With them, she felt comfortable. They often spoke of her grandmother. Since the move, Lucy had called her almost every night. Later, she would check in on her grandmother.
When she had mentioned to Ellie how different it was talking with June and Tom than with some of the people at work, Ellie understood Lucy’s “inept and awkward” ways.
“Small talk with strangers makes you vulnerable to being judged,” Ellie had said. “You don’t like to feel vulnerable or to be judged. June and Tom make you feel neither of those things. They make you feel safe.”
It was so nice to be understood, she had hugged Ellie. Since then, they’d become closer friends.
From behind her, Lucy heard a cough. She whirled around. Leaning against the door frame was Bryce. He raised a brow. Her gaze shot to his blue eyes and unruly head of hair. One word. Gorgeous.
“You have some explaining to do.”
Faking nonchalance, she covered her yawn with one hand and pushed the drawers closed with the other. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play dumb. It’s not attractive.” He approached her with long and purposeful strides. Grasping her by her chin, he jerked until their eyes met. “The explanation, Lucy.” He leaned in, his lips barely touching hers.
He was right. Playing dumb was unattractive. “You know exactly why I’m up here.”
His glance shot to the bed. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes in exasperation.
“Not that.” Stepping back, she stuck out her palm. “Hand over my journal.”
His attention drifted to her open palm. In his unwavering stance and the determined set of his jaw, she suddenly realized Bryce wasn’t willing to give up the goods. No matter how many times she asked, his answer would be a resounding, “no.”
She was right—Bryce Morgan was an arrogant, unfriendly, and inconsiderate jerk. Frustrated with him, and annoyed with herself for letting his behavior be okay—for now—she grabbed him by the back of the neck, brought him down to her level and pressed her mouth over his.
Jason’s words rippled through her mind—inept, awkward, lifeless between the sheets. Desperation seared her. She clung to Bryce and tried to tease open his mouth with her tongue. He wouldn’t budge for her.
Embarrassed, humiliated, and crushed, Lucy let go. Stepping back, she stammered, “I’m sorry.”
She dared glance up. The pity on his face threatened to undo her. Her ex was right.
She barged past. Bryce grabbed her arm. She yanked free from his grasp.
“It was stupid of me to kiss you.” Her voice shook, and she hated herself for it. So pathetic. Fists clenched at her sides, she turned and faced him.
The pity hadn’t disappeared. Fine, let him keep the journal. She wasn’t ready to bargain with him anyway. When she was stronger, maybe she will.
“You’re too good for me. I get that. Next time, have your conversations inside and keep your windows closed. I don’t need to hear about your drinking and womanizing.”
Lucy pivoted and stormed down the stairs. After grabbing her stuff, she rushed out of Bryce’s place. Screw Bryce Morgan. She didn’t need a stranger judging her or to make her feel like she wasn’t good enough.
In their shared driveway, her foot sank into snow. She let herself inside her place and shut the door behind her. Frigid air blasted her body. She rubbed her hands together and stared at the fireplace.
Someone knocked on her door. She had an idea who it was. Lucy squeezed her eyes shut. A woman of twenty-five shouldn’t be hurting this badly just because the jerk next door hadn’t kissed her back. She wasn’t the same teenage girl the boys had refused to go out with because she looked “weird.”
“Go away, Bryce,” she said with her back to the door before she ran up the stairs.
Inside her bedroom, she quickly changed into warmer clothes and grabbed a heavier jacket. If she hurried, she could make it into town and hang out at the coffee shop. There, she could get hot oatmeal and a cup of coffee before she’d buy supplies at the store. The power was still out.
Once she shoved on sturdier boots, Lucy slung her backpack over her shoulder and headed out the door. It was too early to think about what she’d do tonight if the power didn’t return. She couldn’t stay at Bryce’s. Not after what had happened.
The grating noise coming from Bryce’s driveway was hard to ignore. He was shoveling snow. She avoided the stare he cast her direction and continued down the snow-covered street. She lifted her face to the skies and inhaled. The air smelled crisp and clean.
The grating noise faded. Soon, she was surrounded by silence. Then the crunching sound of heavy boots on packed snow cut into her solitude.
“If you wait, I can drive you into town.”
Bryce was at her side. She cursed her short legs and his long strides. “I don’t need your help,” she said looking straight ahead.
His steps faltered before he stopped. “Suit yourself.”
Her pace was solid the farther she moved from him. Inside, she quaked. No matter how much it hurt that he hadn’t returned her kiss, or how many times she reminded herself of what a jerk he was, one truth burned bright in her mind. Bryce was a heartbreak ready to happen.
After Jason, she wasn’t ready to fall again. Not that Bryce wanted her to fall for him. He’d made that perfectly clear inside his bedroom.
Fifteen cold minutes later, she was in front of the coffee shop in town. She opened the door and walked inside. The place overflowed with people. She waited in line.
In her peripheral vision, she spotted Bryce’s truck round the corner and park. When she put in her order, she noticed the baristas exchanging smiles as the door opened. She didn’t have to turn around to know he stood behind her. If she leaned back, she’d be resting against his solid chest. They stood that close to one another.
Once she paid, Lucy stepped off to the side. While waiting for her coffee and oatmeal, she scanned for a place to sit. The few spots that were left already had a group of people seated around the table.
“Hey, Bryce, we saved you a seat, man.”
Lucky guy. She grabbed her order and walked out the door. Strands of her hair flew into her eyes. With her hands full, she couldn’t swipe at them. Turning toward the light wind, she let it sweep the strands aside for her.
In front of her was the small, community park. Next to the playground was an empty bench. Perfect.
Smiling, she hurried over to the bench and sat. The wood bench was cold but a sip of coffee and a mouthful of oatmeal kept the chill tolerable. The playground held her attention as she finished off her breakfast.
She itched to sketch the scene in front of her. Icicles hung off tree branches while white puffs of snow swirled with the breeze. But she didn’t grab a pencil and her sketch pad from her backpack. Instead, she eyed the swing. How long had it been?
Growing up, she’d loved climbing trees and riding her skateboard. When she got older, her mother discouraged anything resembling something a boy would do. Makeup, short skirts, and low-cut shirts were encouraged. Lucy had resisted.
All of the above drew unwanted attention from older men. Older men didn’t interest Lucy. She wanted badly to fit in with kids her age. Of course her mother hadn’t understood.
“What is so important about kids your age?” Lin Badeaux had asked with that pout of hers.
Tugging the hood of her jacket over her head, she walked over to the swing, sat, and started to pump her legs. High. Higher. Until she soared closer to the sky.
Loneliness, feeling sorry for herself—that’s what the heavy ache in her chest was. As the swing swung back toward dirt, she set her foot down and got off. After tossing her breakfast into the trash can, she grabbed her backpack off the bench. Why feel sorry for herself? She had a fire to start.
At the store, she bought what she could carry in her arms and inside her backpack. The wood was heavy. Nearly slipping on ice on the way home, she clutched the bundle to her chest. Her boots sank in t
he snow. The breeze picked up. Her nose ran. Bryce chose that moment to pull up alongside her.
“Get in, Lucy. I’m catching a cold just watching you, darling.” His words came out as a drawl, and she stifled her laughter at his ridiculous attempt to sound sexy and . . . southern?
She shook her head. Their neighborhood was near. Another block. Her teeth chattered. So close. His truck continued its slow crawl alongside her.
“That pile’s not gonna last you through the night or the following day. The power company guys are working like crazy, but too many lines are down, knocked over by fallen trees.”
She shrugged. She thought she heard him gnash his teeth.
“Either you get in or I stop and snatch all one hundred ten, one hundred fifteen pounds of you.”
She stopped. Damn, he was good. Had she expected any less? Bryce seemed like the type of guy who could look at a woman and tick off her bra and waist size, height and weight, in one breath.
The engine ran while he waited. She took her time walking to the open passenger door. His Ram truck was jacked up high. She set the bundle of firewood and her backpack on the floor. Grabbing onto the upper side handle, she got in.
“Your teeth’s chattering. Come over here and get warm.” He reached over, and with his arm slung behind her lower back and his hand firm on her hip, he tugged her to him.
She landed against his side. Strong, solid, and he smelled nice, a hint of cinnamon sprinkled over vanilla. Liking the smell and feel of him too much, she shook her head and scooted closer to the door.
During the short drive to their places, they sat in silence. Was he thinking about their . . . well, her kiss earlier? Awkward.
When he parked and shut off the engine, she opened the door and hopped out. She managed to grab her stuff, and saying a quick, “thanks,” she rushed to her place.
“If the power’s not on by nightfall, head over.” It wasn’t a friendly, “swing by my place,” but rather a command.
She didn’t need anyone, especially a man she didn’t like or understand, telling her what to do. “I’ll survive.” Was the reassurance for her or Bryce?
“We’ll see about that,” he volleyed back. “The temperature’s expected to dip into the 20’s tonight. I’ll come by and cover your water spouts. Otherwise, your pipes could burst.”
She nodded and didn’t turn around. Her back tingled. Was he giving her the death glare? She turned the doorknob and pushed the door open with her boot.
A blast of cold air rushed at her again as she walked inside. Setting the firewood and backpack onto the floor, she eyed the fireplace. She’d never made a fire before but she would figure it out.
Her gaze darted to the kitchen. The Friday paper sat unread on the counter. She headed over and grabbed the newspaper. Inside her backpack was an Aim and Flame.
A knock echoed through her place. She went over and opened the door.
Bryce rushed past her with strange foam things in his hands. He left through her sliding glass door and disappeared onto her back porch. A few minutes later, he returned empty-handed.
“The water spouts are covered.”
She thought he’d leave after doing his neighborly deed for the day. Instead, his gaze lingered on her face. Lucy threaded her fingers through her hair. The last time she’d showered was when she got home from her shift, yesterday morning. Her skin itched, and she . . . swayed. Bryce rushed to her side.
“You’ve been awake too long, Lucy.”
He picked her up as though she was something fragile. If the room hadn’t been spinning, she would’ve insisted he put her down. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and settled her head against his mop of curly, brown hair.
The lull of his steps was too much. She closed her eyes and let sleep take over.
Chapter Four
Bryce set Lucy inside the unzipped sleeping bag next to the fire, covered her with more blankets, and watched her sleep. Dark lashes shadowed flushed cheeks. He went to caress her brow but paused over their arch.
In sleep, she didn’t look sad like she’d been when he’d caught a glimpse of her on the swing. It wasn’t healthy to be so lonely. Slowly, so as not to wake her, he skimmed his finger over one arched brow then the other. Lucy needed friends like she needed her next breath.
The pain in his shoulder grew unbearable with the drop in temperature. Shaking his head, he got off his haunches and grabbed a beer from the fridge. The majority of stuff in his fridge was a loss.
Except . . . before he had headed out this morning to follow Lucy to God knows where, he had packed steak in the snow. Beer in hand, he headed out the sliding glass door off his kitchen to check on their lunch.
His thoughts wandered back to his neighbor. Dammit, it wasn’t safe for her to be walking alone. One slip, and she could have ended up at the bottom of a ditch somewhere. Inside his jacket pocket, her diary weighed him down. Guilt. He took a long drink of his bitter beer.
When Lucy had kissed him in his bedroom this morning, he’d wanted to kiss her back. But the lip lock was done to distract him. Or egg him on. Or piss him off. Whatever her intentions were, Bryce had resented what she’d done. Her kiss had been given for the wrong reasons.
Why hadn’t he given back her diary when she’d asked for it? The timing seemed right. They’d spent a majority of the night getting to know one another. Yeah, their conversations weren’t deep and philosophical. For a new beginning with Lucy¸ their casual talk had been a good starting point. He had foreseen the finish line—a meeting with her stepfather.
Instead, he’d refused to give back her journal with the show of will in his stance and his set jaw. Why? Deep down, he knew the answer. Acknowledging the truth though was dangerous.
Keep Lucy’s diary near his heart, and it was a damn guarantee she’d stick close to him too. Though guilt weighed him down the longer he held onto the pages chock full of her secrets, he liked his reasoning a little too much for comfort.
The ruthless side of him though favored a different truth. His father had taught him that to get ahead in life, you not only needed skill and a sliver of luck, but a whole hell of a lot of leverage. Lucy’s diary was Bryce’s leverage—a straight shot to her stepfather and possible sponsorship.
Shit, not possible. The sponsorship had to happen. For the past two years, Bryce’s father has been breathing down his neck. Even now, in his own home, his father’s words rang in his head.
“I gave up my life to give you a chance to shine, son. Get back in the game and stop disappointing me like you did when you opened that charity restaurant of yours.”
The restaurant had started out as a project, a way to distract Bryce from his injuries and the obvious. At the age of thirty, he couldn’t compete with the younger guys. Though he had more experienced years on him, they had younger, more resilient bodies. One injury to his, and he stayed down for weeks.
Those jumps and tight turns on the tracks . . . his body could only take so much. He’d dislocated and broken his shoulders a couple of times. He’d had surgery for a shattered femur. In his early twenties, he’d broken his pelvis and spent months in rehab. Yet he had lived up to his father’s expectations and kept going and going like the damn Energizer bunny.
Sighing, he set the beer bottle in the snow and ran his damp palm over his face. In his father’s eyes, Bryce was never good enough. Sure, he might be near-perfect with Supercross championship wins under his belt, but not perfect. Perfect was a winning package of championships, lucrative endorsements, and big name sponsors.
It’d been almost two years since he’d been forced to leave the racing circuit due to his injuries. Nothing had changed. He had the trophies that pegged him a winner, a champion. They were on display in a giant glass case inside his restaurant.
Just like two years ago, he lacked lucrative endorsements or a big name sponsor. After his injuries, they’d dropped his ass and had moved on to younger riders. Yep, nothing about his situation had changed except for one thi
ng—the restaurant. The Grill wasn’t a means of distraction or a project anymore.
His workers depended on him for their paychecks, and they gave back in the form of friendship.
Every night, he’d stop by the Grill, and he and the guys would run their mouths off about the crap in their lives. It was cathartic, better than a therapy session any day. But then, so was the alcohol. He drank too much. Bryce understood that. He wasn’t an angry drunk. No one ever accused him of being belligerent.
No, he drank and stayed silent. Sometimes he passed out and slept at the Grill, too drunk to drive. Most of the time, he made it home and hit the sheets. Alone.
Five months ago, he had caught his girlfriend in bed with one of the volunteer firefighters. He’d ditched her ass. Like his father, he had no tolerance for cheaters. His father had thrown Bryce’s mother out of the house ten years ago.
Afterward, he avoided the opposite sex. He didn’t need more complications in his life. He just needed a sliver of luck. He’d gotten his wish.
His luck had to do with the book burning a hole in his jacket pocket, a whole bunch of white stuff outside, and the woman who resisted him every chance she got, except for that damn, sweet kiss.
Adorable. Beautiful. Sexy. The words described Lucy, what she was to him when she’d laughed or smiled. Scared shitless at where his thoughts wandered, Bryce felt around in the snow for the steaks he’d buried.
Though they were close to civilization, his and Lucy’s places backed up to the woods. He swore, one night, he’d seen the glowing eyes of coyotes.
He had chosen this development for a reason. His and Lucy’s unit was on a dead end. To his left was nothing but trees. Hidden among the trees were the tracks he and his father had made. The small development of five units of townhomes backed up to Bryce’s father’s five acres.
Near perfect for a guy who liked to hang out with his father. Or at least, a guy who used to like his father until this latest injury and long stretch away from the racing circuit made them more adversaries than father and son.
Near Perfect Page 3
