by Franca Storm
“I’m sorry,” I choke out.
He pounces on me, making me jump in surprise.
“No, I’m sorry, Nicki. It’s all my fault. I pushed you away. All these concerns were running through my head: ruining our friendship; the band breaking up. But…the truth is….” he tucks a loose strand of hair gently behind my right ear and gazes at me, his eyes so intense it’s like they’re trying to bore right through mine, “…I was just making excuses. I was scared. You’re not just some girl to me. You’re my best friend. But all this shit that’s been happening; it made me realize that…I want you. I want you to be mine.”
I’m speechless. For one thing, I’m not used to seeing John emotional like this.
“Nicki?”
Oh shit. I realize I’ve been sitting here just staring at him like a fool.
“Can you throw me a bone here?” he says, tickling the side of my neck to get my attention.
I giggle and bat his hand away. “You—John Kingston—are asking me to be your girlfriend?”
“Yeah. What’s funny about that?” he asks off the wide grin plastered on my face.
“Well, have you ever had one before? Cuz, in the four years that I’ve known you—”
He silences me with a chaste kiss to my forehead. “I’m ready,” he tells me. “Are you?”
“Yes,” I say. “Yes, I am.” I throw my arms around him, squeezing him tightly. He grunts in pain and I pull back instantly. “What is it? You’re hurt?”
“It’s nothing.”
My eyes narrow with suspicion. “Turn the light on.”
“Nicki, it’s fine.”
“John,” I press. “Light.”
He climbs off me and crosses to the bedroom door. He flips the light switch and then turns back to me nervously. Immediately, I see why. He’s been in one hell of a fight. His face is messed up badly. He lifts his shirt and shows me his abs. I cringe at the stark bruising.
“Is that from last night? Axel did this to you?” I ask with disbelief. How? Axel is…well, he’s a pussy. And John is a trained fighter.
John scoffs. “Please. Give me the credit I deserve. He brought along two guys a couple of days ago. They jumped me in the parking lot downstairs.”
“What?” I scramble off the bed. “Oh my God! Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
He breaks eye contact and looks away uneasily. “I didn’t want you to see me like this, cuz of the past.”
I take his hands in mine and he looks down at me. “You don’t need to hide things from me. I can handle more than you give me credit for. Plus, at the gym, I see a lot of this crap. Right?”
“This isn’t the same as what you see in a controlled fight.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not as fragile as you think. You should’ve told me. I could’ve helped.”
“I had Mitch. It was fine. I’m fine.”
I pull away and shake my head. “You’re still healing. You’re not fine yet.”
“Nicki—”
“Did you report it?”
He looks at me like I just told him the sky is green or something. “No. It was retaliation for what I did to him at the gym. It’s over. Let it go. I have.”
“What about last night?”
“What about it?”
“Well, tell me what you did to get me out of there. You already alluded to punching him. How bad was it?”
He waves his hand dismissively. “It was nothing. Just a warning punch. I didn’t put my full weight into it.”
“Really?” I ask, skeptical. I know what John gets like when he loses his temper.
“Yeah. Mitch and Chloe were around. I wasn’t really alone with him, so how much damage could I have really done, right?”
Shit. I can’t tell if he’s lying. This is odd. I can normally see right through him. If he is lying then he’s practiced this little spiel of his, anticipating my inquisition. And so, I let it go…for now.
“All right.”
He smiles and pulls me against him. “Judging by the way you jumped out of bed there, you’re feeling better. Are you up for going out?”
“Out?”
“Yeah. I wanna take you out today.”
“Like, on a date?” I ask, pulling back to look at him.
His eyes sparkle down at me and he smiles excitedly. “Yeah, a date.”
“Absolutely,” I say, grinning like an idiot. “Let’s do it!”
Chapter 21
~John~
“I’m fine, John. Really,” she tells me.
I grab the handle of the hard case carrying her acoustic guitar and pull it out of her grip. “I know you’re tough, but I’m trying to be a gentleman here, Nicki. We’re on a date. So let me do this.” I’m not exactly sure how to go about this date thing, but showing some chivalry seems to be a good way to go.
She looks down at the other hard case in my hand—mine—and then glances at the backpack on my shoulders. “John, let me take something.”
Stubborn woman! I put down my guitar case in my left hand and reach into the pocket of my board shorts. I pull out my car keys and hand them to her. “Here.”
She rolls her eyes and I laugh as we step out of the elevator. I kick open the door leading into the parking lot and she runs on ahead of me to my truck. I find myself scanning the area like a paranoid stoner. It’s because of the attack. I’m not freaking out from fear for myself, but because Nicki’s with me this time.
It’s clear. We’re good. Thank God. What a mood killer that would be; to get into a fight when I’m taking her out on our first date.
As I push all thoughts of Axel and any other shit out of my mind, I hear her curse over by my truck. The passenger side is facing me. I can’t see the driver’s side and whatever it is she’s cursing about over there.
“What’s up?” I ask as I approach. “You okay?”
As I drop both guitar cases gently to the ground, she flashes me a nervous smile and wraps her arms around me. “I feel like walking. How far is this secret destination of yours?”
“Fifteen miles,” I tell her. I try to pull back, but she holds fast, not letting go of me. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” she insists, squeezing me tighter and pushing her weight against me in an effort to move me further away from the truck. But I’m a big guy. She can’t move me.
“Nicki, stop it.”
I grip her wrists and peel her off me, holding her at arm’s length. I let go of her and dodge to the left, but she’s there instantly, blocking my path. Damn boxer training. I move the other way and she does it again. I blow out a breath, grip her hips and lift her out of my way. I stride over to the driver’s side. Immediately, I see why she was trying to keep me away.
Fucking hell! My ride has been keyed. And I’m not talking a couple of scratches. I’m talking huge deep scratches covering the entire formerly black flawless surface. And the scratches form one enraging word: Pussy.
Axel Craven is my only thought. That son of a bitch!
“John?” Nicki calls to me.
I turn to her and see the nervousness in her eyes. She thinks I’m gonna lose it. And she knows me well. Fury is quickly clawing its way to the surface. I’m right on the edge. Who wouldn’t be after finding their truck like this? Just as bad is the shit I know I’ll have to go through to get it fixed. It’s gonna be pricey and I can’t afford it. All the money I’ve saved from bartending non-stop during the summer is just enough to cover my living costs for the rest of the year. It means I have to go to my dad.
“I have money. We’ll take care of it, okay?” Nicki tells me.
“What? No fucking way.” Does she think I’m the kind of guy who would be okay with mooching off his woman? Screw that. “I can fix it myself. I just need access to the right tools.”
She senses my tone and tells me, “I didn’t mean to insult you. It’s just; this is my fault.”
“Your fault? Did you give Axel a black eye? Did you threaten him? Did you rip his bedroom door off i
ts hinges and pound him into the ground last night? Choke him? Did you do any of that? No, what’s happening here is all on me. You got me?”
“I knew it!” she yells. “You lied! You did beat the shit out of him last night!”
Oh shit. I’m in trouble now. And so, I do the only thing I can do; the only thing any guy would do in my position…I deflect it away by pulling out my cell.
“Let’s focus on the real issue here, Nicki.”
She frowns at me and throws me that I’m-not-impressed look of hers. I turn away, draw in a deep breath to calm myself and dial my dad’s number. It rings forever before he finally picks up. Typical. When it’s a client, he picks up on the first ring. When it’s his son, he almost lets it go to voicemail. Most of the time it does go to voicemail. That’s the extent of our relationship, except for the grueling monthly Sunday dinners that my parents force Nicki and me to attend.
“John,” his commanding drill-sergeant-like bark booms down the line.
I tense up immediately and respond tightly, “Is this a good time?” It’s a Saturday, so it should be. But the old man has been known to work on the weekends.
“Could be better. I’m in the garage working on the Triumph.”
Not as bad as catching him while he’s working a case, but it’s a close second to interrupt him while he’s working on his bikes or his cars. “I need to come over.”
“How much?”
“What?”
“How much do you need?”
“What makes you think—?”
“I know you’re not coming here to spend some quality father-son time together. So, I’ll ask again; how much do you need?”
Christ, he’s infuriating.
“Nothing. It’s the truck. I can fix it myself if you’ll lend me your tools.” The garage at my parents’ house is basically an auto shop with all the shit that my dad keeps in there.
“All right. See you soon then.”
Before I can get another word out, he hangs up.
“Argh!” I yell, just managing to stop myself from throwing my phone across the parking lot.
I watch as Nicki picks up her guitar case.
“Going somewhere?” I ask her.
“Yeah. You’re going to your parents’, right? We’ll rain check this date. It’s cool.”
I take her hand and pull her back to me. “No, it’s not cool. We’re having our date.”
“But—”
“We’ll swing by my parents’ place. I’ll fix up the truck. Then we’ll head out.”
“John….”
She’s worried about my mood, assuming it’s only gonna get worse around my dad. Normally, she’d be right. But not today. Nothing is gonna ruin our date.
“I’m fine, sweetheart. Fine,” I tell her as I plant a kiss on her forehead.
She sighs. “Okay. But I should change first. I don’t want Tom and Karen to see me like this.”
I look her over. She’s wearing a short dress that bounces nicely against her ass as she walks. Her hair is loose, flowing down her shoulders underneath a little sun hat. She’s showing a lot of leg—hot as hell.
“You look amazing.”
She pulls at the hem of the dress. “It’s too short. Plus, I’m not wearing a bra or panties.”
“What?”
She slaps my hand away as I reach for the hem of her dress. “Not like that, you pervert. You told me to bring a bathing suit.”
Oh God. I didn’t expect her to be wearing it right now underneath that cock-tease of a dress. “Let me see,” I breathe, reaching for her.
She giggles and steps back. “John!”
I reach for her again and she runs away around to the passenger side. I slowly walk towards her. “Nicki, I won’t be able to concentrate on driving if you don’t let me sneak a peek. My imagination will take over.”
She shrieks as I suddenly lunge at her and press her into the side of the truck. She giggles and squirms as I tickle my way up both her thighs.
“People will see,” she warns as I push up her dress.
“There’s no one here, baby. Just us.”
I push her dress all the way up, past her thighs. My cock hardens as I’m treated to the sight of her barely-there bikini bottoms. They’re tied together at her hips by a single elastic thread. There’s a fringe along the waistband. I run my fingers along it and she gasps in surprise. Oh yeah. That’s hot.
“Wow,” I breathe, fixing her dress and stepping back quickly while I can still control myself.
If she were any other girl, I’d have her bent over my truck already.
“You might wanna fix that before we get to your parents’ house,” she says, gazing at me wide-eyed.
I follow her line of sight and see the tent in my board shorts. Shit. “Offering, are you?”
She blushes and looks away. “No,” she mumbles quietly.
I laugh. “I’m just kidding.” I haul open the passenger door. “Get in, cutie.”
She climbs in and I swallow hard as her dress rides up her thighs. I look away quickly, shut the door and walk around to the driver’s door. Damn, taking things slow is gonna be harder than I thought. Down, boy. Down!
Chapter 22
~Nicki~
“They’re too deep, John. These scratches have gone right past the clear coat and the color. It’s right into the primer,” John’s dad, Tom, informs him as he runs his fingers over the scratches all along the driver’s side of the truck.
His arms folded and defensive, John shakes his head and says, “I can fix it well enough for now. A good sander, some heavy-duty compound, a wool pad, polish and paint.”
“Forget it. I’ll take you into the shop today. We’ll get the entire side replaced.”
“Too expensive,” John mutters as he scrutinizes the damage.
“I already told you that I’d give you the money. You know the only thing I won’t finance is that rock ‘n’ roll hobby of yours.”
Uh oh. I actually see John’s shoulders tense at his dad’s words. His back is to me, but I can only imagine the look on his face right now. “Hobby?” he basically spits.
“That’s right. I’m betting it had everything to do with this crass word scratched into the side of your truck now. I’ve told you so many times that that life only leads you into trouble like this, John. If this isn’t a sign to finally give it up, I don’t know what is.”
“This…” John growls. He gestures angrily at the scratches. “…has nothing to do with my music or the band.”
“Like hell it doesn’t.”
“It’s because he protected me!” I cut in before John puts his fist through something.
They both spin around in surprise.
“What happened, Nicki?” Tom asks me, gently.
John shakes his head at me, willing me not to tell him. But I’m not gonna let him take the blame for this.
“A frat guy on campus was bothering me and John stepped in to help me.”
Tom eyes John. “Is this true?”
“Yes,” John grunts.
“And?” Tom presses.
“And what?” John snaps.
“I can see the bruise beneath your sunglasses,” Tom tells him. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed you gritting your teeth every time you move. You fought him, didn’t you? You got into yet another fight.”
John flashes me an I-told-you-so glare. Oops. So, that was why he didn’t want me to tell his dad what had happened. Oh crap.
“You’re not in high school anymore, John. The time for these infantile school boy scraps is long past. You can’t settle things with your fists. You need to show some maturity. This is not the way that adults—that future lawyers—do things.”
“Sometimes the only way to settle something is like a man,” John retorts.
Tom scoffs. “That sounds like your Uncle Jim talking.”
“Tom!” Karen’s voice thunders from the door connecting the garage to the house. She saunters into the garage, turning her nose
up at the mess. She makes the same expression as she takes in the sight of her husband. He’s wearing baggy jeans and an oil-stained t-shirt. His spiky graying hair is dripping with sweat and trickling down his forehead. She’s dressed in her usual sophisticated way. Her chestnut brown hair looks gorgeous in a half-up, half-down do. She’s wearing a fitted white blouse and a navy blue pencil skirt, along with a pair of heels that probably cost more than an entire semester’s worth of tuition. “Perhaps you can put a pin in this conversation and save it for a time when our son isn’t on a date.”
She folds her arms across her chest and fixes him with a glare that insists that she means business; that she won’t tolerate anything but her way here.
“A date?” Tom exclaims, looking between John and me.
“Yes,” Karen says. She smiles kindly at John. “Isn’t that right, John?”
“How did you know?” John asks, taken aback.
“A mother knows these things,” she says with a wink. She walks past them and joins me a few feet back. She whispers in my ear, “You look very pretty in a dress, Nicki. Very feminine. The hat is a nice touch too.”
I gasp. That’s how she knew! I rarely ever wear a dress and especially not one so girly-looking—or feminine—as she put it. Most of the time, I dress just like one of the guys. But I’d wanted to make an effort; to look nice for my first date with John today. I didn’t even buy this dress. It was another gift from Chloe. She’s rich like John and whenever we go shopping she always secretly buys me something. And every one of those “somethings” is either too incredibly sexy or girly for my taste. But they seem to be coming in handy lately—first the chemise and now this dress.
“Thank you,” I say politely.
“This is really happening?” Tom asks, still cautious about believing it.
“Yeah, but we’re not discussing it,” John says. “I’m here about my truck. That’s all.”
Tom waves his hand dismissively. “Forget about the truck. I’ll have it fixed for you by the end of the day.” He hands John some keys. “Here.”
John’s eyes look as though they’re about to pop right out of his head. “You’re kidding? The Audi? You’re gonna let me drive the Audi?”
