The Blind Date

by Alice Ward

  Now that we both had it out of our system, maybe we could move forward and be professional. We could—

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  I’d know Brody’s voice anywhere. I sat up as if launched from a cannon, thankful for the parachute’s protection. Locke reacted immediately, stuffing his cock in his running shorts. In the darkness under the pier, I blinked as I stared in horror at my brother, the sunlight at his back.

  I couldn’t see his face, but I knew what would be there. Disgust.

  Shit. Where had he come from? I hadn’t even heard him approach. By the time it fully hit me what was happening, he was storming forward, rage on his face.

  Holy. Shit.

  I jumped up to standing, adjusting my bra top over my breasts, realizing too late it was out of place. Locke shot up too, so fast that he banged his head on the bottom of the pier. “Shit,” he growled, grabbing his injured head as he tried to shield me from my brother.

  He didn’t need to worry about me. I wasn’t worried about Brody hurting me. I’d dealt with enough fistfights with Brody to know that he had a lame uppercut and usually left his right side open. Plus, even though he was now the bionic man, I doubted he was comfortable enough with his new arm to use it in battle.

  But I saw where his wrath was pointed, and it nearly froze me in my tracks. My brother lunged forward, swinging at Locke with his good arm, who ducked easily, still clutching a now bleeding cut. He put up a forearm to block any further assault.

  “Wait,” he said calmly, though the word was edged with tension. “Just wait.”

  I stepped between them. “Brody! Come on!”

  But I’d never seen Brody so enraged. He hadn’t yet gotten the hang of his bionic arm, so he held it rigid at his side, but the rest of him was raring to rip Locke’s head off. It was almost like everything he’d felt from his injury had just been bottled inside him, ready to be unleashed. His face was red, and his fist clenched, ready to pound his frustration out. He was looking at him, but his words were for me. “So, the new Emma isn’t just a bitch… she’s a slut too, huh?”

  The words were like an arrow right into my chest. I opened my mouth to defend myself, but I couldn’t. I knew this was wrong. I knew what people would think, and yet I did it anyway.

  He sucked on his teeth. “Drives like a girl? Bullshit. You just fuck your way to the top like one, don’t you?”

  Locke placed his hands on my shoulders, pulling me away from my brother, but I yanked away, unwilling to walk away from a fight. “Shut—”

  Brody just sneered. “So this is what you’ve been doing while you were working out?” He let out a bitter laugh. “I’ve been getting together and training a serious pit crew, and you’ve been fucking. Just perfect. Glad to see you’re taking this so seriously.”

  I shook my head fiercely, but words failed me.

  “It’s not like that,” Locke said. The gash on his forehead was now bleeding a trail down to his chin.

  “It ain’t?” Now he turned on Locke, a bitter tinge in his voice. “Oh. So tell me, Mr. Billionaire Playboy. Tell me your intentions for my sister are honorable. I’d love to hear it. Tell me she isn’t just a hot piece of ass you’ve been wanting to fuck from the second you laid eyes on her. Because I saw it. I saw the way you looked at her at the resort meeting, like you wanted to have her for dinner. But I thought my sister had enough sense to stay away.”

  I looked at Locke, but he was just glaring at my brother. So, he wasn’t going to deny it? He wasn’t going to tell him his intentions toward me? Maybe because he had none. Maybe because that’s all this was… fulfilling a deep need. Fucking.

  The second that hit me, I felt dirtier than ever.

  “You took my fucking dream,” he said, kicking the sand with his toe. “You took my fucking dream, and then you went and shit all over it. I hope you’re happy. You don’t deserve to win a race like this.”

  It was too much. I had to get away. I ducked out from the pier, and that was when I saw that Brody’s ranting had drawn a crowd. Not a large one, only about half a dozen people so far, but now there were more coming down the beach. People had their cell phones out and were recording. Whispering. Watching us like some freaking soap opera. Someone said, “Isn’t that Emma James, the new race car driver?”

  Shit. I always thought I’d love to be famous, to be recognized on the streets.

  But not for this. Hell, definitely not for this.

  And I didn’t think I could possibly feel any worse.

  “Stop it,” Locke said, stepping between me and my brother. “It wasn’t like that. I—”

  I couldn’t take anymore and turned on my heel. I refused to run, but I didn’t walk slow. Brody was right behind me, going on and on about what a slut I was, fucking the boss. Meanwhile, cameras were recording, and he just kept going on.

  Shut up, Brody, I tried to mentally transmit to him as I marched up the beach, though I knew Brody. Once he got started, few things shut him up.

  “That’s enough,” Locke yelled at my brother, and I glanced back to see the rage on his face. On both of their faces. Because of me.

  “Where are you going?” Brody continued, ignoring Locke. “Aren’t you going to go fuck your lover boy Locke Cage in public some more? Now people have their cameras out, and I know from this morning how you like to perform for the cameras,” he heckled. “Why don’t you blow him, right here?”

  I whirled on him, shoving him hard on the chest. “Cut it out, Brody!” I exploded, pushing him as hard as I could. Beside him, Locke stepped forward, but I refused to let him or anyone fight my battles. I shoved Brody again.

  He staggered backward, but then stood there and raised his good arm over his head. “Can’t take the heat?” he shouted as I started to stomp away, hurrying onto the pavement. “You shouldn’t be on the oval.”

  I whirled again. “I’m sick of you! Quit crying over what you don’t have and accept it. I’m sick of living with guilt over you. Yes, I wanted to race, but I never wanted you to be hurt. Never! I’m sick of you acting like I don’t deserve to be behind that wheel.”

  “You don’t,” he snarled, shaking his head. “It’s a week before your first race, and you’re already fucking the boss. Treating this like some fucking joke.”

  I lunged at him, and he blocked me with the bionic arm, then started to throw a punch of his own. I blocked it by pulling at his t-shirt, ripping it down the side. I elbowed him in the chin in the process, then scratched a bloody fingernail-path down his shoulder as he got me into a headlock.

  This wasn’t unusual for us. Back home in Wintersburg, we’d sometimes get in brawls so bad we’d both end up with busted lips. I didn’t think Brody would ever hit a girl, but as his sister, I didn’t qualify. But this time was different. Before, our fights were good-natured sparring. Fun. But now, I’d never wanted to hurt him so much. I didn’t think I’d ever felt so out of control. I was nearly frothing at the mouth, I was so rabid with anger.

  I wanted him dead. And from the look in his eyes, he wanted the same for me.

  But Locke stepped in and pried us apart before my brother could throw his knockout punch. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said calmly. He tried to put a hand over my closed fist, but I yanked it away.

  His calmness only fed my rage. “What the fuck are you doing?” I screamed at Locke, clawing so I could get back to my target. “I can fight my own fights! Let me at him!”

  He didn’t move. He planted himself between us, a barrier I couldn’t get through. I jumped, scratched, pushed madly, trying to get past him, but Locke Cage was a wall. It wasn’t possible for me to overcome him with my one hundred and eleven pounds.

  When it was clear I wasn’t getting through, I had to settle for watching Brody stomp away, giving me the finger with his good hand as he walked.

  “Fuck him!” I shouted at Locke. “Fuck him! I’m telling you right now! He’s not going anywhere near the speedway next week! I’d rather have a fucking Sanderson as my crew
chief! Do you hear me?”

  Locke just looked at me like I was insane. He had no idea who the Sandersons were, but at that moment, I didn’t care. My fists were still clenched, wanting to punch something. But there was nothing around to punch. So I tilted my head back and screamed into the air like a madwoman, so out of control and crazy that I thought I was going to die.

  The cameras recorded it all. People leaned over and whispered to one another, and they all seemed to be wearing smiles that said, Whoa, she’s going to regret this later.

  Too late.

  Even as I raged, the regret began to seep in. My hair was wild, my body covered in sand, my clothes askew, and Locke had blood all over his tech shirt. We looked like we’d been through a war. And hell, I felt like it too. I looked at him, and he didn’t say a word. He just looked sad. Like we’d gone and fucked everything up.

  And we had.

  Shit, we really had.

  This was supposed to be the thing that changed my career, that changed my entire life. It was supposed to make me a NASCAR star. I’d been so focused on that for so long that nothing else had mattered. But ever since I laid eyes on Locke, things had veered in a very different direction. They’d gone totally off course. These past few weeks had been nothing but one big, long fuck-up.

  Because from the moment we’d seen each other in the resort, we’d wanted each other, and the passion we’d ignited wouldn’t be quenched until we’d done what we’d done. It had felt inevitable.

  Now, though, it felt incredibly stupid. Because following that passion had tainted the very thing I’d dreamed of all my life.

  Maybe Brody was right. Maybe I didn’t deserve to be there.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Locke

  Walking on a minefield.

  That was what the following days felt like.

  I dropped her off at her apartment after the fiasco on the beach, and I didn’t see her for days afterward. It made sense to lie low, hope that whatever ripples we’d caused would eventually smooth themselves out.

  But the damage was done.

  The following afternoon, I’d just gotten back into the office after a jaunt around the parkour course I’d built out in the back of headquarters when Laura saw me passing by her office and snapped her fingers at me.

  I walked in, wiping my sweaty brow with the bottom of my tech shirt for lack of a towel. “What?”

  She was on the phone with a client, using her professional voice. She cradled the receiver against her shoulder and pushed her cell phone across to me, a look on her face that said, what the hell did you do now, big brother?

  The second I stared at the screen, I knew I was in trouble.

  A woman from Channel 6 News was talking next to a video screen that had a picture of a crashed race car and the words, Off Track?

  I unmuted it mid-story as the anchor continued, “… the beach erupted into chaos as young Emma James, who recently signed to drive for UnCaged Fitness, got into a bloody brawl with her brother, former race car driver Brody James.”

  I rubbed away the heat creeping up the back of my neck. Bloody? The only blood was the gash I’d gotten on my head when I’d smacked it on the bottom of the pier.

  “Also there was Locke Cage, owner of UnCaged Fitness. Witnesses said that the fight may have been incited by an alleged romantic relationship between Cage and his new acquisition.”

  Holy shit.

  “So what, brother?” Laura said as she hung up the phone, her eyes sweeping over the bandage on my forehead. It had bled like a mother, but it was small and barely noticeable now. “Did you seriously get laid out by a one-armed man?”

  I peeled off the bandage, noted that the pad was dry of blood, and tossed it in the trash. “No.”

  She stared at me expectantly, wanting to hear the rest of the story. “Well?”

  I’d thought about it a lot last night, and in the end, decided on the best course of action for Emma and for me — deny, deny, deny, until the bitter end.

  “What do you want me to say? It’s bullshit,” I said as the camera cut to wobbly footage of the beach outside the training center. The video was of Emma storming up the beach, Brody on her heels. In the background, me. I stared as it paused mid-frame, focused on Emma, her eyes wild and her face twisted in disgust.

  It wasn’t flattering. The only saving grace was that there was no earlier footage of Emma and I fucking like rabbits under the pier. Anyone could have seen that. What a fucking chance we’d taken.

  I shrugged. “So?”

  “So? First, this public outburst violates her contract in so many ways, I don’t even want to think about it,” she said, shaking her head in horror at the face on her phone’s screen. “Secondly, is what the brother said true? Are you in a romantic relationship with—”

  “Of course not.” I rationalized the lie by convincing myself that sex, once, did not equal a romantic relationship.

  Her eyes narrowed. She didn’t believe me. “Then why does Brody James think so?” she asked, pointing at my forehead. “And how did you get that? Geez, brother, you look like hell. Like you’ve been through a war.”

  “Look. I’ll admit that Emma and I have been in close quarters, and we have a lot in common, so I’m sure that’s where he got the idea that Emma and I are in a relationship. He’s being protective of her, which is admirable.” I touched my forehead. “This? I missed a landing during parkour yesterday. That’s all.”

  She snickered. “You? Miss a landing? Please.”

  I relaxed. Crisis averted. “Hey, I’m human.”

  “Obviously, since you look like hell,” she dug in. “Something is up with you.”

  I frowned at her. Truth was, I’d spent most of my time thinking about how impossible the situation with Emma was. Brody finding us there had only solidified it. People would never understand us being together. And was there even an us? This wasn’t a relationship, it was just sex, satisfying a need, like all the other women I’d ever been with.

  Then why did it feel like something more?

  Why, even now, did I wish I could have her in my bed, making love to her again and again, all night long?

  Impossible. That’s what I’d thought, time and time again, to the point of near madness.

  But it didn’t stop those thoughts from constantly invading.

  I turned on my heel to leave. I needed to get out. I needed another workout. More parkour. It always cleared my head, made me feel better.

  “Where are you going?” she called after me.

  “Out to the course for a workout,” I mumbled, heading into the hallway.

  “Didn’t you just come from—”

  “Yep.”

  “Maybe before that, you can find our acquisition?” she asked, making me stop in my tracks.

  I whirled and peered through the door of her office. “What?”

  “I’ve been texting her since yesterday. She’s MIA. Bruce hasn’t seen her at the training center either.” She shook her head. “And we’d better find her fast because I just booked the two hours’ worth of training time at the speedway for her, bright and early tomorrow. At six.”

  Shit. I pulled out my phone, my finger hovering over her number. But then I stopped.

  One thing I’d been good at doing was not texting her. I always had Laura do it, to at least give the illusion of propriety. I didn’t want to start because once I began, I knew there was little to stop me from saying what was really on my mind, which was how much I wanted her. She’d been spiraling down before the storm on the beach, and all the ensuing chaos probably hadn’t done her any favors.

  For all I knew, she could be in freefall now.

  I stopped in the middle of the hallway when I saw a figure farther down, stalking toward my office. Dark hair wild around her head, wearing cutoff shorts that bared her tan legs. She was trying to walk with purpose but kept stopping to hug the wall.

  Emma.

  I rushed up to her, checking to make sure no one had seen he
r. “Hey,” I said, taking her by the arm.

  The second I got up close, I was hit with the scent of alcohol that was so powerful, it nearly made me drunk too.

  She yanked her arm away, but I managed to get her into my office and close the door before anyone could see her. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Quitting.”

  She looked up at me and smiled lazily. Her eyes were so bloodshot I could barely see the whites.

  I leaned back against my desk and crossed my arms. “No, you’re not.”

  “Oh, yes, I am,” she argued louder, and I got hit by another powerful wall of alcohol.

  “Like hell you are,” I growled. “Hell, what have you been drinking?”

  She poked me in the chest. “Your fault for keeping a fully-stocked bar in the apartment.”

  I’d known nothing about that. But I guessed when I asked for a condo with all the amenities, alcohol qualified. It didn’t matter. We had more important things to discuss. “Look. We’ve booked time for you on the speedway tomorrow morning. You’ve got the qualifier this weekend.”

  She let out a long laugh, crazy, uncontrolled, and too loud. There was only a paper-thin wall separating my office from Laura’s — whenever she got particularly excited about a deal, I could hear her celebration. I put a hand over Emma’s mouth, but she tore it away with both hands. “Then unbook it. I don’t let any boy, especially a pretty boy, tell me what to do.”

  “So you let Brody tell you? You let those reporters tell you?”

  Her easy smile dissolved. She put both hands on my chest and tried to shove me hard, but she missed and ended up falling into me. She laughed as I caught her in my arms. Looking up at me with those big brown eyes, now bleary, she walked a finger up my chest.

  She whispered, low and throaty, “We can pick up where we left off on the beach. No sand this time.”

  I shook my head, even as my cock throbbed at the suggestion, all-in from the get-go. I lifted her off me, but she started to waver on her own, so I kept my hands on her shoulders, steadying her. “How much did you have to drink?”

  “A. Lot,” she announced proudly. “I feel phenomenal. And… horny.”