Lance (Roughneck Shorts Book 3)

by Camaron, Chelsea

  When Reese nods to me, a silent indication that he is fine, I stay mounted on my bike and keep it in idle.

  “Darlin’, you all right?” I ask the hysterical chick in front of us. She is squatting down in front of Reese, pushing her sunglasses back to show tears streaming down her face.

  “Oh God, oh God,” she repeats while watching Reese.

  Sitting up, he takes his helmet off and smiles at her. “Baby, you calling out ‘oh God’ is supposed to be with my face between your legs, not at a show. Give me a few minutes, and we’ll make that happen,” he flirts.

  She jumps up. “Don’t you fucking call me baby!” She turns to stomp away.

  I reach out behind me and squeeze her arm gently. “Whoa there. He was letting you know he’s okay. You ran out in the middle of our show. Now, obviously, something is up with you. Want some help?”

  She eyes me curiously before the hysterics crash over her. “My boyfriend,” she wails. “I don’t even know if that’s what he was.” She covers her face in her hands. “I’m stuck here. I don’t know how I’m gonna get home. I live in freaking Texas. What a nightmare! I’m so stupid.” She fumbles for her purse, and I release her arm as she digs for something. “I gotta find my phone, gotta call a cab…”

  “Hold up, let’s calm you down some, okay?”

  “I have money. I have a good job. I don’t need him or his stupid ride. He sucks in bed, so she can have him. Me and BOB do just fine on our own.”

  I fight back a laugh. She is gorgeous, even in the state she’s in. Her long, wavy, brown hair glistens with flecks of gold as the sunlight hits her hair. Her round face with soft features and her curves are truly a map to treasures unknown. I want to run my hands over every inch of her. More than that, I want her to stop crying over whatever dickhead got her in this state.

  “Hop on. I’ll get you out of the chaos, and then you can call a cab.”

  She looks up at me as if she forgot where she is. She glances around us as the medical team makes their way over to check out Reese while the service team evaluates his bike.

  When I nod to Reese so he knows I am going to handle her, he winks, the bastard, and smiles as I merely shake my head.

  “I caused this. Oh, my God, I made him wreck.” She turns back to Reese. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention,” she rambles. “I’ll pay for your damages.” She looks back to me. “I’m sorry I messed up your show thingy.”

  I can’t help myself. I laugh. “Are you okay?”

  “Ummm, yeah, obviously better than”—she gestures to Reese— “I’m sorry, what’s your name? I’m Candace.” She extends a hand to a now standing Reese.

  “Drunken Monkey and it’s okay, Candace, just let Rush get you outta here, okay?”

  Her eyebrows rise at his name.

  “Hop on, Ace,” I say to her.

  Her eyes grow wide. “You want me to get on there with you?”

  “Didn’t stutter. Come on, Ace, let’s ride.”

  She shakes her head.

  “You gotta get out of the performance area so the next team can come in. I’ll give you a ride to the clear zone.”

  “Did he call you Rush?” She seems to be taking everything in now.

  “Ace, take a ride with me. It’ll answer your question.”

  Timidly, she comes over, and I hand her my helmet just as some douchebag at the protective wall calls out, “Candy,” to her.

  She glares over her shoulder at him as he shouts a bunch of nonsense at her. Seeing the panic on her face, I nod and point to the helmet.

  “Come on, Ace, let’s put on a show for your boy.”

  “He’s not my—”

  Before she can finish the sentence, I pull her to me. Her legs have to part slightly around my leg as I sit, straddling my bike. Wrapping a hand around her neck and pulling her face to mine, I push her mouth to mine and use my tongue to part her lips. She hesitates at first before relaxing into the movement. Then our tongues dance in a battle of desperation and anger.

  That’s it, Ace. Forget him and feel the rush with me.

  When she pulls away, I allow it, releasing her to put on the helmet.

  “Rush,” she whispers.

  “You have no idea, Ace. Now climb on, and let’s get out of the way.”

  She hesitates only momentarily before bitch-boy on the sidelines yells some shit about her being a whore, sending her over the edge to climb on behind me as if she does this every day of the week.

  Once she settles in behind me, I twist the throttle and rev the bike as she lies against me. Every inch of her is flat against my back. Her thighs encase mine as she trembles behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist.

  This is where a crotch rocket is awesome.

  Taking off, I give her the escape she obviously needs, making her squeal. I drop my left hand, giving her thigh a squeeze as we make our way off the strip and out into the parking lot.

  “Rush,” she says with a shaky voice.

  If it’s a rush she wants, I will damn sure give it to her.

  With that, I throttle down and take her out of the event. Reese isn’t injured, and individual stunts are later. I’ll get her situated then head back.

  Give her the ride, send her on her way, and show her douchebag man a thing or two about being a man. First lesson: a real man doesn’t leave any woman, but especially not his woman feeling stranded. Second lesson: a real man doesn’t make any woman, especially not his woman, wander around a rally alone. Third lesson—and this is a hard one: a real man doesn’t make any woman cry and leave her to sort that shit in her head.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ~Candace~

  Hands down, I am certifiably crazy. Put me in an institution because I should not be allowed in general population.

  I catch my supposed boyfriend cheating and take off. This lands me in the middle of a performance. I should have known when I had to climb—not so attractively, so it was more of a roll—over a concrete wall that I was going into a restricted area. It was all a blur in the moment. Then the guy on the ground, the bike still running, and the ringing in my ears growing louder … until him.

  Rush.

  He pulled up, and my chest tightened for an entirely different reason. Did I keep my composure? No, I let this complete stranger kiss me senseless. Did I stop there? No.

  Oh my, I am on the back of a bike with a complete stranger, one who has now taken me off the premises of the event. I don’t even have a last known location to be searched for. Panic builds.

  I try to push back from him, but this bike makes it hard. I don’t want him to lose balance and crash. Or do I? Is he going to rape me, kill me? Maybe crashing would be better.

  Before I can think anymore crazy thoughts, he pulls into a gas station then taps my thigh twice, and I sit motionless.

  “Ace, climb off so we can sort you out.”

  Doing as instructed, I climb off, realizing I have been clutching my purse like my lifeline since I first caught Wade kissing that chick. I set the bag down long enough to take the helmet off. Picking it back up, I mentally give myself a checklist.

  Inside my purse is pepper spray should he follow. Step one: go to the restroom. Step two: use find my location and then Google a cab company. Step three: get a cab to take me to the closest airport. Step four: get the hell home and put all this behind me.

  “Ace, you gotta calm down. You’re shaking. Let’s get you a drink and a cab, okay?”

  A cab? He really is trying to help me out.

  While he pulls his phone from his back pocket and calls someone, my mind races, and before I can slow down and take anything in, a yellow and white taxi is pulling up. ‘Rush’ opens his wallet and hands the man some bills then takes me by the elbow, guiding me to the car.

  “Take care of yourself, Ace. Don’t ever settle for a man who lets you walk away. An ass that fine is not one any real man should ever let go.”

  Before I can reply, he kisses my forehead then walks to his bike.
>
  Everything about him comes off in a rush. He has consumed me in a way that makes it impossible to even dwell on the hurt that is left in the wake of Wade. Absently, I touch my lips as though I could feel the lingering of his kiss.

  I don’t even know his name. This is a catastrophe.

  ***

  After a last minute, one-way plane ticket and a cab, I’m home.

  Going to bed after what is seriously the longest two days of my life so far, I should be exhausted.

  Instead, thoughts of Rush invade, and I am exhilarated.

  Three days go by with not one word from Wade.

  I look in the mirror. “Candy, why would he come back to you? Look at her compared to you,” I whisper to myself.

  I pinch my stomach. There is no washboard here. Nope, I can pinch an inch, and that is before I think of back fat, bat wings, or thunder thighs. Of course Wade prefers the Barbie type to me.

  I grab my size eighteen jeans from my closet then squeeze into them, thankful this brand is stretchy. I shouldn’t have eaten ice cream and cookies for dinner last night, but it was calling my name.

  Rush must have had some past issue with Wade to kiss me like that.

  Surely he doesn’t find all of this attractive, I think as I pinch my thighs.

  Sighing, I put on my favorite bra and navy blue peasant top. Dark wash jeans, dark top, light make up, a flat iron to tame my locks, and then put on a pretty face to survive another day.

  Will I ever have anything under control?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ~Lance~

  Candace. Ace.

  I didn’t even get her last name. Dammit.

  I run my fingers over my lips, wishing I was still kissing her. When I got her to the gas station, I could tell she was on edge. Needing her to feel secure, I called a cab and immediately sent her away. I didn’t take the time to think or react. I let that luscious ass roll right out of my life.

  You win some; you lose some. This sucks because behind those golden eyes lies the beauty of a goddess and so much more.

  “Still can’t shake her, huh?” Reese calls out as we take down our tent.

  I made it back in time to top individual stunts and help Reese repair his flairs. Whacko Jacko—who was the douchebag at the wall yelling at Ace and, I assume, her boyfriend—didn’t even place, making the win all the more pleasurable.

  “Shut it, Monkey,” I reply to him, not wanting to have this conversation.

  “Yer not gettin’ any younger, bro.”

  “I’m very aware of my biological clock. You a pussy now? Since when do we have these kinds of conversations?”

  “I saw the way you looked at her.” He shakes his head at me. “It was different.”

  “Just don’t like seeing a woman sad.”

  “Never have, bro, but that one was something else.”

  “Being raised by a single mom who had poor taste in men left me with two options, Reese: be like the men she brought around or be the man I wish she had found.”

  “I get it, man. You do know the good guys finish last, right?” He reaches out and shoves my shoulder casually.

  “You do know the manwhore always finishes first, right?” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Stamina, bro, stamina.” I laugh as he catches my joke.

  “Shut the fuck up, man.”

  We finish packing up and strapping our bags to our bikes. The ride home is peaceful, but my thoughts keep going back to Ace. I wish I knew more about her.

  The next two weeks pass in a blur of work, work, and more work. Finally having a weekend off, I clean up and set out to go to Zanne’s. Wendol, Heath, and LoraLeigh are meeting me there for a drink. Maverick and Kenzy are staying in until baby Tapper arrives.

  We make our way in, and after making my way through the bar to get a round of beers for us all, I head back to the usual table we share. I lift my long neck in greeting to Reese and settle in with my friends.

  The place is pretty crowded, and as we stand around, a dark-haired, skinny chick bumps into LoraLeigh. She grips Heath to keep from losing her balance when the tiny girl comes and steps into our group.

  “Move it, bitch.” She bows up at LoraLeigh.

  I want to laugh. LoraLeigh works at a gym with Wendol. She is certified in self-defense and has a solid thirty pounds in muscle compared to the sprite in front of her.

  “Tame it, bitch,” LoraLeigh spits back at her.

  Her eyes go wide as she looks over her shoulder at me. She was the girl with Whacko Jacko Wade from the Pavement Pusher event.

  “Well, well, well, if it isn’t a small world after all.” I stretch out the words so my southern drawl drags.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Barbie bitch groupie, we meet again. It’s not a pleasure, and I can assure you of that.”

  She taps her manicured fingernail over her mouth. “You’re the one who took off with Candy. I’m surprised she didn’t make you tip your bike over.”

  Now it’s my turn to question. “Excuse me?”

  “All that extra weight she carries around.” She laughs to herself. “Wade was only with her to try to score some pills. I knew the entire time they were together what the score was.”

  “If you’re that coldhearted and desperate, you deserve a prick like Wade. Ace is nothing but pure beauty.”

  “Nah, honey, she’s a waste.” She waves her hands up and down her body. “How could anyone think Wade would choose her over this?”

  “I’d choose it any day of the week. You, honey,” I emphasis her own endearment, “are used goods, nothing but trash that has yet to be tossed out. You’re the blanket with tattered edges and holes—no use other than something to cover up with on a lonely night.” She moves and I see the tattoo on her shoulder, saying die pretty. “It’s a damn shame you’re so caught up on superficial bullshit.”

  “You don’t fuckin’ know me, dude.”

  “Die pretty, honey. What do you plan to do when Karma deals her hand of fate on you? Young thing, all caught up on looks … when the cancer comes, and your hair falls out, what will you have then?”

  She stomps off without another word.

  “Are all women like this?” LoraLeigh questions.

  “No, but unfortunately she’s one of many just like her,” Heath replies quietly.

  Before LoraLeigh, he would have taken a chick like that home any day of the week. Not that he is superficial. On the contrary, he didn’t have a ‘type’. Nope, Heath ‘Hitman’ Thomas and Maverick ‘Tapper’ Collins would take home any girl.

  Not my style, though, and never has been. After all the years of watching man after man wear my mom down, I made a promise to myself to be better, to make the women around me feel better, and not just the ones I fuck.

  The night presses on without any further occurrence from Wade’s Barbie girlfriend. I’m heading over to the bar for another round when I look to the left, and there she is.

  Ace.

  Tonight just got a whole lot sweeter.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ~Candace~

  My girls Lynn and Jennifer wanted to go out tonight to celebrate Jenn’s new job. I can count on one hand how many bars I have been to in my life. This is not my scene.

  Funny, three drinks in and suddenly it might just be my new hangout after all. The DJ keeps the music steady; the bartender keeps the drinks coming; and the night is going well. When the techno beat changes to something slower, with more of a soft R&B sound, my girls and I sway with the music. Arms in the air, I close my eyes and let the rhythm take over.

  Heat. I feel heat behind me before hands find their way to my hips. At first I think it is Lynn or Jennifer. We dance, grind, and we don’t care. However, when I bring my hands to rest on the ones on my hips, they aren’t soft. They aren’t manicured. They aren’t small.

  Who the hell has their hands on me?

  I turn my head as I open my eyes. Either I am drunk beyond any intoxication level I have ever had in my life, or the man now behind me
is Rush. I must be wasted.

  I run my fingers over the tough skin of his hands. A working man’s hands, is my first thought as he continues to move with me.

  “Lookin’ good tonight, Ace. I’m happy to see you again,” he whispers in my ear as his breath teases my neck.

  I can’t reply. Between the alcohol and his presence, I feel like I might burn up from the inside out. Everything tingles, every touch ignites me further, and everything in the room stops moving while we continue to move with the music. Clearly, I am intoxicated and suffering from poisoning.

  Only, I don’t know that it is alcohol consuming me.

  We dance to two songs before the music changes to a rock song that I don’t think is intended for dancing, just moshing. I love to dance. I love all music. I do not love a mosh pit, though.

  Reality hits me as I push my hair out of my face. Rush is here, and I am a hot mess. Sticky from sweat, I look around for my escape, but my friends saw me dancing with a guy and left to give me space. Where are my girls to save me now?

  Do I want to be saved?

  Thoughts swirl as the room spins and Rush guides me to the bar. He raises his arm up to the bartender, and she immediately comes over to us.

  “What’ll it be, Ace?”

  “Water,” I answer responsibly. With him this close, I need to clear my head, not cloud it further.

  “Two waters, Juliette,” he orders and she smiles at us.

  Without the chaos of my life falling apart around me, I drink him in. He is tall—well, taller than I remember. His dark hair is sticking up in a finger-run-through mess. Good to know I’m not the only one who is hot tonight. The red T-shirt he is wearing hugs him, doing nothing to hide the washboard stomach flexing with every move we make. His tan arms glisten with a small sheen of sweat, and the muscles flex as he brings his glass to his lips to drink. I lick my lips, wanting nothing more than to taste his lips again.

  He drinks and I gulp. Picking up my own water, I bring the cold glass to my lips and swallow as if I had been stranded in a desert for days.