations.
“Do you have the awful dying cat singer albums on your phone?” I nodded while shooting him the evil eye, which made him chuckle. “I couldn't salvage your tape, but this truck has Bluetooth, so you can stream the songs directly from your phone.”
That time I nodded with a wide grin instead of the death glare.
“You haven't stopped smiling,” he said, drawing my attention to the fact.
“It's the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. How could I not smile like an idiot?”
“Surprised previous boyfriends hadn't done it. That truck wasn't safe.”
“First of all, no comment on the boyfriend part. Second, not everyone has enough cash sitting around to buy a truck for a friend.”
“Frie
nd,” he mused with a lingering look at my chest.
“Eyes up here, B. And it's how we started originally.” I shrugged and gripped the wheel tighter as the memories roared back to life.
His smile fell. “Did I never... was I good to you?”
I waited for a block or two to carefully choose my response. “We were kids, Brenton. But yeah, when you were sober, you were great.”
“And when I wasn't?”
“You were gone. The Brenton I loved was hidden, stuffed inside this blank stare. You were never bad to me, but those times when you were high, it slayed me.”
Silence fell as I backed into a parking spot. Leaving the truck running, I swiveled in the seat to reach across the large console and grabbed his forearm. His despondent stare shifted from the side window to where our skin connected.
“What happened? Tell me. I deserve to know.”
My smile fell. “You're the one who forgot. You don't deserve shit.”
Frustrated at the mix of emotions all this remembering conjured up, I stormed out of the truck and marched to the store door only to see the closed sign through the glass. I cursed at my watch. Another thirty minutes until they opened.
Turning to tell Brenton, I kept turning, not finding him directly behind me. I looked back to the truck and saw him still sitting in the passenger seat. When our eyes met, he smiled and gave an exaggerated point to his watch.
Bastard.
Defeated, I shuffled back to the truck and slid into my seat.
“How was your walk?”
“You're an asshole, you know that? How in the hell did I put up with you as long as I did?”
“Good point. How long was that again?”
I sighed and leaned the seat back to get comfortable. “Hell, two years? Three maybe.” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him staring.
“How old are you?”
I popped up and reached for the push start button. “You hungry? Whataburger is—”
He swatted my hand away and gripped my chin, making me face him. “Beks. Answer me.”
“Or?” I said breathlessly.
Memories of Us: A Second Chance, Amnesia Romance Novel Page 5
