But I wait until they disappear from view and then peer sideways at the paper bag.
Nothing for it.
I yank the Red Thing out and toss it onto the pavement, where it bounces and rolls drunkenly in an arch. Next, I squirt lighter fluid all over that sucker and flip the Bic. I touch the flame to the Red Thing and—woosh—I jump back as it flares upward.
Eek!
I nervously eye the pinestraw mulch about a foot away, but the flame quickly dwindles to a sickly purple and smoke curls into the air, bringing with it the smell of burning plastic.
As the phallic shape melts and oozes on the pavement, I do an honest-to-God fist pump. It just feels so great. So…okay, symbolic.
To comply with 1b, I grab the Polaroid and peep through the hole, lining up a shot. I hit the button, and a flash of light illuminates the ground and the sizzling, burbling effigy, followed by a kuh-kuh-ntchuhhh as the floppy rectangle of film ejects.
Suuuuch a weird way to snap a picture.
“What the hell’s going on here?”
My heart, I swear to God, compresses to a pinpoint. I know that voice.
I’ve dreamed that voice.
He’s not supposed to be here.
Aiden
The fuck?
I blink at the scene before me. Some crazy person just lit a fire in the parking lot of my goddamn bar. Can tonight get any more fucked?
I drop the trash and rush over. It’s only a whimper of a flame, but with how my day’s going, I’m not taking chances.
I squash the flames with my work boots and skid sideways at the gooey slickness. Red, blackened slickness.
What the—?
Behind me, a giggle, quickly stifled, cuts through the air. Well, that’s unexpected—I assumed the slight figure in the hoodie was some young male punk.
I spin around. Said feminine person’s easing one foot back, then another, head down.
Normally, I’m not confrontational, but today’s been screwy, and I’ve fuck-all patience with everyone and everything. If this chick’s causing problems on my property, I want to know. And stop it.
“Not so fast.” I lunge forward and grab her arm just as she twists to move away. Which causes her hoodie to droop off.
My hand flies off her as if it’s been burned. “You!”
The cause of my sleepless nights is right in front of me, ladies and gentlemen. Burning something in my parking lot. Because my day can’t get any more fucked.
Jesus.
I haven’t seen her since the morning we parted. Vulnerability leaks from her, making me feel as if I’m handling a hot potato. And handling it badly. Some kind of freaky-weird need washes through me. A need to protect. A need to comfort. I don’t like it.
It’s daylight, but the sun’s low in the sky and she’s standing in the one spot that has her partially shadowed by the taller building next door. I can still make out the soft curve of her full lower lip, which contrasts with her narrow upper one. For some reason, the disproportionateness (is that a fucking word?) slays me. I’ve definitely had wicked-hot visuals cycle through my mind of those lips doing—
I wrench away from that inevitable path, because my damn dick is getting ideas.
We’re standing in the parking lot like two gunslingers facing off. At least she’s not darting off. Unlike the night we met, her brown hair’s cinched up in a ponytail.
I thumb behind me. “What were you up to?”
Like a turtle going back into its shell, she pulls her hood back up and shoves her hands in her hoodie pockets. It shows how fucking tired I am that I didn’t even notice the lace trimming the hem, cluing me in to her gender.
“It’s…” She clears her throat. “It’s not what it looks like.”
Her voice. Goddammit. I am not reacting to hearing its tones for the first time in weeks like Pavlov’s damn dog.
I glance over my shoulder at the reddish blob as her words finally penetrate. “It looks like you lit something on fire in my parking lot.”
“Um. Yeah.” She nods her head. “That’s what it is. It looks like what it is,” she says on a rush, her voice breathless. Eager. Relieved.
Okay. I’m confused, but it could be because I’m operating on zero sleep. Thanks to her. “Why?”
“It was…it was something nasty that, er, needed to be, um, snuffed out so it won’t continue…contaminating its surroundings.”
She looks up and away, and I’m staring at her profile under the hood, trying to decide if her words make any sense. Remember, my brain is mush.
I go with it. Easier that way. “What’re you doing here?” I wince. Jesus, that sounded accusatory, as if she doesn’t have a right to be anywhere she damn well pleases. But part of me is like, why here?
She twirls her car keys, the metal clinking rhythmically. “Actually, I’m about to go on a road trip to Atlanta.” She glances at her car. “I need to leave. I thought…I thought you were flying out?”
I’m thrown for a sec that she knows this, until I remember Claire’s her best friend.
“I missed my flight.” And the ones that’ll get me there now will max out my purposely small credit limit.
She stops clinking her keys. “Sorry. That sucks. Driving?”
“Yeah, borrowing a friend’s car.” And as soon as he gets here, I can take off. The new motor’s in place, and the beer’s running cold.
“What happened to yours?” Clink, clink, clink go her car keys again.
“Loaned it to a buddy since I thought I’d be out of town.”
“Can’t you get it back?”
I shake my head. “He’s already halfway to Miami.”
“Oh. Okay. Um, good, er, running into you. Bye.” She backs away, avoiding my gaze.
Should I be offended that she wants so little to do with me?
And without a backward glance, she ducks into her car and leaves.
Leaving me standing in my parking lot, a bag of trash and a red smear on the ground nearby, and wondering—what the fuck just happened?
Aiden
Thirty minutes later
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
I’m staring at the steam shooting from the hood of my friend’s car. I kick the tire, which feels all kinds of satisfying but doesn’t do a damn thing about getting me to Atlanta.
I managed to pull the car into a nearby gas station off Fruitville road. I guess I should be happy it happened before I got on the interstate, right? I pull out my cell and type:
Your car died. Sorry.
I then shoot him my GPS location.
Shit. Sorry. Leave it there until I can figure out what to do.
Now what the hell am I going to do?
Tires crunch behind me, along with the buzz of a window lowering.
“Aiden?”
I close my eyes. No. It can’t be.
“You okay?” Jane’s voice is louder, as if I hadn’t heard her.
I whirl around. Her window’s down, and she’s looking up at me, her forehead creased.
“Hey.” I run my hands through my hair.
She drapes an arm on her door and pokes her head out. “What happened?”
“Car’s radiator blew.” I take in the sight of my buddy’s car, which is now just a steaming pile of junk. I pivot back at Jane. In her car.
My tired mind coughs up an idea. It’s stupid, and I’m now questioning my sanity. The truth is, she blew me off. I told myself I was relieved. And I am. Though if I dig down enough, I know it bothers me. There’s something else though too, besides irritation and relief. It’s…who the fuck knows? But maybe now I can find out. Find out why she left and find out what else this reaction is.
“You’re going to Atlanta?”
Her head tucks back into the car’s interior. “Yeeesss…”
I step forward. “Take me with?”
Her eyes widen with panic, but I can tell she’s trying to straddle the politeness line. “Can’t you rent a car?”
“All booked.” At least all the cheap ones were. It’s why I’d resorted to borrowing this car.
Now her arm comes off the window, and she’s completely in the shadow of her car. “I… It’s not a straight shot.”
Her voice is hard to hear, so I close the distance and lean toward her with my hand propped against the car’s roof. “Not a straight shot?”
She shakes her head. “I won’t get there until Friday. I’m leaving now, but I’m taking a roundabout way.”
Friday’ll get me there in time for the game. This team-building stuff is bullshit. The team wants me there early, and I can still catch that expensive flight, but I’m peeved that it’ll cost me so much. Especially on top of the unexpected repairs tonight. Even if I pay for the gas on this trip and take into account hotel stays, it’ll be waaay cheaper.
She starts rambling about how tedious and boring it’ll be, and I’m fighting both annoyance and a smile. She’s really doing her damnedest to unsell this trip, and it’s having the opposite effect.
Perversely I want to do the exact opposite of what she wants here.
“I’m in.”
Her face drains of color. “But…but…”
I hit her with my sure-fire, panty-melting smile. It’s kind of unfair, but… “Please? You’ll be doing me a solid.”
And maybe I can find out why the hell she ghosted me after we had such an awesome night together.
“It’ll be boring!” she says in desperation.
Boring? Music to my ears. A boring car ride with this woman might be just the method to work her out of my system.
Chapter 3
Jane
This cannot be happening.
So. Yeah. Here’s me heading out on this stupid soul-searching road trip. It was bad enough that I got caught fulfilling 1b in The Rules by Aiden, aka The Turd.
This is a friggin’ nightmare. The Turd is leaning against my car, all easy charm, and…and…batting his ridiculously long eyelashes, and…
Okay, he’s not batting his eyelashes, but I feel compelled, okay? Just like the night I met him, I’m sucked into his orbit by his charm and can’t seem to pull away.
Also, the horrifying, holy shit feeling that he’d caught me setting fire to the Red Thing is still right there, pushing against my skin, making me feel both sick and antsy.
He wasn’t supposed to be there. And now I pull in to fill up my tank and find him stranded. The universe is having a laugh.
Here’s the thing—I know he’s a playboy. There can never be more with him. But tell that to my body. It just up and goes hey there as soon as he gets close, completely ignoring the fact that he’s absolutely the wrong kind of guy to get involved with, much less that he just caught me burning an effigy of a penis.
Charmers like him are fun for others to play with, but I’ve been let down too many times by men like him.
I have a weakness for them, though I never realize their nature at the time. The boogers sneak up on me. Case in point—it took me until I caught my ex-boyfriend Brett cheating on me to see that side. I’m getting better at spotting them, but Aiden proves I still suck at it. Once I found out he was a player, I dropped the connection. Fast.
Claire’s wrong—I don’t need to find myself. I already know I’m the type that’s better off alone. Because the kind of relationship I want—dedicated to each other and equal partners and a good dose of passion—well, let’s face it, I’m not the outgoing, va-va-voom type that can attract a guy like that.
My forecast of what I can expect? Some nice guy who seems safe and compatible, and then cheats on me after we have kids. Nope.
I wasn’t even enough to inspire the one-night stand I wanted with him. How pathetic is that? For the first time, I pick up a guy and nothing happens. The whole night. Nothing.
“Please,” he says again.
Gah. He’s batting those lashes now. He was clean-shaven the night I met him, but now his strong jaw has a five o’clock shadow, which being blond gives him a bit of an edgy look. Couple that with his straight nose, prominent cheekbones, and those languid eyes, it’s like he’s deploying weapons to slay me.
This trip is partly because of him. A trip I’d rather not do. Journaling. Traipsing around tourist sites. The night we met, I was standing by a post in the crowded bar while Claire was playing darts with Conor but pretending like she had no interest in him whatsoever.
Nearby, two guys were chatting, and yeah, I picked the spot to hang with Claire because the dark-haired one was kinda cute. Slightly dorky, with glasses. My speed. I didn’t plan to act on it though. No way.
And then the friend approached. Who was not at all my type. For one thing, he was blond. But he was also one of the muscular, good-looking types that, while I can objectively acknowledge why girls—and some guys—would fan themselves on sight, have just never done it for me. Too hunky.
More to the point, I’m not their type. So I figured he was smoothing the way for his shy friend. But when he came within a foot or so, I became a firm believer in pheromones. Up till then, the concept had been theoretical to me. But, holy cow, when he stepped within my space and started talking, everything inside me perked up. And tingled.
Which was such a novelty that it took me a moment to realize he wasn’t there for his friend. And all that tingling morphed into nervous excitement and swooped right into my stomach.
And it’s doing it again. My stomach. Being all swoopy.
Shit.
Telling him why I can’t have him along on this trip would be admitting too much. Shit. And he’s stranded. And we’re going to the same place.
I grip the steering wheel, pull in a deep breath to ground myself, and say, “Sure.”
Aiden
Relief sweeps through me at Jane’s words. Relief I don’t want to examine. “Don’t leave.”
She thumbs behind her. “I’ve gotta get gas. Join me when you’re ready.”
It’s a busy station, so she pulls in behind another car to wait her turn while my sluggish brain works through the next steps. My buddy’s got a spare set of keys, so that’s easy. I text him an update and hotfoot it to the trunk. Next, I tap Luke’s number on my cell and snag my duffel bag. I texted him earlier about missing my flight.
“Hey, man. Bad news.” I fill him in on my itinerary. I’m calling him instead of Conor, our captain, because it was Luke’s idea to get up to Atlanta so damn early.
“We need you up here before Friday.” In the background I can hear a loudspeaker announcement, so they must’ve just landed.
“Not really. It’s the defense that needs the extra team-building with the new goalie.”
Luke sighs through the phone. “I don’t like this. We’re supposed to be a team.”
“We are a team.” There’s an edge to my voice. The resentment’s been building since they first proposed we take extra days off to go up early. “I’ll be there Friday. Plenty of time to kick it around with the guys before game-time Saturday.”
I lock up, and Luke’s still talking. “I could talk to Conor about using the sponsorship funds to pay for your flight.” They paid for the one I missed. I can’t ask them to fork over more.
Jane’s still waiting, so I park my ass on the hood. “No. I…I need this.” And, fuck, I’m not lying. I’m exhausted. My whole world’s been this damn bar, the training for the playoffs, and lately, angsting over Jane.
The way I see it, this trip can help with all three—get Jane out of my system and give me space from the bar and the team to regain my equilibrium. And the idea of driving up there tonight was about more than my brain could take.
Luke’s not happy as he talks through the rest of the logistics with me, but I can’t seem to care.
“Who’s giving you a ride again?”
“A friend of Claire’s.”
“A friend of Claire’s?” No way he knows what happened—he wasn’t at the after-party due to an injury—but his voice has a trace of suspicion. “The one you hooked up with?”
/>
Fuck. “I didn’t hook up with her.” At least not in the way he thinks.
“Then don’t hook up with this one either. Keep your dick holstered, all right? We don’t need the drama with the women’s team.”
I push off the car. “Fuck you, Luke.”
“I’m serious. Normally I wouldn’t give a shit, but if it affects the team…”
It’s always about the team with him. I roll my eyes.
He’s still going. “…sooner or later you’ve gotta stop being a man-whore. I know getting left at the altar by your college sweetheart messed you up, but—”
Oddly, humiliation flares that I’d thought long fucked away. “Jesus, you guys are the worst gossips. Who told you that?”
“Does it matter?”
Jane’s pulling up at the pump. “Look, I’ve gotta go. I’ll send updates. See you on Friday.” I hit end before he can reply. Just because Luke’s got something permanent doesn’t mean it’s right for me. Fucking love peddler.
Jane
Finally, the line moves, and I pull up at the pump. Which means I have to tear my gaze from the rearview mirror and Aiden. Weak. I’m so weak. I mean, what the hell? How is having Aiden on this trip going to help me get over him?
Wait. I don’t need to get over him. My life’s perfectly fine, and it’s Claire who’s reading more into it. Claire who thinks I need to get over him. Silly Claire.
I unlatch the seat buckle and catch movement on the passenger side. Aiden fishes his wallet from his back pocket, and his butt—okay, his muscular butt—is framed by the window, his jeans molding to him perfectly. He, thank God, doesn’t wear his jeans so low they’re falling off. His are in that wonderful range where they’re snug enough to show he actually has a butt, but not so tight he’s in danger of cutting off circulation and looking douchey.
It really is a nice butt. Firm. Grippable.
Wow, okay. It’s not just Claire being silly. It’s also my stupid libido.
He doesn’t want you, okay?
Risking It Page 2
