“So marrying a gold digger isn’t high on your list then.” I never did understand how a woman could only marry a man because of his money.
“Exactly. I refuse to marry someone just because I belong to one of the most influential families in Atlanta.”
“I wouldn't even know who the most influential families in Atlanta are. And to be honest, I don’t really care either.”
“They are some of the wealthiest, oldest families in the South. The ones who own most everything—real estate, politics, that type of thing. Unfortunately, it's the world I grew up in.”
I shrug. Not knowing what else to say, I ask, “You coming? Up to my place?”
He nods and follows me. When we get inside, he asks, “You really don’t give a shit, do you?”
“About the wealthy?”
“Yeah, about the way they operate and manipulate.”
I take off my jacket and set my backpack down. When I face him, I say, “You saw where I grew up. I’m a country girl at heart. I moved here to buy the bar and then expanded it into the restaurant because I like to cook. I’ve done pretty well, according to my standards—good enough to help out Mimi some and support Cody, and to save a fair amount of money too. I even started a college fund for Cody. I’m not financially savvy, but Jeb helps me and I read a lot. I’m also frugal. Like with this apartment. It’s all I need. You know? So to answer you, I don’t know nor do I care about those people. I’ll never be overly wealthy so I don’t have to worry about it.”
“I envy you your freedom.” His eyes scan the place and I detect longing in them.
“Why?”
“Because I’m trapped and don’t know how to escape.”
“I don’t understand.” To me, he has the world at his fingertips, but as I scrutinize him, especially his eyes, I don’t find happiness there. Instead, I see the opposite, a man who is trying to break free from something.
10
Weston
Dark eyes ensnare mine, and words I have only shared with a few come pouring out, one by one.
“I want to work for Habitat for Humanity. I want to spend some of my time building homes for the needy and teaching people carpentry. With my architectural and engineering skills, I would be a great asset. As it stands, I don’t need the money because I have a trust.”
“Do it then.” She leans toward me, and her fresh scent reminds me of the country home I left behind—warm and cozy, blanketed with lots of love.
“That’s the problem. My father will change my trust. Or rather he’ll have the distribution of it changed so I can’t access it until I’m older.”
She shrugs one shoulder. “So what?”
Special is naïve on this subject. “I’d have zero funds to live on.”
“Yeah, you would. You could earn money as a carpenter. And don’t you have anything saved?”
This is where her naïveté enters. “Not really. My savings is all tied up in the trust. It’s invested to earn a maximum return. Special, we’re talking a lot of money.”
“Learn to go without then.”
She says it so nonchalantly that I want to laugh. “I have debt obligations. If I walk away, I’d lose a lot.”
“You’d work it out. What if you started your own part-time business and worked for Habitat part-time? And then sell everything you don’t need.”
Leaning on the counter, I rub my eyes. “I don’t know.”
She grabs two glasses out of her cabinet. Then she pulls out two beers from the refrigerator and pours them for us. After handing me one, she leads me into her den and we sit. All this time I’ve been thinking about what she said. Maybe I could sell the condo and live in the warehouse for a while. I could live without the Ferrari. It was an impulse buy and I don’t use it very much.
“What types of things do you own that you don’t use much?” she asks. “You could get rid of that fancy car of yours. It’s too girly anyway.”
I shift on the couch, taking weight off my ass cheek, and turn toward her. “Are you a mind reader? I was just thinking of that. And what do you mean, too girly? That car is pure muscle.”
“Not by my definition. That truck you’re driving is muscle to me. Get rid of that froufrou thing. It could save you a ton. I bet the insurance alone on that thing is insane.”
“You have no idea.” And she also hasn’t a clue about the engine power behind my Ferrari. What she doesn’t know is that froufrou thing delivers 660 horsepower to sprint from zero to sixty in three seconds.
I smile to myself. Only Special would love my truck more than the Ferrari. God, I love that about her.
“Anyway. You want to watch a movie? I have Netflix.” She says it like it’s the most valuable thing in the world.
“Sure. Do you want to go out to dinner with me?”
“Like now?” A myriad of emotions flit across her features. Surprise is one of them.
“No, not now. But soon. Next weekend? Is there someone who can cover you at work perhaps?”
“Not exactly. I’m possibly hiring someone tomorrow, but I’m not sure if she’s up to it.” She won’t look at me, almost as if she’s afraid.
“Do I scare you?”
“Why do you ask that? I shot you. That should answer your question,” she fires back. Her façade of bravado doesn’t fool me.
I reach out for her hand, but as soon as I touch her, she snatches it away.
“This is why I ask. You act like a skittish rabbit around me. Why?”
She punches me playfully on the arm. “I do not. I just don’t like it much when people touch me.”
“Bullshit.”
Her head whips around so fast, I’m surprised it’s still attached to her neck. “What did you say?”
“I call bullshit. You’re scared of me. You think I’m sexy. I watched you checking out my ass. I know how women think.”
Her face morphs from being a frightened rabbit to the over confident sexy woman I met the first day I woke up in her apartment.
“So, that’s what you think, do you? That I was checking out your ass?”
“Can you deny it?”
“Of course, I can deny it. Why would I want to check it out? I’ve seen much better asses than yours. All I have to do is go to work. Asses abound in the bar. My God, you wouldn’t believe all the asses hanging out in there. It’s an ass buffet.” Her little joke isn’t lost on me, and it’s difficult not to love her smug expression.
“I don’t doubt you. I mean, isn’t that what bars are usually filled with? A bunch of asses? Why would yours be an exception?”
“Well, my bar caters to superior asses that are above and beyond special.”
“Does your name have anything to do with it?”
Now I’ve hit a nerve. She grabs a handful of my shirt and pulls me close. Through gritted teeth, she threatens, “Don’t ever bring my name into anything again. I’ve dealt with this crap my entire life and I don’t need you jumping on this train too. Are we clear?”
I lean closer and breathe, “Perfectly,” right before I plant a soft kiss on her lips. I shouldn’t have done it, because once I touch them, passion and lust flare inside me. I'm addicted to Special. Forget heroin, I hunger for her kisses more than I could ever crave any drug. From this point forward, she will consume my every thought. Too bad she won’t let me in. I’m the drop of oil in her bucket of water. Yes, she’s attracted to me, but she’s doing her damnedest to stay away.
I release her and she glances away. In a low voice she asks, “You want what they all do, don’t you?”
“What’s that?”
“You came here to get me to sleep with you, didn’t you?” She raises her head, and dammit all if her eyes don’t drill into mine. They almost make me squirm.
“No, that’s not true.” I don’t even sound convincing to myself. My believability factor is zero.
“I’m used to it, believe me. It’s what all the guys in high school wanted.” Her smile is empty. “I was stupid enough to fall
for their lies. But I’m not naïve anymore, Weston. Maybe you’d better leave.”
“No. Not until you hear me out.”
Her head tilts as she waits. What the hell am I going to say? That she’s irresistible and I’m weak? That she is so tempting I couldn’t keep my mouth off hers? That will totally win her over.
“Well? And don’t say it was because I shot you in the ass and I owed you one.”
“That’s exactly what I was going to say. The least you could do was pay me back with a kiss. Aren’t you supposed to kiss the place that’s injured?” I’m shocked she doesn’t slap me.
“You’re joking.”
“Not really, so I kissed your lips instead. You should be grateful. And besides, just because I kissed you doesn’t mean I want to sleep with you.” It’s impossible to hold back the smirk.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Not really. How many guys have you shot in the ass?”
“None,” she fumes.
“Then I think you should consider yourself lucky I’m not pressing charges.”
“Pressing charges?” She jumps up and directs her index finger at me. “You broke into my grandmother’s house!” Then her hand slaps herself on the chest. “I’m the one who should be pressing charges.”
“How about a little TLC instead?” She really doesn’t know how to take a joke. I need to inject a little fun into her life. Who am I kidding? I need fun as much as she does. At least she has a job she likes and doesn’t have Adolf-fucking-Hitler for a boss.
Her complexion turns a mottled shade of purple. “You are the most infuriating man I’ve ever met. I cannot believe how spoiled rotten you are.”
“Now wait one minute. I may be a lot of things, but I am not spoiled.” I probably am according to her standards, but she doesn’t have to know that.
“Oh, yes, you are. TLC, my ass.”
“No, my ass. Have you forgotten already?”
She sputters, trying to formulate a good comeback, but fails. Her arms fly in the air and she says, “You win. I give up.”
“So, does that mean you’ll give me a back rub? Maybe even a happy ending?” I laugh to soften that blow. I don’t want her to nail me. From the darts she’s shooting at me, I wouldn’t put it past her.
“Mister, you are seriously pushing your luck.” She looks at the wall where a clock hangs. “You have until ten and then you have to leave.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be alone tonight, seeing I got shot and all. What if I need help during the night or something?”
“You really are taking this to an unhealthy level. You know that, right?”
Shrugging, I say, “On the contrary, I’m doing it because of my health.”
With a huff, she grabs the remote and turns on her small TV. The only thing that pops up is Netflix.
“No cable or satellite?”
“Nope. Don’t have time for those,” she snaps.
Thinking back to the hours she works, I guess she isn’t here much to watch TV. She scrolls through the movies, but it’s easy to see her checking me out from the corner of her eyes. No doubt there’s something up her sleeve, and I know what it is when she clicks on Monsters, Inc.
“You really want to watch this?”
“It’s one of my favorites.” She’s not very convincing, seeing she’s still pissed off as hell.
I don’t say another word. I don’t even complain about my throbbing ass cheek, which has suddenly started to pulsate as though my heart is located in the middle of it.
As the movie plays her mood softens, but my discomfort makes it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the monsters. From the little I do pay attention, I must admit the movie is comical. Due to the pain, my expression is stern, but a grin manages to tug at the corners of my mouth.
A few times she nudges me with her elbow as she emits a hearty chuckle. The sound of her laugh—slightly raspy to make it sexy—plucks at places I won’t let myself acknowledge.
After about the fiftieth time I’ve changed positions, she asks, “Can you please sit still?”
Standing, I run a hand through my hair and ask, “Do you have any Advil?”
That gets me her full attention. “Are you all right?”
“Actually, my ass is killing me.”
In a couple of minutes, she hands me four Advil and a glass of water. “That should help.”
“Four? Isn’t that a lot?”
“No, the doctor told me to take this many when I hurt my back,” she explains.
Opening my mouth, I toss back the pills and gulp down the water. I hope these work fast because this pain isn’t fun.
“Do you have a low pain tolerance?”
“What kind of question is that?” I ask.
“I was just wondering.”
“Christ.” This woman takes the cake. “Maybe you should try getting shot in the ass and then ask yourself that question.”
Her expression crashes. “You’re right. That was completely insensitive of me. I apologize.”
“Apology accepted. Would you mind if I lie down on your bed until this Advil kicks in?”
“No, that’s fine.”
She walks me back to her room and I practically fall face-first onto the bed. I hope I’m not coming down with something because it’s unusual for me not to feel well. I don’t know why I’m so tired, but I instantly fall asleep as soon as I hit the pillow.
11
Special
Maybe he didn’t get much sleep last night because he reminds me of Cody when he takes a nap. Hopefully when he wakes up, his pain will have improved. The last thing I want is to see him suffering. When I asked if he had a low pain tolerance, I was trying to figure out if he was worse off than we thought. But the fact is, though I’ve tried to cover it up, the guilt over shooting him chokes me and I’m worried about him.
Even the movie doesn’t help much, and this one always makes me laugh my worries away. The angst between Weston and me is strong, and I’m not sure how to handle it. At ten o’clock, the movie ends and there’s still not a peep from the bedroom. When I stick my head in the room, all I hear are soft snores. He’s still out. My eyes linger for a moment on his ass, but it’s not the perfection they’re drawn to this time. It’s the hole in his jeans from the bullet I’m hyper focused on. I need to stop or I’ll make myself crazy. I decide to get ready for bed since I have an early delivery coming in and my new prospective employee is supposed to meet me at eight a.m.
After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I climb into bed, but Weston is on top of the covers and it’s a no-go getting underneath them. Instead, I search for a blanket to use as a cover. Once I’m satisfied we won’t freeze, I switch off the light and fall asleep to his soft snores. At about four, Weston’s thrashing wakes me. He mumbles in his sleep and my attempts to calm him fail. I turn on the lamp and notice his face is flushed. When I brush his hair away, his skin is fiery hot.
I jump out of bed and run around to his side. “Weston, wake up.” Glassy eyes greet me. “You’re feverish,” I tell him.
“My head hurts.”
I run to the bathroom to get him some water and then call Jeb.
“Spesh, what’s up?” His voice is groggy.
“Weston is burning hot.”
“Take him to the hospital. Right away. He must’ve gotten an infection from the gunshot. I’ll meet you there.”
“Okay.”
When I get back in the bedroom, Weston’s fallen back asleep. Waking him isn’t easy. Getting him to the hospital won’t be either.
“Where are your keys to the truck? I can’t take you on the Vespa.”
He blinks, long and slow, several times like he doesn’t understand me. I take matters into my own hands and check the pockets of his jeans. They aren’t there. Maybe he set them on the table or counter. I do a quick search of the apartment and find them in his jacket pocket. Then I quickly change into jeans and a sweatshirt. I’m happy Weston didn�
�t undress before crashing because he’s almost delirious. His six foot two inch frame versus my five foot four one nearly takes us tumbling down the stairway. The only thing that saves us is the handrail. If his ass didn’t have that damn wound in it, I would sit him on it and have him scoot down. We eventually make it and stagger to the truck.
The closest hospital isn’t far, so I head directly there. My sweaty hands tremble as I drive and I pray he’s going to be all right. He’s so fucking hot—I’ve never felt anyone that warm before. The emergency entrance is right ahead, so I pull up and run inside, yelling. Someone comes out with a gurney to bring him in.
“He can’t walk. He’s sick and can’t walk,” I keep repeating.
“Miss, you can park your truck over there,” the woman points to a garage across the street, “and meet us back in here.”
“Yeah, okay,” I say. My mouth has become the Sahara and my heart hammers so loud I can barely hear anything. As I walk back to the entrance, Jeb appears. “Oh, thank God you’re here.” I fall into his arms.
“You okay?”
“I don’t know. No. He’s so sick, Jeb.”
“Spesh, listen up. You can’t tell them you shot him.”
“Why not? It was an accident.”
“I know, but they’ll have to report it and the police will go to Mimi’s to collect the gun. It’ll be one big mess. Just say he showed up like that, and you don’t know what happened. He’s a friend and he injured himself.”
He’s right, and without the gun Mimi won’t have protection. And knowing her, she would never go out and buy another. “But won’t they suspect something?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I cleaned him up pretty good.”
“Must not have been good enough. If anything happens to him …”
“Special, don’t even go there. He’s going to be fine.”
“You didn’t see him, Jeb.” I wring my hands and he grabs them.
“He’s young and healthy. He’ll be okay. You’ll see.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I am. Come on. Let’s see what’s happening in there.” He takes my arm and guides me through the automatic doors. They make a whooshing sound and my heart thumps wildly again. We walk to the reception desk where I ask about Weston.
A Special Obsession Page 8
