by Ann Garner
“Welcome ladies and gentlemen to the Fifth Annual Demolition of Breast Cancer
Demolition Derby! All of tonight’s proceeds will go directly to research in the prevention and cure of breast cancer.”
My body jerks back as the voice booms over the loud speaker. Everyone around us starts clapping and whistling before the announcer even stops talking and I am slammed back into reality abruptly. My hand flexes again on his thigh, the denim of his jeans rough against my fingers.
We just watch each other for a moment, the buzz of the crowd and the announcer fading to sound like background music in my ears. Five more seconds, I think. If the announcer had waited just five more seconds I would at least have gotten a small taste of him.
Several seconds later one of his hands covers mine where it still rests on his thigh, wrapping around mine like a glove. His other hand reaches up to brush along my jaw, snagging a strand of my hair and tucking it behind my ear. It immediately slides back out and he smiles faintly.
“You’re an Indian giver.”
“What?”
“You offered me a bite of your hot dog and then you ate it. That wasn’t very nice of you, Pixie.”
My nose wrinkles at the nickname. “You were too slow.” I turn back to the field as the announcer briefly goes over the rules. Jacob was right, there isn’t much more to it than the drivers ramming their cars into each other until they stop running. Last vehicle still moving wins. “Are you cheering for any car in particular?”
“Number 3.”
My eyes scan across the cars, seven in all, seeking out number 3. It’s a small, mostly brown, four-door sedan. On second glance, I don’t think the car is painted brown so much as it is covered in rust. A good strong wind would probably tear the entire thing apart. The door of the driver’s side is painted a bright bold white, the cleanest part of the entire car, with the number 3 sloppily spray painted just below the window.
“Why number 3?”
“It’s my number.”
It doesn’t take long for me to realize what he’s talking about. The number he’d worn on his jersey when he played football. Tonight is an away game for our team, who is doing relatively well despite the fact that the current quarterback doesn’t have even half the talent that Jacob has. Or had.
I wonder how difficult it is to be here with me, and not out on the field. I want to ask him why he quit, but I have a feeling I wouldn’t get an answer, and it might ruin our night just as quickly as me mentioning Grant’s name.
“All right. Number 3 for you and number 5 for me.” I pick the car sitting right next to number 3. I’m pretty sure at some point the vehicle had been some sort of station wagon. Although it’s obviously had some serious modifications to it, none of them for the better. Grinning I look over to Jacob. “My car is going to kick your car’s ass. Just an FYI.”
“Is that so?”
“It is.”
“I think those are fighting words, Pix.”
“Bet?”
Nodding his head he tucks that errant strand of hair back behind my ear again, and I visibly shiver as his fingers brush along my neck. He grins in response. “What do I get when I win?” He asks.
“Oh, I don’t think we need to worry about that since you aren’t winning.”
“Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
“Confidence is sexy.” I remind him primly.
“Yes it is.” He agrees with a laugh. “So what do you want if you win?”
“I don’t know, I’ll have to think about it. Oh, look, that guy’s selling cotton candy. I love cotton candy.”
Jacob lifts his hand, catching the guy’s attention so that he starts making his way through the stands and over to us. “You don’t do subtle well, do you?”
“Waste of time.” I beam at the cotton candy guy. “The pink and blue one, please. Thanks.” Jacob hands him some cash and I pull open the bag and yank of a tuft of pink sugar. “Want some?” I hold the bag up to Jacob.
“I think I’ll pass.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing.” I pop another piece in my mouth, letting it melt against my tongue. “Oh, they’re starting.”
The cars on the field are moving through the mud much better than I thought they would, considering they all look like they should be sitting in a junkyard. I laugh when the first two cars ram together, watching in fascination as suddenly two cars smash another one between them.
It doesn’t take long for the cars to start dying out. They just leave them sitting in the field, the drivers still in the cars, while the remaining cars slam into each other all around them. After only ten minutes the last two cars remaining are number 3 and number 5. What are the odds? It’s harder for them to maneuver around the remaining cars, and it looks almost like some weird automotive dance the way they try to avoid getting hit by the other car.
Then suddenly number 3 guns it, wheels spinning up mud as it speeds backward, slamming directly into the passenger side of number 5. The number 5 car jerks with the impact and I watch the driver scramble to try and get control of his car, but he’s hit a mud puddle and it looks like his wheels are sinking into the soft ground.
The number 3 car pulls forward and then slams backward again and there’s a loud popping sound as the tire on the number 5 car bursts, effectively putting him out of commission. Jacob leans over, his breath ticking along my ear as he whispers. “I win.”
I tilt my head towards him, once again putting us within centimeters of kissing. My eyes lock on his. “What do you win?” I whisper.
Please kiss me. Please, please, please.
The words dance like a mantra through my head.
“I’ll have to think about it.”
It looks like he’s going to lean in just enough to kiss me. I watch as his lips part just slightly, his breathing becoming slightly irregular. If he doesn’t kiss me within the next ten seconds I’m afraid I’m going to spontaneously combust.
But instead of moving just a fraction forward, he pulls back.
“You ready to head back?”
What? No! No, I’m not ready to head back. What in the hell? I’m ready for fireworks and combustion. But before I can formulate the words he’s standing up, our hands that are still locked together sliding off his thigh. I stare at them for a moment while I try to figure out what in the hell just happened.
But then he’s tugging on my hand. “Come on, before it gets any colder. Your nose is starting to turn red.”
“If you compare me to a reindeer I’m going to push you off the bleachers.” I mutter. He starts laughing and I contemplate pushing him anyway.
Why in the hell didn’t he kiss me?
Chapter Nine
Someone is pounding on the door to my apartment.
It takes me several minutes to realize that this is what the loud thumping noise I keep hearing actually is. Because it’s eight o’clock in the freaking morning on a Sunday, and all the sane people are still asleep. Which is what I would be doing, if someone wasn’t pounding on the door to my apartment.
Rolling onto my back in my bed, I yank my pillow over my face, and listen for several more seconds in the vain hope that whoever it is will give up and go away so I can go back to sleep.
Because I hadn’t gotten a whole hell of a lot of sleep the night before, and for the first time in four months it wasn’t because of Grant.
Stupid Jacob Ross and his stupid almost kisses.
I’d obsessed over it all night. I’d even told Delaney all about it over ice cream and had her obsess over it with me. Though she honestly wasn’t very good at helping me dissect the date. She just listened and made what I’m sure she thought were appropriate noises at the appropriate times.
Love Delaney as I do, I really needed to find a friend who had a little more experience in the whacky world of men, because it was painfully obvious that neither one of us had any outside of Grant and Cole. And I very rarely delved into her and Cole’s relationship. It felt weird
since he was my brother.
The door to my bedroom is suddenly shoved open and a very unhappy Cole is sticking his head in. Apparently he didn’t enjoy being woken up this early either. “Don’t you have your own place?” I ask him.
“You’d miss me if I wasn’t here. Now get your lazy ass out of bed, there’s someone in the living room for you.”
“Who?”
“I’m not your secretary. Get your ass out of bed and go look.” He ducks his head back out the door just seconds before my pillow hits right where he was standing. Grumbling I roll out of bed, running my hands through my hair as I shuffle across the room.
Whoever is in that living room better have fucking brought coffee.
“Well hello there, sleeping beauty.”
“Fuck.”
Jacob laughs as he stands up off the couch. “Not a morning person?”
“Not on Sundays. What are you doing here so early?” I sniff appreciatively because I do smell coffee, and something else. “Are those donuts?”
“I figured it was better not to come empty handed.”
He settles onto a stool at the counter and I settle in next to him. Our knees bump together as I flip open the lid on the donut box. Chocolate frosted. My favorite. I take a large bite of one, following it quickly with a hit of coffee.
“Oh, thank God. Caffeine.”
I bump my knee against his again. “I repeat, what are you doing here so early?”
“I’m here for our second date.”
I know I’m staring at him with a dumb look on my face because I have no idea what in the hell he’s talking about. Sure, we’d joked about a second date last night, but when he dropped me off after the demolition derby he hadn’t mentioned it again.
Just like he hadn’t kissed me.
“You’ve lost me.”
“How quickly can you get ready?”
“For what?”
“Our second date.”
Rolling my eyes I tell him, “Yeah, I heard that part. You never asked me on another date.” I stuff another bite of donut in my mouth to keep from bringing up the other thing he hadn’t done.
Because I’m sliding into the obsessed category over our non-kiss and that isn’t something I need to share with him.
“Asking is for amateurs. I’m kidnapping you for the day.” I manage, just barely, to not wince at his choice of words and hope like hell that Delaney is sound asleep.
“You have to give me a little more to go on.”
“That takes all the fun out of it.”
“You are so obviously a guy. I need to have a hint so I can know what to wear. Because I am a girl and this is the kind of thing girls worry about.”
His eyes move over my entire body and I’m suddenly, painstakingly aware that I am wearing pajamas. Really, really old pajamas. A pair of hot pink plaid flannel pants that are beyond hideous but so comfortable that they’re starting to unravel at the bottom because I’ve worn them so much. And the waistband has long since become stretched out so they sit ridiculously low on my hips. The T-shirt I’m wearing is no better. It’s one of Holden’s old shirts, and has the logo of some band that I’ve never even heard of splashed across the front, though half the logo has faded away. It also has a hole under one armpit.
I can only imagine what my hair looks like.
“Never mind. Anything will be an improvement.” He doesn’t contradict me and I like that he doesn’t. I don’t need a guy to tell me I look beautiful when I very obviously don’t. There is absolutely nothing beautiful about faded and torn pajamas and bed head.
“Warm and comfortable.”
“That seems to be a theme with you.”
He just smiles, pushing another donut my way since I’ve finished the first one. I shouldn’t take it, but I do, because it’s there and it’s chocolate frosted and I have absolutely no fucking willpower whatsoever. So I grab both the donut and my coffee before sliding off the stool. “I’ll need at least forty-five minutes.”
“Is it all right if I turn on the TV?”
I glance down the hall to Delaney’s closed bedroom door. “Not too loud, okay?” He’s nodding his head and moving back to the couch with a donut in his hand as I shuffle back to my bedroom. Once in my room I take the quickest shower I ever have in my life before giving a quick once over with my hair dryer and then stand in front of my closet wrapped in a towel while debating what to wear.
He didn’t give me a whole lot to go on, and since he’d totally thrown me with the demolition derby last night, I had no idea what to expect today. So I grab a pair of dark blue jeans, a white shirt, and a gray fitted hoodie. I slide on my tennis shoes just before heading back out into the living room.
Cole has joined him on the couch and I hear the distinct music of Sports Center coming from the TV. But over that I hear their voices. Had it been Holden sitting there with him I might not have been as worried. Holden would grill him, but Cole would probably tell him embarrassing stories.
And he has plenty of freaking ammo in that regard.
“Are you ready, Jacob?”
He glances up from his conversation with Cole just as the announcer on the TV starts talking about yesterday’s college football games. He doesn’t even glance at the TV, but his entire body tenses as they start going through scores and high lights from all the games.
He obviously isn’t as unaffected as he wants everyone to believe he is.
“Sure.” Even his voice is tense. “Let’s get going. Did you want another donut before we hit the road?”
“Don’t let her have more than two, Jake. Grace on a sugar high is not something you want to deal with this early in the day.”
“Bite me,” I growl.
“Come on,” Jacob grabs my hand, tugging gently while Cole chuckles. “Let’s go. We have a bit of a drive.”
“You are so lucky I have a bit of a drive.” I shoot Cole a glare. “Otherwise I’d kick your ass.”
“Sure you would, hotshot.”
Jacob yanks me out of the apartment, the door snapping closed behind us. I gasp at the shot of cold air that smacks me in the face. “Holy shit, it’s cold this morning.”
“It’s going to warm up some. You’ll be fine.”
Lucky for me his car is still somewhat warm so it doesn’t take long for the heat to kick in. Music fills the car the instant he turns the ignition. It’s just a guitar and a singer, with a little bit of what sounds like traffic noise in the background. It’s a male singer and his voice is rough, grainy, and utterly captivating.
“The Maine.”
I glance up. “What?”
“The band. It’s The Maine. An acoustic version of one of their songs.”
“They’re good.”
The sleek little sports car pulls out of the apartment complex and takes us toward the interstate. “So where are we going?”
“Nope. You’ll have to wait.”
“I suck at waiting.” I pause. “And long car rides. Especially after donuts. And coffee. You’re doomed, Jacob. You should just give in and tell me where we’re going.”
His head turns toward me briefly and our eyes meet for a moment before he looks back to the road. “I’ll survive.”
I wasn’t kidding about hating long car rides. I get fidgety twenty miles in and start tapping my fingers along my thigh. Jacob keeps shooting me quick looks, with a little smirk on his face. I don’t know any of the music playing so I can’t sing, though that’s probably a good thing since I suck at singing, and the couple times I try to wheedle information out of Jacob I quickly get shot down.
If I don’t find something to distract myself soon I’m going to blurt out the one question I really want an answer to. Why didn’t he kiss me?
“Let’s play twenty questions.”
“What?” He asks with a laugh. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. I’ll go first. What’s your favorite color?”
“You are serious.” He mutters. “Okay. Green.” His head turns a
gain so our eyes can meet one more time. “Does that make it my turn?”
I tuck some wayward hair behind one ear. “That’s the way it normally works.”
“Are you always a smartass?”
“Is that your question?” I ask with a raised brow.
Jacob chuckles. “Is that yours?”
“This could go on forever. Just ask your question. Your real one.”
“What’s your favorite food?”
I groan. “You couldn’t start out easy? I can’t narrow it down to one. Okay, okay, um, favorite food, favorite food. Ice cream? No, no, maybe pecan pie? No, wait, wait, pizza. These are such obvious college student answers. Dammit, I thought I was more original than that. I know you’re trying not to laugh,” I say with accusation lacing my tone. “Fine. Chocolate covered strawberries.”
“Final answer?”
I smirk. “Why, yes, Regis, it is. My turn to ask. First kiss?”
“Molly Trace. She had red hair, green eyes, and freckles. I’m a sucker for freckles. We were five, and she broke my heart when she kissed Tommy Jenkins the next day because he shared his Oreos.”
“What a bitch,” I say with a laugh. “But come on, Jacob, he shared his Oreos. That’s true love.”
The music changed again, but this time it was a song I knew. “I never would have pegged you for an Etta James fan.”
“I get my eclectic taste in music from my mom. She was a music teacher. There was always music playing in our house.”
“My mom’s a teacher. Not music, since no one in my family is musically inclined in any way shape or form. We could never get away with anything at school. And as a teacher, she would be very impressed with your use of the word eclectic.” Tucking a wayward curl behind my ear I study his profile. He shaved again. I can’t decide which Jacob I prefer. The clean shaven one sitting next to me, or the one with the hint of whiskers along his jaw. “How do you know Robby?”
When he looks my way again, I’m still studying him intently when those fascinating blue eyes lock directly on to mine. The intensity of his gaze is somewhat terrifying. “He wouldn’t want me to tell you.”
