by Jenny Hayut
When safe, sensible, and ever-awkward veterinarian Nicolette (Niki) Stringer first lays eyes on bounty hunter Holt Maddox, all she can think is badass. He leaves her breathless from the start, and she soon becomes addicted to him and the bliss he gives her. Then, just like that, he leaves, taking Niki’s heart and confidence with him.
When Holt returns to Coral Springs three years later, it seems he wants to pick up where he left off: with Niki in his bed. But there are unanswered questions, and soon she will discover shocking truths that leave her torn between her desires and protecting herself from heartbreak again.
Shifting Gears
By Jenny Hayut
Shifting Gears
Jenny Hayut
Published by Jenny Hayut at Smashwords
Copyright © 2014, Jenny Hayut
Edited by Danielle Fine
Cover Art by Danielle Fine
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Acknowledgements
Much love to my husband and children for their patience and for always knocking on the door of the bat cave. Thanks to Jessica, Bonnie, Jaime, The Genius, Elaine, and the office crew for reading and rereading and keeping me motivated! Love you girls! Thanks to my awesome editor, Danielle Fine, for going the distance and back again with me! And, finally, thanks to Bill for owning the car that brought Holt to life.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
About the Author
Connect with her Online
Chapter 1
The band is about to go on stage, and I’m standing at the bar, waiting. I’m having fun, despite all the guys lurking around, like they always do, looking for a piece of ass for the night. No slim pickings for them as it’s crowded as hell, and I’m lodged between two guys clearly finding their prey and going in for the kill. The voices are all around me, laughing, talking. The music beats against me, vibrates off me. So glad Cass talked me into coming out to celebrate.
I got promoted to head veterinarian at the animal hospital where I’ve been working since I was a teenager. I didn’t expect it to happen that quickly, but given the circumstances, with the sudden and unexpected retirement of Doctor Caravan, he decided I was the best choice for the job. I accepted it graciously, but with a heavy heart, because he was my mentor, my friend. Still, it was, after all, my dream come true, giving me a sense of fulfillment—something I hadn’t had in so long.
The bartender makes his way over, sliding the shot glasses in front of me. He must be new. I haven’t seen him working the bar before.
“Thanks,” I say, as he nods and walks away. My hands are on the two glasses, grabbing them from the already wet and sticky bar, when I hear it. A howl of laughter. A chill courses through my body as I stand motionless.
Oh my God, please don’t let it be. It can’t be.
It’s coming from the other end of the bar.
Don’t turn around, Niki. Do. Not. Turn. Around.
I try my best, but I can’t help it. I’m possessed by the haunting sound. I need to know. The sea of faces rushes past me as I search until I find what I’m looking for. Him.
Oh my God. No.
I can’t move. I can’t breathe.
Even though his back is to me, I know it’s him. Those broad shoulders, those chiseled arms. I can never forget that body.
My heart is pounding. A wave of anxiety, fear, and sheer primal hatred overcomes me. Yet, somehow, my body is tingling and swelling in parts it shouldn’t be. He looks as sexy as the day he left. God.
The heat is building, the bile working its way up. Dammit.
Niki, don’t do this shit. Walk away. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter.
It’s been three years since he disappeared. No explanation. No phone call. No nothing. How dare he show his face here, the place he knows I love? He had to remember that. He was here with me, back then, by my side, reminding me and everyone else that I was his.
My head is heavy, spinning. Please God, please don’t let me pass out, where he’ll see and feel obligated to come over and help. How pathetic would that be?
His body is turned toward her. Amber. The woman who still makes me want to learn how to fire a gun. She doesn’t matter either...but, dammit, she does.
She’s sitting there, on the barstool. Her bleached blond hair draped across one shoulder and her boobs spilling out from the one-size-too-small tank top she has on. The rhinestones spelling out “sexy bitch” across her chest scream Amber. Slutty, tacky. Her eye-popping cherry red lipstick matches the tiny skintight shorts she’s wearing. She’s gliding her spiked heel up and down against his thigh, and I can’t help staring at him. The man I never expected to see again. Ever. Holt Maddox.
She opens her long, thin legs and wraps them around his waist, drawing him closer. Yeah, totally the kind of woman he’s supposed to be with. He leans down to her, talking in her ear. He’s telling her what he wants to do to her, I’m sure of it. She giggles back at him, twisting her hair around her polished finger. The heat of my nerves is building in my chest, the sudden need to throw up controlling me. She’s still laughing at whatever he’s saying when he straightens and grabs his beer bottle to take a swig.
I can’t let him see me standing here, staring.
Damn it, Niki. Move.
But I can’t. My feet are molded to the floor, my eyes locked on him. Finally, just when I think I’ve summoned enough sense to walk away, to hide in the crowd, he turns and glances in my direction.
I gasp. Loud. His eyes are on me, but his face: no expression. It seems like forever, though it’s probably only seconds, but then he turns away from me, back to her. As he does, I can’t help but think of the night Amber gloated to me after he’d vanished. Someone like me, dull and plain, would never keep his attention. He’d proved her right. He. Doesn’t. Even. Remember. Me.
There’s a tug on my shoulder, and I turn to see Cass, my best friend since fourteen, standing beside me.
“Did you get the...? Holy shit, Niki.”
She’s seeing what I’m seeing. I’m not dreaming. Shit.
“What the hell is he doing back here, and with that trash?”
I can’t speak.
“Give me the word, Niki. You know I’m ready. Been waiting a long time for it.”
God, I need to take control of her. Fast. She’s not like me. Cass doesn’t hold back. She isn’t afraid to speak up. Whatever’s on her mind, she’s not subtle about it; she throws it in your face. I grab her arm to stop her from what I’m sure she’s about to do.
“Forget it. I don’t think he even remembers me.” I choke on my words and try to hold back my tears.
She turns to me, and her crumpled up face says it all. She’s as conflicted as I am.
My brain is screaming at me to run like hell,
but I ignore it. He took everything from me once. I won’t let him again. Especially not tonight. This is my night. My little piece of happy. Celebrating my success, with my friends at The Rox, my favorite place to be. I am not going to let it be tarnished or spoiled by Holt Maddox, showing up out of nowhere, for the second time in my life. I don’t know whether he’s back to stay or passing through, but I hope like hell it’s the latter.
“Cass, let’s go before someone gets our spot.”
I force myself to turn away from Holt and face the bar. The shot glasses are in my hand, and I pass one to her then toss mine back. The alcohol burns my throat, and I pick up my bottle of Stella to soothe it. I take a deep breath and walk away from the bar, away from Holt, and we go listen to my favorite band, Galaxy Dynamite.
Like my books, music keeps my head in the clouds, and at The Rox, it soars, especially when Galaxy plays.
Tonight though, with the thought of Holt being here, back after all this time, I don’t hear a single note. Gavin, their lead singer, strums his guitar. He pulls the microphone to his mouth, and I’m sure he’s singing, but I can’t hear him. Everything’s been muted.
I sneak a glance at the bar where I saw Holt. He’s gone. No sign of Amber either. Probably in the bathroom sucking him off. I tilt my head back to look at the exposed, wrap- around balcony, crowded with more fans. Nothing.
He’s passing through. Not back. He’s not staying.
“I saw him walk out, hun. A while ago. Relax. He’s gone.”
Cass, reading my thoughts as usual. I’ve always been an open book to her. She knows when I’m anxious, when I’m near melting point. She’s seen it. Lived through it with me.
When Galaxy finishes their set, we make our way back to our table. I pass Clay, on the dance floor doing his thing. He and his roommate, Angie, are both here celebrating my promotion with me too.
Clay stops me and pulls me to dance with him. I push him off, like I always do. The dance floor is his haven. Me, not so much. He loves to dance and loves to flirt. Both come so naturally to him. The girls (and guys) love him.
He’s a model and sexy as sin. Most guys with looks like his, the ones who come off arrogant and stuck on themselves, I avoid. But Clay’s different. He doesn’t let his slender, six-one, tight and toned body control him. He owns it, from his sandy blond hair to his green eyes, no doubt, but his heart…like gold.
“Come on, Niki, one dance. Let loose a little. Come on. We’re supposed to be celebrating.”
The two girls nearby, clearly trying to keep his attention by shifting their asses back and forth and throwing their hair back, turn their heads and look my way when he stops me.
“Clay, no, stop,” I plead to him.
“Come on, Niki-cakes, dance with me. You never dance with me.”
He pouts, and I can’t help but laugh at him.
“Not happening. And that lip stuck out like that is not going to work on me. Save it for those girls over there. Now let go so I can put my bets down before it’s too late.”
The girls and I have a game we play whenever we go out. Clay always racks up on phone numbers, and we like to wager whether the night will get him more guys’ numbers or girls’. It’s fun, for me, at least, to live through Clay. I could never be like him. Never have that kind of confidence. And it keeps my mind off how pathetic my non-dating life is.
“Okay, okay, you win, love. I’ll leave you be...for now.”
Clay lets go of my arm and walks toward the grinning girls, still standing there, watching us. They giggle as Clay approaches them, and I can faintly make out him saying, “Hello, beautifuls.”
Such a damn flirt. Some nights that shit gets him in trouble. Bouncing back and forth from girl to girl, guy to guy like he does. They get jealous and want to fight.
Insanity.
After several trips to the bar for liquid love in the form of shots and the ever-flowing Stella, I’m ready to head home. It’s easy to find Clay—he’s still making his rounds out on the dance floor. Ang and Cass are flirting with some of the guys from one of tonight’s opening bands. I’ve never heard of them but, with The Rox’s magic, they sounded great.
Cass is a sucker for drummers, so she’s flipping her hair and smiling big at the guy with the blond shoulder-length hair, who looks like he breaks girls’ hearts on a regular basis—which is the way Cass likes them. Angie takes guitar lessons because she likes them and the guys who play them, so she’s chatting it up with the guitarist from the same band.
I love to go out with the girls and Clay, and I love coming to The Rox, but I dread this time of the night. I’m always the first one ready to head home. It takes several, “You guy’s ready?” to get Cass and Ang away, if they’ve found someone who interests them. Clay, on the other hand, always has my back. I know when I give him the heads-up that I’m ready to go, he’ll make it happen. He is, after all, our ride home.
I approach the two of them, and, as I suspected, they aren’t ready. Cass gives me a look that screams, “Please don’t make me go yet,” and when I turn to Angie, her pouty lips read the same.
“We told Gage and Chris we’d stick around for their next set.” Cass points to their new friends.
Clay comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. He starts us in a dance, swaying my hips from side to side. Judging by the childlike grin on his face, he’s in a great mood, having a good night. I really don’t want to spoil it. He looks at me and knows what I’m thinking, what I want to say.
“You ready, Niki-cakes?”
I got that nickname from my unfortunate love for pancakes—unfortunate because no matter how much I try to work them off, those pancakes stick to me like butter. Still, I can cook the hell out of them, and the three of them are always asking me to make my pecan praline ones for our Saturday come-over-in-your-pajamas mornings. Cass and I live in the same complex as Clay and Angie, so our places have become second homes to one another.
I nod, hesitantly.
Clay links his arm with mine. As we turn away from Cass and Ang, we yell out against the blaring music, “Stay safe.” Pointless to try to talk them in to coming with us. They’ll manage to get a ride home on their own, I’m certain.
We make it through the crowd, which, a little after midnight, is still full, with some people just arriving. The Rox stays open until three AM, yet another cool thing for the indie bands as it offers them more play time compared to other traditional venues. Outside, we make our way to Clay’s car.
I love animals, music, books, and fast cars, in that order. I’ve always been attracted to badass cars. I’m talking old school Fords, Chevies, and Buicks. They truly make my heart go pitter-patter. The louder—and, most importantly, the faster—the better. It’s something about being in a classic—it captivates me, stirs me. The beauty of it. Hearing its rumble. Feeling that vibration. It’s like a tease, enticing me to be bad, which I never am. But I am a penny pincher, which means I don’t have a hot muscle car. I drive a Honda, the safe, sensible car of women nationwide.
Clay, however, has the hotness: a sixty-eight Mustang Fastback. Looking at Clay, with his designer everything, you’d think of him as a Beamer kind of guy, but he shares the love of classics with me. Lucky for him, with his well-paid modeling gigs, he has the extra cash for its upkeep.
As Clay walks us to his Stang, its midnight blue gleaming in the moonlight, I’m thankful his arm’s still around me, because I’m really lightheaded. Smashed, without a doubt. Cass and her lethal-ass shots are the death of me... Okay, so I set my own self up for punishment.
He helps me in, and I reach over to unlock his door. As I turn back in my seat, I notice a dim light coming from the adjoining lot behind us. Odd. The Rox is crowded tonight, but it’s not crowded enough to force anyone to park in the overflow lot. Unless they parked there on purpose. To be in the dark.
When I look closely, I can see the light is actually the cherry of a cigarette. And, attached to that cigarette, leaning against his nineteen
sixty-seven Buick Special, is Holt.
He’s alone, unless Amber is naked and passed out in the backseat. Likely. I straighten in my seat without hesitation as Clay climbs in. He takes one look at me and knows something is up. I guess my face is betraying me. The sudden mixture of emotions I’m feeling. Fear and pain. The fear of Holt seeing me and pain that he doesn’t.
“Are you okay? You look like you saw a ghost or something.”
I laugh under my breath. That’s precisely what I have seen: a ghost. One that’s still haunting me.
“Yeah, I’m okay, just tired. I think I let Cass talk me into one too many shots.”
I didn’t know Clay back when Holt first came into my life, and I’m not about to walk down memory lane with him now. I’m ready to get the hell out of here. Clay starts up the Stang, and we pull out.
I glance back to sneak another look at him as we make it onto the road. I can’t help myself. He’s still standing there, in the dark. Someone who doesn’t know him, doesn’t know that body, the way he holds himself, his confidence and cockiness, wouldn’t be able to make out that it’s him. But I know. God, do I ever.
He lifts the floating light of his cigarette to his mouth, takes a drag then flicks it out. It sails in our direction. He turns away from us and walks to the driver side of his car. When he opens the door, the shadow of a head pops up from inside. In that instant, I know I want him to disappear again, just as fast as he did before.
Chapter 2
The whole car ride home, he’s all I can think about. Seeing him again brings up all these memories I’d locked in a metal box and buried in the basement of my mind. God, why couldn’t I have walked up to him and said what I’d rehearsed in my head over and over again for the last three years? Instead, I stood there, jaw dropped, like the emotional train wreck he always makes me.
Three years, and he can still have this effect on me. Pathetic. He doesn’t even remember me! I’m nothing to him, while he was once everything to me.
