The fact there are a lot of secluded side roads we can take if we want doesn’t hurt at all. Was that kiss as good for him as it was for me?
This nervous anticipation is pleasantly foreign, making me smile and feel good. It’s unexpected how I almost couldn’t control myself once his hands were on me. I bet Matthew is as good in bed as he is on a bike.
Lust shivers across my skin, and I set down the knife and let the feeling overtake me for a moment, remembering his hands and mouth pulling pleasure from me. Maybe I should slip a few condoms into the picnic bag, just to be on the safe side. I want him and don’t want to wait another day. I’m happy and nervous and dying to see him again.
After spreading mayo and mustard inside the croissants, I add bacon and shaved turkey breast. Hopefully he’s not a vegetarian. Should I make a meat-free option as well, just in case? If he is a vegetarian, preparing something special in advance would score points, but if he’s not, it makes me look like a total try-hard. Better not; I don’t want to seem like I’m coming on too strong, especially after I basically admitted I’ve had a crush on him since I was a kid.
I fire on some greens, and slice and pack cucumber and tomatoes into a small plastic container on the side so they don’t make the sandwiches soggy on the trip. I wrap everything in plastic, add a couple apples and cans of soda, and pack it all in a small insulated lunch bag. Lastly, I set a bag of chips on top.
We might need to carb load.
THE BACKPACK PRESSES the leather jacket into my back and the contact makes sweat form, tickling between my shoulder blades. Perched on my bike on the side of the road, sucking up the mid-80’s heat while I wait for Matt, I pull off my helmet to let the heat out. Hopefully he shows up before my makeup melts off my face.
The fact I’ve got nothing on underneath the jacket besides an uncomfortable, pretty light pink bra doesn’t help. The other vehicles driving by force me to swelter in the leather. I unzip as far as I can, but have to leave it mostly closed and suffer. It wasn’t as bad while on the road, but now that my driving-induced breeze is gone, the humidity’s caught up quickly.
I pull my hair from the long braid and fluff the gentle waves.
Is he going to think I’m trying too hard to look good?
No, the hair isn’t fussy, it’s casual enough to be a spur of the moment thing, and most women wear makeup every day, so that’s no big deal. It’s not like I’m sitting here in a ball gown.
According to my phone, Matt’s fourteen minutes late. Maybe he got confused by my directions and went to the wrong place. Couldn’t hurt to send a text.
Did you get lost? Don’t be afraid to ask for directions. :P
Maybe I should have called instead. I roll my bike a little farther from the road to be on the safe side. I don’t want to be turned into road crayon because my date’s late.
Ten minutes later, I’ve cracked open a soda to cool off while listening to him not pick up on the fourth ring. It goes to voicemail. “Hey, Matt. Second place is your favorite? Call me if something’s come up.”
Thirty-seven minutes later, my mascara’s more than a little smudged and my optimism’s waning, but I send another text.
Hope you get here soon because I’ve already started the roadside picnic without you!
Fifty-two.
I’m such an idiot. He’s not coming at all, is he? I probably freaked him out by being too... something. I don’t even know what I did wrong. I thought he had as good a time as I did. But it’s Matthew Mercy. He’s probably got eleven women on speed dial who were his girlfriends back in the day, women who can’t change a tire, yet sparkle and dazzle him. I stupidly let myself think we were compatible. The future date-making conversation was pillow talk without the pillows, only I was too dazed with hope to realize it. He was being polite after the reality of me didn’t measure up to the fantasy Andy he drew.
He probably thinks I’m just another dumb kid with a crush on him.
If he’d seen me today, he’d have realized I can sparkle too when given a chance, but that’s the problem isn’t it?
I shaved and moisturized and dressed for seduction and he never intended on showing up to see it.
I made us a picnic.
Disgust spasms through me and I wrench my arms from the backpack and throw it as hard as I can. I can replace everything that was in the bag—and the bag itself, but I’ll never get the wasted time and energy back. Why did I think someone could see me for who I am and be interested? Delusional much?
My only consolation is that there’s no one here to witness my mortification.
Let’s hear it for the side of the road!
I thought I was getting a man, not a boy playing games with my head. Why did he bother making me think he wanted more? Unless that man is dead in a ditch, he’s dead to me. It’s not like we’re anything, but we’re not nothing either. He owed me an excuse at the very least. A quick text.
Either way, I’m never speaking to him again.
My tires leave an angry black mark on the pavement.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Matthew
My phone buzzes. It’s Andy.
Did you get lost? Don’t be afraid to ask for directions. :P
I turn it off, feeling guilty. Sunshine and adrenaline Andy doesn’t belong in the bruised and broken Luke hospital room.
“You turned your phone off? What if Dad calls?”
My blood pressure jumps. “Who fucking cares about Dad?”
“He’s always been there for us.” My little brother sets his jaw in a way that makes him look more like Dad than ever. Dad was never an easy man to live with and I probably made it that much harder on my then-sixteen-year-old kid brother by taking off when I did, but if I hadn’t, I’d probably be in jail or dead now.
I don’t turn it back on. Dad can vigorously fuck himself. “How you feeling?”
Luke glares at me through swollen eyes, more black than purple. “They took the catheter out today, so while I’m doing better, I’m not up to a celebratory dance yet.”
He’s still got that chip on his shoulder, only now that shoulder is dislocated. “I brought you some clean clothes and a few magazines.”
“Thanks.”
I set the bag on the table next to him. I’m already probably too late to meet Andy, but I’ve only seen Luke once since I came back. “Do you need me to bring you anything else?”
“Something decent to eat. I’m tired of this bland shit day in and day out.”
“Tacos?” I suggest his favorite.
His gaze moves to the ceiling for a minute which only plays up the shine of the tears in his eyes. “Something a little softer. I’ve...still got some loose teeth.”
I sit onto the hard plastic chair by the bed. “Jesus, Luke. What the hell were you thinking getting mixed up with those assholes?”
“I was trying to make a better life for myself. Not all of us get to ride off into the sunset.”
The nurse said the pain meds he’s on will make him a little loopy and emotional, but I know the truth when I hear it. Until now, I had no idea my leaving hurt Luke this much. “I’m sorry.”
“Whatever.” His hands pluck at the blanket—no easy feat with the finger splints.
I never should have left him behind, but he was—I was too young to do more than get myself the hell out of here. Still, that’s no excuse for the rest of the years I didn’t make him get away from this shit.
“I won a race the other day. Decent winnings.”
A nurse comes to change Luke’s IV. We’re locked inside our own thoughts until she leaves and we can speak freely again. Luke takes a sip of water. “Sorry. I know the last thing you ever wanted was to come back here.”
“You’re my brother. I couldn’t not come back.”
“I should be able to clean up my own mess. I’m not a kid.”
“No, you’re not. And you’re damned lucky you’re still alive. What are you going to do after this, bud? You can’t keep being a runner, I’
ll kick your ass myself.”
“I don’t know yet.” His shifty eyes look everywhere but at me.
“What did you do?”
He inhales and opens his mouth three times before speaking. “It’s not just Santos I owe money to.”
“What?”
“I borrowed money from Aaron Samson.”
My heart pounds so hard my eyes hurt. Aaron Samson makes Santos look like a snuggly brony, loaning money like it’s water, but if you don’t pay it back in a timely manner, he has no compunction taking things from you. Car, home, fingers, wife. “How much?”
“Sixty.”
“And with interest?”
“One hundred and-six now.”
I press the heels of my hands to my eyes. We’d managed to get the debt down to fifty-six thousand dollars—not an insubstantial sum, but the end was in sight. Now we’re back where we started, only this time there’s an even worse asshole nipping at my brother’s heels baying for payment or blood. I don’t even bother asking Luke why. He wanted out. It was probably going to be his last deal, one big score to buy himself into a better life—at least he’d have told himself that. Everyone always does.
The money’s addictive when you’re at those levels.
“We’ll sort it out.”
Shame and resentment mingle on Luke’s face, and I’d take his hand if I thought he’d let me. His pride’s taken a hit along with his body, but he’s in no shape to be pulling jobs—never mind the fact that he’ll be tailed hard when he leaves here. He nods, eyes pinched with worry and regret, and I give him an out.
“I should go tell Dad about this. He’ll want to get moving on things. Get some rest.”
He nods. “Thanks.”
I squeeze his forearm and leave. It’s not until I walk outside into the muggy air that I remember Andy and turn my phone back on. It dings a few times in a row. Sure enough, she’s left me a message and another text.
“Hey, Matt. Second place is your favorite? Call me if something’s come up.”
Her voice is flirty with an edge, like she suspects I’m standing her up.
What the hell was I thinking? Dad and Kingsley are wrong about me seducing her concentration away; the only one getting distracted by our dates is me letting what I want get in the way of what I need to do. It doesn’t matter how badly I want Andy; she’s a serious distraction we can’t afford right now. Luke’s in serious trouble and needs me more than she does. Is screwing her really going to make her stop racing, or affect her performance? Unlikely.
Hope you get here soon because I’ve already started the roadside picnic without you!
She made us a goddamned picnic. Regret throbs through me, swollen and hot. In another world, I could be her boyfriend and we’d have picnics in the sun and laugh about mundane things and chat about our days. I want her more than anyone else I’ve ever seen, and she wants me too. She’s one of the only women I’ve met who doesn’t play games, doesn’t even try. We’d ride together and make love in a soft bed with cool sheets... things would be simple and perfect.
But this isn’t that life.
My brother’s safety has to come before my happiness.
I need to get my head out of the fantasy and back into reality.
Andy Perris is so far out of my reach she might as well not exist. I need to stay away from her.
CHAPTER NINE
Andy
Patti sets down a pitcher of beer and separates the three glasses; two empty and one filled with lime juice for the beers. “Where’s Chug?”
I tip an inch of lime juice into the bottom of the glasses. “Running late.”
Patti adds the beer for me. “Want me to hold the wings?”
The perks of being regulars—she knows what we like without us having to ask. “No, she’ll be right in. Can you add some ribs to that too? No, actually make it an appetizer platter. Lots of meat.”
I’ve got a primal need for food I have to tear into with my teeth.
“Sure can.” She grins and heads to the kitchen.
Chandra “Chug” Rojas and I met in trade school. The only women in a class of forty-seven, we were either going to be best friends or worst enemies. Even after the second time we hung out, I wondered how I’d made it so far in my life without her in it. I blame her for making me picky when making new friends now. Everyone else seems boring in comparison.
The garage she works at specializes in high end sports cars and antiques. Old cars were her thing; a passion deeply ingrained from the time she spent as a kid at her grandparents’ house every summer. They used to go antiquing in her grandma’s Aston Martin.
She slides onto the chair, dropping her purse on the table and flinging her long braided hair over one shoulder. “You know my favorite thing about traffic?” Her brown eyes are lined dramatically with black, making them look even bigger than usual.
“No.”
“Nothing. Not a fucking thing.” She grabs her beer and swallows a third of the glass. “That hits the spot.”
I lean closer to her and inhale deeply, a spicy sweetness making my mouth water. “What perfume is that?”
“You like?” She holds her arm out and I seize it for a closer smell.
“It’s like a magical unicorn came on a gingerbread man.”
She laughs. “Want a squirt?”
“That, or I’ll just rub your hand all over myself. Could get pretty awkward. You’d better hurry before we cause a scene.” I release her hand, and she digs in her purse for the bottle and sprays some on my wrist. The delicious smell goes right to my head. “Mmm. I learned the hard way to try before I buy. There was an expensive one I wanted, but a savvy sales clerk made me do a spray test first to wait and see how the scent worked with my ‘natural chemistry.’”
She puts the perfume back. “And?”
“Two minutes later, it smelled like someone farted on my arm.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Eau de Ass.”
“Exactly. I’d almost paid two hundred bucks to smell like a fart.”
Patti shows up with our appetizer tray, and we dig in.
The teriyaki chicken wings are my favorite, not too sweet, not too much sauce to rob the skin of its crispness. After eating a few, I palate cleanse with a stick of celery and a sip of beer. “How did those rims turn out?”
Her lip curls around a rib. “Okay—I had to chew them out for fucking up on the paint job. Again.”
“They screwed my last order as well. If you hear of anyone good, let me know.”
“Same here. These ribs are delicious.”
I nod and eat another. “Things any better over there?”
“Better, yeah. They fired Asshole Neil.”
I tap my glass against hers and we both drink deeply. Asshole Neil was her dickhead manager who rode her ass when he wasn’t trying to tap it. It’s not uncommon to work long hours, but he’d make her finish four hour jobs in two and still charge the client for four, pocketing the difference for himself.
I sigh happily. “Good frigging riddance.”
“Big time.”
“If you ever wanted to get away from those moldy old clunkers and get your hands on some crotch rockets, I’d hire you in a heartbeat.”
She sighs heavily. “The heart wants what it wants. I love those old clunkers.”
“I’ll never stop trying to get you in my shop.”
“And I love you for it.” She licks her fingers. “How’s the wrist smell?”
I swallow so I can smell myself without a mouthful of teriyaki. The perfume is spicy sweet deliciousness. “Amazing.”
She pulls the perfume bottle from her bag. “Have it.”
“No way, I couldn’t.”
She gives me a ‘bitch please’ look. “It’s a bottle of perfume, not a Ducati.”
“Hey, if you’ve got one of those in there...” I hook a clean finger through the edge of her bag and peer inside. “Damn.”
She grins. “Must have left that in my other bag.”
“A clutch!” we say in unison with a high five. We demolish the rest of the platter, then I rack the pool table. She breaks.
I gesture at a cut on her forearm. “Nice.”
“I was going to say the same about your hand. You bitch-slapping transmissions again?”
“You know it.” I sink a lowball. “It was from a race.” I feel her annoyed glare before I see it. “I know, Chug. You don’t even have to say it.”
“I just don’t get why you can’t race legally instead of slumming it in those street races. They’re not safe.”
“I’m okay.”
“Mmm. Well, I suppose you know your limits.”
Not even a little bit. “Of course.”
“I know you’re tough, so I won’t worry.”
“Good.” The overhead light glints off her nails. “Ooo lah lah!”
“You like?” She waggles her fingers at me. The nails are neat, but painted black—perfect for our losing battle against grease that refuse to be scrubbed away. Not sure how long they’ll last, but it looks a hell of a lot nicer than my ragged, stained nubs.
“I do, but you went without me?” I fake a pout.
“Yeah, the pale pink wasn’t cutting it. I looked like I’d clawed my way from an oily grave. We’re still up for next week, right? My treat.”
“I’ll stick to my pedis, and since you just gave me your sexy perfume, the nails will be my treat.”
“Twist my rubber arm.” She winks and sinks three balls in a row.
We play two more games before she’s got to run. “See you next week?” She grabs her wallet and I wave her off.
“I’ve got this one. Next week’s perfect.”
Chug pointedly stares at my hand. “Be careful, okay?”
“Always.” Mostly. I grin.
“See you.” She gives me a hug and saunters through the bar. The way people stare after her makes me both proud and a tiny bit jealous.
One table in particular catches my attention.
Matthew fucking Mercy and an attractive guy with brown eyes, black hair and soul patch, and muscles just shy of a steroid freak. He complements Matt well; all female eyes in the place are fixed on their table even though they’re the definition of ‘up to no good.’ Maybe all the women are interested because they look like that. Casual intimidation rolls off them in waves, and for the first time I realize how dangerous Matthew must look to an outsider.
Begging For Mercy Page 5
