She nodded, but slid a bowl full of shrimp toward us. “I have way too many, help yourself.”
I looked down at the mermaid, but her tail did look pretty much finished. “Are you sure?”
She nodded. “Yeah, grab a handful or they’ll go to waste. I’ve already had a ton.”
Chelly didn’t hesitate and grabbed a shrimp by the tail and shoved almost the whole thing into her mouth. Shrimp sounded a lot better than a hot dog, so I took one, then another and then a bunch more until I started feeling like a pig, despite Celia’s assurances that they would just get thrown out if we didn’t eat them.
About ten minutes later, after she showed us around the kitchen and we got to see more of what was going to be a very impressive luncheon, I washed the shrimpy smell off my hands at the big sink and then gave her a quick hug. “Good luck with your event,” I said. She smiled at me and I turned to leave, but not before I caught her glancing over to the other side of the kitchen to look at her crush, Shane the kitchen guy.
“How’s that going?” I asked quietly.
Celia swung her eyes back to me. “Huh?”
I nodded my head toward him. “You and your chef?”
She blushed. “Oh nothing.”
“You danced with him at the ball. I remember seeing you,” Chelly said.
She shrugged. “Nothing’s happened since.”
“Hmmmm,” Chelly said, causing me to look over at her. Her eyes narrowed as they trained on the chef in question. I recognized her evil gears turning. Uh oh.
Celia must have thought the same thing because she gave me a panicked look.
“Oh no you don’t,” I said, grabbing Chelly by the arm. “I’m getting you out of here before you can do any damage.”
“Wait!” Chelly said loudly as I tried to drag her away. Terrified she was going to cause a scene in front of Celia’s guy, I stopped suddenly, exchanging worried glances with Celia.
Chelly reached over the counter and grabbed one last shrimp, shoving it into her mouth until only the tail peeked out. “Okay, now we can go,” she mumbled with a nod toward the door.
Celia and I both sighed in relief. “See you back at Rosewood,” I said to her as we left.
She nodded and returned to her shrimp, but not before she gave her chef another slightly anxious look. She had it bad, that was obvious.
“What do you think happened with them?” I said as we walked through the lobby toward the front door of the gallery.
“No idea,” Chelly said. “But we’re going to find out later, I can tell you that.” She pushed the large glass door open, holding it for me to pass through and I walked out into the blinding autumn sunshine.
And slammed into a wall. Not an actual wall, but a wall of hard, muscled human. “Ugh,” I grunted as the air was pressed out of my lungs. For half a second, I thought it was Jared, but then realized this human made Jared look average-sized.
I heard Chelly gasp behind me and I moved back a step, arching my neck to look up. And found myself staring into the most terrifying face I had ever seen.
Watch Where You're Going
As our eyes met, I gurgled out something that might have resembled an apology and then suddenly noticed a pressure on my arms. I looked down and he had his large hands wrapped around my biceps, presumably to steady me as I’d bashed into him.
He quickly let go of me, allowing me to step back again, getting the full view of his face as I looked up.
It was hard to tell how old he was, but though his eyes were hard and his stubbled jaw was square and chiseled and his hair was shaved almost right down to his skin, there was something about him that seemed young. Maybe it was the lack of wrinkles around his blue eyes, though he was hardly smiling. Most notable, though, was that under his left eye there was a tattoo of what looked like a teardrop. A tattoo on his face.
Finishing out his ensemble was a black leather biker jacket over a tight gray t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans and work boots. He was gorgeous in a soulless kind of way and if there was ever a poster boy for prison chic, he was it.
I swallowed and cleared my throat, still struck stupid by the collision. “Sorry about that,” I said after a long beat.
He looked at me and then over my shoulder until Chelly came and stood beside me. I glanced at her; she stared at him wide-eyed, not saying anything. I had the sudden thought that I’d pretty much never seen her speechless.
Rubbing a hand over his shaved scalp, this giant walking menace nodded at me and then without a word, walked around me and continued down the street.
As though we’d orchestrated it, after three footsteps sounded on the pavement, Chelly and I both turned to watch him go. I prayed he didn’t turn around.
Chelly whistled quietly so only I could hear. “That is one scary dude,” she whispered. “But check out the way he fills those jeans.”
“Let’s go,” I said, suddenly very conscious that if he did turn around and saw us checking out his butt, well....I wasn’t sure what he’d do, but I didn’t want to stick around and find out. As we turned back toward the grocery store, we were greeted by Dave who was jogging across the street to meet us. He looked at us and then over my shoulder down the street to where the guy was disappearing around a corner.
“You okay?”
I did a double-take. “Yeah, fine.” Though my heart was still pounding.
“Please,” Chelly said, smiling and tossing her hair. “That guy?” she jerked her thumb behind her. “We’re totally dating now.”
“Oh really, Chelly? Is that why he’s coming back?” Dave said, looking out past her, over her shoulder. “He picking you up for your date tonight?”
Chelly stiffened and whipped around, but of course there was no one there. Dave and I laughed until she smacked his arm. “Jerk!”
He tucked himself in between Chelly and I and put his arms around us as we walked back to the store. “Want something to eat?” he asked.
“No thanks,” I said. “But I could use a soda; fundraising is hard work.”
“I need a dog,” Dave said as we reached the barbecue.
“I need a Snickers,” Chelly announced and disappeared into the store.
Dave pulled out his wallet and handed a twenty to Mr. Stratton. “Three dogs and two sodas, please.”
“I’m not hungry,” I said.
Dave smiled at me sheepishly. “The dogs are for me. You can have one of the sodas, though.”
“Right,” I said, blushing. “Thanks.”
“How’s it going out here?” Dave asked Mr. Stratton as he waved off the change and waited for the firefighter to put his three hot dogs in buns.
“Great,” Mr. Stratton said. “But it’s tapered off some. Why don’t you go have a seat around back—there’s a staff picnic table—and I’ll hold down the fort for a bit longer.”
“It’s okay,” I said, suddenly in a panic over being alone with Dave.
“No, you go ahead,” he said. “I’ve got this.”
I suddenly wondered if Mr. Stratton had any experience with girls at all, because he was completely and utterly clueless that I was sending him very strong telepathic messages that the last thing I wanted to do was go sit at a secluded picnic table with Dave.
Then a thought occurred to me: maybe he was into one of the firefighters. He didn’t give off a gay vibe, but...I scanned my eyes around following his gaze and a half a second later, I realized I might have just called it. Although it wasn’t one of the guy firefighters he was chatting up, but the female one.
He totally wants us out of the way. What a dog! I took my soda from his extended hand and nudged Dave.
“Come on,” I said, walking toward the parking lot.
Dave seemed happy enough to follow.
I looked over at him. “Thanksgiving,” I warned.
“Thanksgiving,” he said back with a nod.
We turned the corner and walked toward the picnic table. It was kind of hidden from the parking lot behind a wall where stor
e employees could sit and smoke on their breaks sheltered from the elements. There was a big can for cigarette butts and I sat as far away from it as I could, flipping the tab on my soda to open it as I dropped onto the bench, leaning back against the table with a sigh.
The Parking Lot
“So,” Dave said, dropping beside me.
“Where’s Jared?” I asked, figuring that would get his mind off groping me, if that’s what he’d been hoping for. Probably, if we were at all thinking alike.
Dave shoved half of his second hot dog (the first one had already disappeared) into his mouth before he said, “Inside working the crowd. The store put up a sign with who he is and the soccer moms are eating it up.”
This grocery store was like a soccer mom utopia—hot former child actor on the inside, firefighters outside. “He must hate that,” I said.
Dave shrugged as he chewed. “It’s for a good cause so he doesn’t mind so much.”
I looked down at my can, running my finger around the rim as I thought of what to say while Dave ate. “So,” I took a swig of the cold soda, feeling it fizz against my tongue. This is so awkward, I thought.
“That guy was scary, huh,” he said.
“He had a tattoo on his face.”
Dave glanced over. “Yeah? I didn’t get close enough to see.”
I nodded, “A teardrop just under his eye.”
Dave’s eyes went wide. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” I took another drink for something to do.
He blinked at me.
“What?” I said.
“That’s a prison tattoo. It means he killed someone.”
I choked on the soda. “Really?”
He nodded. “I’m pretty sure.”
I shivered, only partially from the cold.
Dave put an arm around my shoulders. “He looked scary. That’s why I came to make sure you were okay.”
Looking up into his blue, blue eyes, I said, “I was fine. I just bumped into him, that’s all. It was my fault.”
Dave shook his head. “I saw him slam into you and grab you and I panicked. What if he’d had a gun or something?”
My heart was racing at the thought, and it’s not like Dave could have done anything if the guy had had a gun, but he was being irrational. “Dave, I just bumped into him by accident. It wasn’t a drive-by or something.”
He looked away for a second and then back at me, into my eyes. “I was worried, that’s all. Don’t tell me it’s wrong to be concerned about you.”
“Of course not, I...” as I stalled out, thinking about how my pounding heart was more about him and his concern for me than over a scary guy on the street, Dave squeezed me tight to him, tucking me into his shoulder.
I should have leaned away, but it was a bit chilly out, especially here in the shade, and he was warm and just felt right wrapped around me. He smelled amazing, but I tried not to think about that because if I thought about how good he smelled, I was inevitably going to think about that night and how he’d smelled then. How his lips had felt against my neck.
I stood up abruptly. “I should get back,” I said. “We should get back; it’s our event.”
He nodded toward the front of the store. “Your teacher is managing fine. I don’t think he wanted us there, anyway.” He grabbed my wrist and tried to tug me back down.
“No,” I said. “I’m too restless to sit.”
“Let’s walk, then,” he said, standing up beside me.
“Okay.” I thought we’d go back onto the street and walk down past the stores of the small town, but no, he led me back into the parking lot behind the store. “This is hardly a scenic stroll,” I said as we weaved between the cars and SUVs.
“What are you talking about?” he said, sweeping his arms around. “Look at all the trees lining this parking lot. There’s an oak and I think a maple. It couldn’t get more scenic.”
“It’s still a parking lot,” I said, laughing.
“You have no imagination,” he said, giving me a withering look.
You wouldn’t say that if you knew I was imagining what it would feel like if you were kissing my neck again, I thought and then shivered again before I turned my head so he wouldn’t see my blush. I knew he was waiting for a witty response, but at this point, it was a miracle I hadn’t thrown caution to the wind and made a meal out of his face.
He didn’t say anything else as we kept walking and I was curious what he was up to. I crossed my arms at my chest. “Where are you taking me?”
His car alarm beeped suddenly, scaring the bejeepers out of me. “Want to go for a drive?”
“That’s still sitting,” I said. “And we’d better not leave.”
He shrugged but walked around to the back where the rear gate was opening up. As I stood there, about to tell him I wasn’t getting in the back seat with him, he leaned in and pulled out a Westwood sweatshirt. I sighed.
“What?” he asked, handing me the hoodie as we stood under the opened gate. “You looked cold.”
Grateful, I took the sweatshirt from him and put it on, loving/hating how it smelled like him. I wanted to never give it back and as I stood there with him staring at me, my brain started working on how I was going to wear it back to Rosewood and conveniently forget to give it back. Ever.
“Brooklyn?”
Bringing myself back, I shook my head. “Sorry. Just for a second there I thought you were going to try to get me in the back seat with you or something.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth and his smile dissolved. “We could, if that’s what you want,” he said softly.
“Nice try. I’m not getting in your SUV with you,” I said, my voice reedy even to my own ears.
He leaned forward and looked down as he took the ends of the hoodie zipper in his hands and drew them together, pulling the tab up slowly. I held my breath, feeling the material tightening against my body as he did.
“We can’t have you being cold, can we?” he said.
“No,” I agreed, although I was hardly cold anymore.
His eyes lifted to mine, then back to my mouth. “I’m suddenly feeling really thankful, Brooklyn. Like it’s Thanksgiving already.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but before words could form, he leaned down in super slow motion, his eyes fluttering closed, and I was suddenly powerless to stop his lips from meeting mine. It was the lightest of touches at first and I thought that was going to be it, maybe a whisper of a promise for after Thanksgiving. But then, maybe when I didn’t lean away or protest, his lips parted and I felt the electricity of his tongue. I gasped, but didn’t move away, wordlessly granting him access, encouraging him on.
He exhaled and then his hands were on me, pressing against the small of my back, bringing me against him as our mouths collided in the parking lot of the Stop & Shop.
My own hands lifted to his face, the tips of my fingers tangling in his hair, ensuring he didn’t go anywhere. Not that he was acting like he had any immediate plans.
He groaned against my lips, causing my entire body to flush and then his lips moved across my cheek and down my neck. It was what I’d imagined since that night when he’d found me in Emmie’s bed, but was a thousand times better because this time there was no question he knew who I was. He was kissing me, Brooklyn, on purpose.
I took a staggered breath, realizing as he kissed the base of my throat and I looked up at the back gate of the SUV over us, that we were still in a parking lot and we could be discovered by anyone. I was about to stop him, when his lips were back on my mouth, his tongue finding mine.
Just one more minute, I bargained with myself. Then I’ll stop him. Just a little more.
But before I had the chance, he froze against me, his entire body stiffening. Then he leaned back and looked at me wide-eyed like I’d just kicked him in the crotch.
“What?” I asked, trying to bring myself out of my hormone-soaked daze. I panicked in that millisecond: was I a bad kisser? Had I inadvertently knock
ed his crotch, was he thinking of Emmie while he kissed me? “What is it?”
Before he said anything else, he dug into his jeans and pulled out his keys, pressing them into my palm. “Do you have a license?”
It was the weirdest question that came completely out of left field. I just stood there staring at him as my brain struggled to catch up.
“Do you know how to drive?” he said, more slowly, but his voice was urgent, his eyes intense.
I nodded.
“Good, you’re going to drive me to the hospital.”
“What?”
He nudged me out of the way and pulled the rear door down with a slam. “Hurry up,” he barked, pushing me toward the driver’s side door.
Tears pricked at my eyes, but something was going on, so I got in and started up the car, pulling on my seat belt and moving the seat up so I could reach the pedals. “Dave,” I said, my voice wavering as I put the car into drive. “You’re going to have to tell me what’s going on here. You’re really freaking me out.”
“Just drive,” he said, his voice quiet as he took deep breaths. “It’s not far. Turn right out of here, up Central Avenue to King Street, then hang a left into the Emergency. Hurry, okay?”
I pulled out of the lot, jerking the car a little, unused to the sensitive gas pedal. “Sorry,” I breathed, a tear rolling down my cheek.
“It’s okay. It’s fine,” he said through labored breaths.” He reached over and grabbed my hand, squeezing it. “It’ll be okay. But Brooklyn?”
I glanced over at him, trying not to completely freak out at how pale he suddenly looked and how I could hear him wheeze. “What?” I croaked, looking back at the road.
“That was really nice. The kissing, I mean. But no more seafood and kissing, okay?”
“Seafood and...?” What the... then my brain clued in. Emmie had told me he was allergic to shellfish. “Oh my God. The shrimp! We went to see Celia and I ate a bunch of the shrimp that were left over from her mermaid.”
“I don’t think I’m allergic to mermaid, but the shrimp would do it,” he said and then coughed.
Reading Between the Lines Page 11
