Crazy, Hot Love

by K. L. Grayson

  I nod curtly.

  “Do I want to know why?” she asks, pulling out her phone.

  “Probably not.”

  Rhett frowns, so does Coop.

  “Shit.” Mo types out a quick message on her phone and tosses it in her purse. “She left.”

  The hair on the back of my neck stands up. “What do you mean she left? Why would she just up and leave?”

  “Because she isn’t herself. I shouldn’t have pushed her to come out tonight. That damn fire messed with her head, and she hasn’t been right since.” She tosses a few bills on the table to cover her tab. Coop tosses the money back, and Mo rolls her eyes. “I’ve got to go after her.”

  “Maybe you should let Trevor go,” Adley suggests.

  “What?” I pull a face, looking at Adley and then Mo.

  I expect Mo to cut the idea down, but she doesn’t. Instead she sets her purse on the floor beside her seat and leans back.

  “Why should I go talk to her?”

  I’m pretty sure I’m the last person she wants to see right now, but I can’t tell them that.

  “Well, for one, you were there that evening, so you can relate to what she went through. Maybe you can get her to open up and talk. Mo sure as hell hasn’t been able to,” Adley says, reaching for her purse. “And she has a thing for you, so…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, just shrugs and looks down.

  “You’re full of shit. She doesn’t have a thing for me.”

  Mo laughs, and then her face sobers. “You’re joking, right?”

  Hell yes, I’m joking. I know she has a thing for me. Or had a thing for me. But they don’t know that, and unless I want to get into a bar brawl with my brothers, I have to play dumb.

  “Come on, bro. You’re not stupid. You have more hose honeys than I’ve got buckle bunnies—oomph.’” Rhett grunts when Mo elbows him in the chest.

  “You’ve only got one buckle bunny, and that’s me. And if you ever refer to me as a buckle bunny, I’ll shove my Ariat up your ass,” she warns.

  Rhett grins as though she just challenged him rather than threatened. “Two can play at that game, sweetheart. Only it won’t be a boot I’ll be shoving up your ass.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Are they like this all the time?” I ask the rest of the table.

  Linc pops a fry into his mouth. “Pretty much. You’ll get used to it after a while.”

  “No, you won’t,” Coop says. “But as much as I hate to admit it, I agree with Adley. You should go talk to her.”

  “Funny, because if I remember correctly, you and Rhett were the ones keeping this information about Claire from me in the first place.” Not that it’s any of my business—I lost that privilege—but I want it to be. “In fact, you’ve been acting all protective and shit over her for years.”

  Coop shrugs. “That’s because we don’t want you to hurt her.”

  “Hurt her? Why on Earth would I hurt her?”

  “Because Claire is relationship material, and you’re not,” Coop says. “On top of that, you’re our brother, and she’s one of our best friends. If something happened between the two of you, we’d be forced to kick your ass and then choose sides.”

  “And we really don’t want to have to kick your ass,” Rhett adds.

  “I’d never intentionally hurt Claire.” No truer words have ever come from my mouth.

  Coop nods. “You better not.”

  Mo smiles.

  “Good,” Rhett says. “Now go after her, and keep your dick in your pants.”

  “Or not. Just remember to talk first and then hanky panky.” Mo’s eyes widen when Rhett elbows her in the side. “What? Claire could use some action, and even though Trevor is a player, I don’t think he’s the worst choice for a one-nighter.”

  “I’m not a player.”

  “I don’t think he’s the worst choice either,” Rhett says, ignoring me. “But that doesn’t mean we should encourage them. He’s my little brother, and she’s your best friend, and you know damn well if one of them fucks the other over, it’s going to be Trevor.”

  “I’m standing right here.”

  Adley pulls a nail file from her purse and looks up at me. “Save your breath. This is some sort of weird foreplay for Rhett and Mo. They bicker until they get all worked up, and then they’ll have crazy monkey sex and work it out. It’s really quite disgusting. Want my opinion?”

  “Not really.”

  She shrugs. “I’ll give it to you anyway. Claire likes you, and you like her. Something happened between you two, but I’m not sure what it is because she wouldn’t tell me.”

  I open my mouth, wanting to ask Adley when she and Claire talked, but she continues.

  “But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that she’s hurting, and maybe you can help, so you need to put whatever happened between you two aside and go after her.”

  Damn, she’s good.

  Putting Claire’s feelings aside will be nearly impossible, because I’m not sure she still has said feelings. I wish things were different between us, and if we were different people in a different universe, they might be.

  But that doesn’t change the fact that what Adley is saying is true. I can relate to Claire, and if she’ll forgive me for being an ass at the hospital, maybe I can get close enough to her to figure out what’s going on and help her through it.

  But then I have to walk away. I absolutely cannot get sucked into the vortex.

  “Trevor?”

  I blink and look at Mo. “Yeah?”

  “You’re wasting time.”

  “Right.”

  I rush out of Dirty Dicks, jump in my truck, and peel out of the parking lot. I take a left, knowing it’s the quickest way to Claire’s house, and not even half a mile down the road, I see the silhouette of a woman.

  What the fuck? She walked?

  Heaven isn’t a dangerous town, but it’s dark out, and this is a busy road, and what was she thinking? I know this isn’t the best way to approach an upset woman, but I’m pissed. Pulling alongside Claire, I roll the window down.

  “Get in the truck.”

  She startles at the sound of my voice. Hand covering her heart, she stops and takes a breath. “You scared me.”

  “The feeling is mutual. What are you doing walking down this road at night? It’s dangerous.”

  She rolls her eyes. It’s not a gesture I’m fond of, but somehow Claire makes it look sexy. “It’s not dangerous.”

  “Bullshit. I barely saw you. You could’ve gotten hit—or worse yet, kidnapped.”

  Claire ignores me and keeps walking. “Go away, Trevor. I want to be alone.”

  I inch the truck along the road, checking my rearview mirror every few seconds to make sure no one is flying up on us.

  “At least let me take you home.”

  “No.”

  Damn stubborn woman. I take my hat off and flip it around. “Get in the truck, Claire, or so help me God, I will chase you down and toss you in here myself. And make no mistake about it, if you push me that far, I will spank your ass.”

  She stops, her breath hitches, and when she looks at me, I can tell she’s wondering if I would actually do that.

  The heated look in her eye pulls the seductive words from my mouth before I have a chance to stop them. “You’d probably like that, though, wouldn’t you, sweet Claire?”

  “In your dreams.”

  Hell yeah, in my dreams. That’s what I want to say, but I’ve got to get a grip on this wild feeling that runs through me when I’m around her.

  “Damn it, Red, just get in the truck.”

  “Go home, Trevor.”

  Her voice is lifeless, and although I can’t see her eyes because it’s dark and now she won’t look at me, I imagine they’re the same.

  Screw this.

  Rolling up the window, I step on the gas and fly past her.

  19

  Claire

  Rocks go flying as Trevor revs his engine and takes off, leaving me on t
he side of the road.

  I’m two miles from home, and Trevor was right, walking probably isn’t the smartest idea.

  My eyes burn with tears, but I have no idea why I’m crying. He’s only doing what I asked.

  Asshole. Don’t men know to do the opposite of what we say?

  Trevor’s truck pulls to the right about fifty feet in front of me. His door flies open as he slides out, and I stop in my tracks. A cool breeze whips through the air, sending my hair in front of my face. I tuck the loose strands behind my ear and take a deep breath. Trevor makes no move, and he doesn’t say a word.

  I toss my hands out and let them fall to my side. “You gonna chase me?”

  “You gonna run?”

  Propping my hands on my hips, I bite my lip. “You gonna spank me?”

  His lips twitch. “You want me to?”

  I don’t know what kind of game he’s playing. Hell, I don’t know what kind of game I’m playing. All I know is that Trevor is way out of my league when it comes to stuff like this, and my heart and my head and every other organ in my body are not ready for the likes of him. Dropping my chin, I look at the ground for a moment and then bring my eyes to meet his.

  “Why are you really here, Trevor? Why are you doing this?”

  He takes a step forward. And then another and another, and the closer he gets, the more my body vibrates with energy, and I hate it. I hate that he has this control over me.

  “Because you’re stubborn as shit, and you ran out on your friends, and now everyone is worried about you.”

  “Does that include you? Are you worried about me?”

  “I’m always worried about you.”

  “Hah.” I let out a burst of laughter. “Really? Last time we talked, you seemed more angry and less worried.”

  He takes another step forward, putting himself all up in my personal space, and I don’t have the strength or willpower to take a step back. In fact, I like him here. Too much. I’m bombarded with the fresh smell of cucumbers and soap as Trevor’s scent wraps itself around me, stealing my thoughts along with my words.

  “You want to know why I was angry in the hospital?” he asks.

  I take a deep breath, but all I can do is nod.

  “You tell me why you fled the bar like your ass was on fire, and I’ll tell you what all my anger was about. Deal?”

  “Fine,” I say, not really sure what I’m agreeing to because my head is still swimming in all things Trevor. Suddenly I’ve got the intense urge to throw myself at him and just see how he’ll respond, see if his body will react to mine the way I want it to.

  Needing to get away from his intoxicating scent, I take off walking, figuring he’ll either toss me over his shoulder as promised and insert me into his truck, or he’ll hop in his truck and follow me. He does neither. Instead, he falls in step beside me.

  “You going to walk me all the way home, Trevor?”

  “Not letting you walk home by yourself.”

  “It’s a long walk.”

  “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

  Talk.

  Everyone wants me to talk, and I do. They all sit and listen, offering words of encouragement, but none of them listens—I mean really listens.

  Maybe Trevor will be different.

  I glance over at him. He’s wearing jeans and a black henley that stretches tight across his chest. The sleeves are bunched around his elbows, and his ball cap is on backwards, making him look all sorts of badass.

  Who am I kidding? He is a badass. A badass firefighter who smells delicious and has positioned himself between me and the road. Always the protector. But who’s protecting him? Who listens to his stories at the end of the day and comforts him? Who understands Trevor Allen? So many questions I’d love to get answers to.

  We reach Trevor’s truck, and I stop.

  “What are you doing?” he asks. “I thought we were going to walk.”

  I stuff my hands in my pockets and shrug. “I’m cold, and two miles is a long way.”

  He smiles, and it’s a full, bright grin that shines a sliver of light through my dark world and offers me a ray of hope. I want to see it again, and more than that, I want to be the one to put it on his face.

  With a hand at the small of my back, he guides me around the front of his truck, opens the passenger door, and helps me climb inside.

  He waits until I’m situated and buckled before getting in himself, and then he starts the truck, turns on the heat, and points the vent toward me.

  “Since when did you become so chivalrous?”

  “I’m not. You just seem to bring out the best in me.”

  I watch Trevor unabashedly as we merge onto the road. I watch the muscles of his forearms tighten and shift along with his thigh as he shifts gears, and that’s when I realize that two miles isn’t all that far—not when you’re staring at a gorgeous man. Before I know it, Trevor pulls into my driveway and shuts his truck off.

  I unbuckle, slide out, and walk to my front door. When I turn around, Trevor is still sitting in his truck. His gaze cuts straight through me, and it’s as though I can feel what he’s thinking. I can feel him trying to convince himself to get out of the truck; I just don’t understand the struggle.

  What I do know is that I don’t want to force him to come in, and I certainly won’t beg. Releasing his gaze, I turn toward the door, unlock it, and walk inside. I flick on the light and drop my purse on the end table next to the couch, and a minute later, I hear the door shut behind me.

  Trevor’s presence is all-consuming. I can feel his big, strong body move across the room before I ever turn to look at him.

  “Would you like something to drink?” I ask.

  “A water would be good.”

  My house has an open floor plan, but it isn’t big, and I feel the weight of his stare on my back as I walk into the kitchen and grab a bottle of water from the fridge. I lean into it, allowing the cool air to seep around me in hopes that it’ll calm my nerves, but all it does is make my nipples pucker tight beneath my shirt.

  Shit.

  “You okay in there?”

  Trevor’s smooth voice washes over me, making it all but impossible to gain any sort of control over my breasts.

  “Yeah. I’m good.” With my arms crossed awkwardly across my chest, I walk into the living room. Trevor is sitting on the end of the couch, tossing a yellow ball into the air.

  Milo’s yellow ball.

  “Where’d you find that?” I ask.

  “Found it stuffed between the seat cushions. Heard you returned her.”

  “It’s easier this way. I’m never home.”

  “You’re always home,” he argues.

  I hold out the bottle of water. “Is this what you want to talk about, a dog?”

  He sets the ball down and grabs the water. “Not particularly.” Twisting the top off, he takes a drink and sets it on the coffee table. He watches me for a second and then pulls the afghan off the back of the couch and tosses it to me.

  “What’s that for?”

  “You look cold.”

  Oh. Right. “Thank you.”

  I pull the blanket to my chin, take a deep breath, and close my eyes. Now or never. Here goes nothing.

  “When I close my eyes, I can smell the smoke, and it feels so real. At night I wake up coughing, and sometimes I wake up because I swear I can hear the boys screaming for me. Does that ever happen to you?”

  “Every damn day.”

  I hear Trevor shift around on the couch, but I don’t open my eyes. It feels safer here in the dark, my words bleeding from my mouth more freely than they have with anyone else.

  “I made a rookie mistake—one I shouldn’t have made, and I swear this is my punishment. When I close my eyes, I see the scared faces of my students. Those boys’ screams echo through my head, the roar of the fire pulls me out of my sleep, and sometimes I find myself doing whatever I can to stay awake because the nightmares are too intense.”

  “What
mistake, Claire?”

  I peel my eyes open, wanting to look at him when I tell him what I did, hoping he’ll take on my pain and bear some of the weight—maybe help me understand it or work through it, or whatever the hell it is people in these situations do.

  “I hesitated.”

  20

  Claire

  Trevor is perched on the edge of the couch. His elbows rest on his knees, his hands dangling between his legs as he looks at me.

  “What do you mean you hesitated?” he asks.

  “I hesitated, putting not only my life at risk, but the lives of my students, and inadvertently you and Mikey’s lives as well.”

  I swallow past the lump in my throat and tell Trevor everything that happened that day. I tell him about my goal of living up to my father’s standards, then about wavering when the alarms went off. I tell him how I forgot the boys were in the bathroom and every little detail in between, and when I’m done, my heart is racing, my palms are sweaty, and tears are threatening to spill from my eyes.

  “Claire.” Trevor runs a hand along his jaw and shakes his head. “You did not make a mistake. You got your entire class out. You saved those boys’ lives.”

  Damn it, that’s exactly what I don’t want to hear. I was stupid for thinking Trevor would look at this any differently than everyone else.

  “You don’t understand, Trevor, and I don’t expect you to.”

  He flinches as though my words slapped him across the face. “Are you serious? I don’t understand? Do you know how many times I’ve wondered if I’ve done the right thing? And I do this for a living, Claire. This is my job. Every single day, people depend on me to react quickly and make the right choice. Some days are great and I save a life, and other days I’m not so lucky. Do you know what that does to a man, wondering if something he did—a choice he made—could’ve been the deciding factor in someone’s life? I live with that guilt on a daily basis, Claire. So yes, I get it. I understand what you’re going through, probably better than anyone else ever will.”

  Shit. Now I feel like an ass because he’s right. I can’t imagine how stressful his job must be. “How do you do it? This one thing has my head so messed up I can barely function, let alone concentrate. How do you deal with it day in and day out, over and over and over again?”