Hitched (Hearts of Stone Book 2)

by Christine Manzari

  I giggled at the thought, and Trace lifted his head to give me a questioning look.

  “Nothing,” I said, my expression feigning innocence.

  He cleaned the scrape with some peroxide, and when he leaned over to blow on it, I was bombarded with memories of his mouth on my skin doing much less innocent things. My breath shuddered as I inhaled, and he looked up at me with a ghost of a smile before reaching for the box of Band-Aids to patch me up.

  Once the Band-Aid was in place, Trace stood and pulled the ice pack away from my face, setting it on the sink. “Ready to go, Cricket?”

  “Uh, yeah. Just let me fix my makeup.” Getting him out of my house and out in public was something I needed to do pronto. I didn’t trust myself to be alone with him much longer. My thoughts were naughty, my body was desperate, and the bed in my room was an easy solution for both of those problems. A solution that would just make everything much worse than it already was.

  Trace pushed my hair away from my face and then trailed the backs of his fingers lightly across my jaw. “Not necessary. You look perfect.” His gaze was locked on my mouth, and he leaned in a bit as if he was going to kiss me. Or was that just me hoping he was? “Besides,” he said quietly, his breath fanning across my skin. “It’s just lunch. Right? A deal’s a deal.” He held up his left hand where I could see the ring was now gone.

  I blinked and shook my head slightly, the same way I would if I was waking from a dream. “The deal. Yeah. Lunch.” He was right. I didn’t need makeup. Who was I trying to impress?

  No one.

  ***

  As soon as Trace pulled onto I-95, I knew it wasn’t going to be just a simple lunch date. I’d been duped.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To lunch.” He glanced over at me, and when he returned his gaze to the front window, his fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “A crab feast at my parents’ place.”

  I closed my eyes briefly as the full weight of his words hit me. I was going to meet his parents. Why didn’t I insist on specifics?

  There were many times since I’d met Trace when I wanted to knee him square in the groin, but there was always a part of me that was too horrified to consider injuring such perfection. That part me was long gone now. As soon as I got out of the car, I planned to bring that boy to his knees, perfect dick or not.

  When I didn’t respond, he said, “My brother Huck will be also be there with his girlfriend, Cat, and their buddy, Jay.” His thumbs tapped against the steering wheel. “It’s just a small lunch. My sister Pately and her family are out of town so you won’t get to meet them.”

  Was he serious? I was going to meet his freaking family? I stewed in silence, afraid that if I spoke it would be a scream and I wouldn’t be able to stop.

  I stared out the window as his truck devoured the miles along the interstate—miles and miles of blurred trees and cars. Half an hour later, we finally took the exit for a town called Cockeysville. How appropriate.

  “I’m going to kill you,” I finally ground out.

  “She speaks!” Trace chuckled and looked at the clock on the dashboard. “Forty-minute silent treatment. That’s not as bad as I expected. I’m kind of disappointed. I thought I’d suffer much worse.”

  “Worse is coming, trust me,” I promised. I chewed on the inside of my lip as I glared out of the passenger window. “So. How are you going to introduce me?” Trace was so unpredictable, I wouldn’t put it past him to admit to everyone that I was his wife.

  “I figured I’d introduce you as Harlow. Since that’s your name.” He turned to face me, eyebrows lifted in innocence. “Unless you’d like to go by pet names. I could call you Sweet Cheeks.”

  Breathe. Wait until he’s at a stop light, and then you can kill him. Any judge and jury would understand…it would be considered a crime of passion.

  He turned forward again. “I’m partial to Ace,” he continued, unaware I was planning his demise. “You know, because I kick ass. And it rhymes with Trace.”

  “So does buttface,” I muttered.

  He laughed. “Mature. Come on, Harlow. What’s the big deal? It’s just lunch. And you can take out your frustration on the crabs.”

  That’s right. The little wooden mallets used for cracking open the shells would work just as well on the head of an irritating man.

  “I think we need to renegotiate this deal,” I huffed.

  “It’s a little too late for that.” He looked up into the rearview mirror and then over his shoulder before changing lanes. His eyes made a pit stop on my face before finding the road again.

  “I don’t have to get out of the car when we get there,” I threatened.

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself, but then you won’t be fulfilling your end of the bargain. I’d have to put the ring back on.”

  I slammed my head back against the headrest and then let my face fall to the side so that I was glaring at him. I sighed. “I don’t understand why you’re forcing this relationship.”

  The edges of his mouth lifted into a grin, and I could see by the way his eyes narrowed that the smile had reached them as well. “I don’t know. The moment I saw you standing there at the fountains listening to the music, I knew you were different. Interesting. From the first word between us, you challenged me, made me work for your attention.” He turned to me and motioned to my frowning face. “This difficult thing you have going on now isn’t the real you. I met the real you in Vegas, and I think it’s worth the effort to find that girl again.”

  He was quiet as he turned onto a long private driveway. Beyond the large fancy gate, there were pastures where horses grazed. In the distance, I could see a massive house. Once he stopped at the gate, Trace faced me again. He reached over, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder. “We only had one night, but fuck...it was a good night, and I want more. Don’t you?” His thumb caressed my skin as he watched me and when it caught on the strap of my tank top, my breath hitched in my throat.

  It was a good night. We did have fun. Why was I constantly pushing him away? There wasn’t anything wrong with fun. Was there?

  When his head tilted toward me, my body mirrored his, lips searching. A breath before the kiss happened, I knocked my purse to the floor, and the entire contents spilled across the floorboards.

  “Shit.” I pulled back, and when I bent over to gather up my belongings, my eyes fell on my planner. And how it had fallen open to one of my to-do lists.

  1. Deposit paycheck

  2. Ask Betty for extra hours

  3. Pay credit card bill

  4. Apply for internships

  That collection of words was all it took to snap me back to reality. Paycheck. Extra hours. Credit Card. Internships.

  I was in school for my career. I needed to focus on my studies and grades. I didn’t have time to fool around. I’d worked too hard to get where I was to just throw it all away for a sweet set of lips and good sex.

  I shoved everything back in my purse, and when I sat up again, he’d punched in a code, and the gate was opening. Trace had to look away to watch the road, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw his hand settle on the console as if to reach for mine. I pulled my hands into my lap, holding on to my purse.

  “I want an annulment,” I stated. I flicked my eyes in his direction to see his response.

  Trace’s mouth flattened into displeasure. “On what grounds?”

  “We’re not in love.”

  “Not yet,” he countered. “I’m willing to try to make this thing work.”

  I made a disgusted sound in my throat. One way or another I was going to get that annulment. I couldn’t afford a lawyer yet, but I was saving. Part of me wanted to insist that since I paid for the wedding, he should pay to put things right again. But I knew he wouldn’t agree to that. Speaking of wedding... “And I want the pictures.”

  “What pictures?”

  “The wedding pictures. The ones I paid for.” I rifled through my purse, pretending to organize it.r />
  Trace’s hand was in his hair, mussing it up as he frowned. “Why? So you can have a bonfire with them?”

  He wasn’t looking at me, but I still couldn’t look at him. “I plan on being a journalist—”

  “I know,” he said without looking at me. “You told me the night of your birthday. The next Anderson Cooper.” He quickly looked at me and gave me a half-smile before returning his attention to the road. “Only much prettier.”

  I cleared my throat. “Right. Well, the thing is, I’ve worked hard for my reputation and my future. So I just need this whole marriage thing to never have happened. That’s why I need an annulment. I need this to stay just between us. And I need those pictures.”

  His laugh was bitter. “What do you think I’m going to do with them, Harlow? Spread them across the internet? I don’t need any bad press either.”

  Odd choice of words…

  “I don’t know what you’d do with them.” I threw my hands into the air. “That’s the whole point. I don’t know you!” My heart was pounding and I could hear it echoing in my ears. I was married to a guy I was ridiculously attracted to, but deep down I knew it could only end badly. How could it end any other way? We were strangers. Great sex and bad decisions didn’t make a good marriage.

  We pulled up to a circular driveway, and he parked his car in front of a four-door garage. Once he turned off the car, his eyes found mine. “I’ll bring the pictures to class next time. But only since you paid for them.”

  My shoulders slumped in relief. One battle won. “Thanks.”

  He captured my chin with his hand and held my gaze. “But I’m keeping my ring. You gave it to me.”

  I released a defeated breath as I felt my body collapse further into the seat. “Why do you even want to stay married to me, Trace?” He was cocky and impulsive and charming. I couldn’t understand why he was fighting so hard to hold on to someone as prickly as me.

  His eyes met mine—possessive, dark, and hungry. I was caught by surprise when he leaned forward to press his mouth against mine. His tongue and lips pulled a smoldering kiss out of me, and I didn’t even try to stop him. I was burning—absolutely burning from the inside out—from the fierce way his mouth clung to mine. Trace pulled back to look at me.

  Wow. A kiss like that in less than three seconds? No wonder the hotel room was littered with condoms. No wonder I married him.

  “Because,” he said, holding my gaze. “I want to be able to do that any time I feel like it.” He ran his thumb across my bottom lip. His voice dropped, low and husky. “And because I like the idea that you’d be mine.”

  His. To do that to any time he wanted. I could almost hear my body singing the “Hallelujah” chorus in response. I wanted to beg him to move that hand lower and push me into the final crescendo. Make me see stars. I should be pissed that he was trying to lay claim on me, but no matter how much I tried to deny it, I liked Trace. And trying to say no to him got harder each and every time he charmed me.

  For a moment I wondered if being his would be such a bad thing.

  His?

  I was in so much trouble.

  — TRACE —

  10. CRABS & CONFESSIONS

  September 24, 2016

  TRACE STONE AND THE BIG O by GossipGrind.com

  Trace Stone has been spotted in Baltimore, which confirms reports that he’s back on the East Coast again. He was seen on Friday night at the Orioles Game cheering on the Os as they played the Tampa Bay Rays. The elusive snowboarder had his infamous blue-tipped hair under a baseball cap, but a source close to the family verified that Trace was in attendance at the game with his brother, Will Stone, and two other guests. When contacted for a statement, Stone’s agent refused to comment on whether his client has plans on competing in the X-Games this year. With the competitive season just a few short weeks away, most sports experts agree on one thing: Trace Stone might look healthy, but his disappearing act at his usual training facility isn’t a good sign for his future on the slopes.

  =========================

  I never thought eating crabs could be a turn on, but then again, I’d never eaten crabs with Harlow before. Newbies usually used the wooden mallets and crushed the shells into oblivion before picking the meat out of the shards. Experienced Marylanders even used a knife and mallet combo approach to attack the tricky shellfish to get the prize inside. But those of us who grew up within spitting distance of Baltimore needed only one thing. A butter knife. It was a source of pride to be able to pick a crab clean with nothing but a knife and years of know-how. Since Harlow was from California, I’d expected to be highly entertained watching her pick her crab meat from piles of shattered shell. And then I’d be able to swoop in to her rescue to show her the right way.

  Not the case.

  She picked up the crab in front of her, grabbed one of the large claws, and twisted it off to leave a huge chunk of meat dangling from the end. She dipped it in her pile of Old Bay seasoning and then tore the meat off with her teeth. The other claw followed suit and then with a swift move of her knife under the apron of the crab’s shell, she had the rest of the beast cracked open for picking. She swept away the inedible lungs before I could even suggest it, and navigated her way through the shell with expertise. I was so enthralled watching her pick like a local, that I hadn’t even gotten past the claws on my own crab.

  I tore my eyes away and glanced around the table to see that I wasn’t the only one impressed by the way Harlow was manhandling the crab. My parents and Huck watched with raised eyebrows while Cat and Jay looked as if they might be sick. The edge of Huck’s mouth tilted up into a smile, and my eyes returned to Harlow.

  She placed her knife on the middle of one of her discarded claws and hit the edge of the metal with the heel of her hand, cracking the shell like any Baltimore native would. Holy shit. So fucking hot. My sister, Paisely, who grew up eating crabs, couldn’t even pick them this perfectly. I wanted to throw Harlow across the table and take her right there among the Old Bay and empty cans of Natty Boh beer.

  “I thought you were from California,” Cat accused Harlow from across the table. Cat was currently battling a pile of claws my brother had left for her. She outright refused to pick the bodies.

  Harlow tucked a piece of meat between her lips and then grinned. “I am, but I’ve lived in Maryland for over three years. My best friend is from here, and he takes me to crab feasts with his family all the time. He’s the one who taught me how to pick.”

  Best friend? He? The thought gave me a sour taste in my mouth.

  “Oh.” Cat curled her lip in disgust, as if Harlow had somehow betrayed their hometowns on the West Coast by actually enjoying crabs and the act of dismembering them. Cat was delicately picking at her claw, trying her best to keep her hands clean. Cat never did anything delicately. Watching her with the crabs was better than an episode of “Ridiculousness.” She couldn’t even hide the look of disgust on her face, and I found it hilarious that the fearless girl who never backed down from anything had finally met her match at my parents’ lunch table.

  “You’re not even going to try it?” Harlow asked as Cat put another clump of meat from her claw into a pile in front of Huck.

  My mother looked away from her conversation with Jay to watch Cat as she inspected the claw in her hands as if it was a dead rat.

  Cat met Harlow’s gaze, and her eyebrows rose in challenge. “I wouldn’t even be doing this much if I hadn’t lost a bet,” she said holding the broken shell in front of her, glaring back down at her Old Bay covered fingers.

  I laughed. “What was it this time?”

  Cat’s lips flattened into displeasure as Huck grinned before taking a swig of beer.

  “It was classic,” Jay said. “Cat decided to test her Goonies knowledge against Huck and lost. Big time. She threw a temper tantrum any three-year-old would be proud of.” He took a sip of his beer and then grimaced, frowning at the can of Natty Boh Huck had given him. “Ugh. I forgot you all liked
drinking piss-flavored beer.”

  My mother laughed indulgently, lifting her glass of wine. “I offered you a glass of my best earlier, dear,” she said to him.

  “I may have to take you up on that,” he agreed, getting up and heading to the bar to get himself a glass of wine. He wasn’t eating the crabs either. No matter how hard my mother tried, Jay refused to be swayed, preferring to tease Cat as she served her crab picking sentence.

  “So how did you lose?” Harlow asked, returning to the subject of the bet.

  Cat was tight-lipped, whacking the claw with her hammer, a little more forcefully than necessary.

  I leaned in toward Harlow to explain. “Cat and Huck are both huge fans of ‘80s movies. They like to play this game where they ask each other trivia questions about movies and the loser has to do something awful.”

  “What was the trivia question?” Harlow asked.

  “Not a fair one,” Cat retorted, giving up on the claw in front of her and tossing it in the trash pile. She took a gulp of her water, clearly avoiding more picking.

  “It was a question about a deleted scene in Goonies,” Huck said. “The one with the giant octopus—”

  “Which is a totally unfair question,” Cat interrupted, pointing at him with another claw. “Deleted scenes shouldn’t count. Nobody knows the answer to that stupid question anyway.” Harlow looked up from her crab and Cat raised her eyebrows at her as if to ask, “Am I right?”

  “You mean the scene with the pirate ship?” Harlow asked, excited.

  Huck’s answering grin was triumphant, and he set his elbows on the table to lean forward. “Have you seen it?”

  “Of course,” Harlow said. “My father is a huge movie buff.”

  “Okay then,” Huck pressed. “How did Stef and Mouth get away from the octopus?”

  “Oh, that’s easy.” Harlow laughed like he’d asked her to add two and two. “Data shoves a cassette player in the mouth of the octopus and presses the play button.”