by Kim Karr
My mission simple.
Without hesitation, I walk right up to the girl behind the counter in the gift shop. “I need a sweater or a blanket. Do you have either?”
The salesclerk smiles at me. “We have both. Which would you prefer?”
I thump a hand on the counter. “A sweater would be great.”
“What size?”
I shrug and then glance over my shoulder. “See that woman sitting in the red leather armchair near the bar? It’s for her.”
Snapping a piece of gum, she says, “A small. I’ll grab one in black for you. It’s from our resort wear line, though. Is that okay?”
My assumption is that means it’s expensive. “Yeah, sure. Whatever it costs is fine.”
She hurries to the back and returns with a black sweater as promised. “One hundred and fifteen dollars,” she says, smacking her gum.
Okay, so I guess it is expensive. I hand the clerk my credit card and look back over my shoulder again to make sure she hasn’t bolted.
“Do you want me to cut the tags off?”
I nod. “And I don’t need a bag or a receipt.”
With the item in hand, I head back toward Charlotte. She’s watching me. The closer I get, the thicker the tension grows. It’s palpable. Dense. Deep. It makes it hard to breathe. I suck in a lungful of air and keep my eyes on her.
She drops her gaze as if assessing me and then rakes her teeth over her bottom lip. I don’t have any idea if she knows what she’s doing to me, but I feel the heat of her stare and I can barely stand it. I have to avert my gaze just to ease the burn.
“Here, put this on,” I tell her once I’m standing in front of her again.
She shakes her head. “Jasper, you shouldn’t have done that.”
“It’s not a big deal. You’re cold.”
“No. I’m fine. Really, I am.”
My eyes settle on hers and I narrow my stare. “Put this on, Charlotte, so I can concentrate on something besides how fucking cold you are, and we can get this little talk over with.”
Startled, she reaches for the sweater. “Thank you. I’ll pay you back.”
Feeling like an ass for being harsh, I pop the swizzle stick back in my mouth and hold the sweater out for her. “Here, let me help you. And you don’t need to pay me back.”
She rises to her feet. “Thank you,” she says again. “It was really nice of you.” There’s a break in her voice as if she’s not used to people doing nice things for her.
I hate the thought. Then before I can stop myself, my eyes start to slide right down that body of hers and they take forever to ease back up those long legs.
Perv.
Perv.
Perv.
Turning around, she doesn’t notice. Thank fuck. But then she extends that delicate arm and the whole time she’s easing it into the sleeve, my eyes are dipping into the mounds of curls, wanting so much for them to be my fingers.
Perv.
Perv.
Perv.
Of all the times in my life for me to be so focused on a woman, with everything going on in my life, it has to be now? I have land to worry about. I’m certain the auction will be delayed. I have a business to build. One that I’m just starting. And of course, a dead body that keeps popping up in my mind to somehow forget.
She twists her neck and her eyes meet mine. The connection makes my heartbeat speed up.
I can’t take much more of this.
Distance.
I need distance.
Soon enough, her other arm is secured in the sleeve. Quickly, really quickly, I step away and back into the chair across from her, but I don’t look away. As if addicted to the way she moves, I watch the way she sits, crosses her leg, moves her arms, wipes some more stray tears from her face.
Seemingly resolved, Charlotte takes a deep breath and then looks right at me. “So, you want to talk.”
I do. I want to know why the fuck your father took you and ran off. Where you’ve been. Was there money? Is that why he ran? I want to know why. Why? Why? Why? Do you even know? I have a million questions.
Chomping on the swizzle stick one last time, I take it from my mouth. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but then she wipes another tear away and I can’t say any of them. Not right now. Not after everything that happened today. Above all else, a long time ago she used to be my friend. It would do me good to keep reminding myself of that fact, because right now I’m looking at her like she’s nothing more than a hot piece of ass that I’m a little overexcited about.
Fuck, this is all kinds of wrong.
Even though I know I need to find out the answers to the questions that have been eating at me for years, and then get the hell away from her, I still can’t ask them. Instead I speak without thinking once again. “What do you say to that coffee now?”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Then let’s grab a drink and something to eat instead.” This time I don’t ask.
She shakes her head. “I think I’ll just wait to get my things and call a cab to take me home later.”
Now I’m annoyed. “Look, Charlotte, it’s been a fucking long day and I could really use a drink and something to eat, and I’m sure you could too.”
A weighted silence falls between us. I think she’s considering my request. I certainly am not going to beg.
The silence is making her look even more vulnerable with each passing second. Unable to take it another minute, I stand. “I’ll be in the bar if you decide you want to join me.”
“Why would you even want to be seen with me?” Her words are a whisper.
And now I get it. She is afraid, but not of me, but rather what people will think of me if I’m seen with her. I look her in the eye. “Are you in Detroit to hurt me?”
She shakes her head. “No, Jasper, I promise I’m not.”
Her tone is honest and real.
I believe her.
So I give it to her straight. “Because even though I really wanted to hate you, I just can’t.”
She wraps the sweater tighter around her chest. “Why not? Everyone else does.”
There was talk about her at the site and I hated to hear it. I wanted to stand up for her. “Because it’s wrong. What happened has nothing to do with you. And I think everyone is just in shock. Give them time.”
“I don’t think time is going to matter. I can’t change who I am. I’ll always be his daughter.”
That fact can’t be disputed, but we can’t pick who our parents are and because I know this all too well, I offer my hand. “One meal between old friends can’t hurt either of us.”
She looks at my outstretched hand in contemplation.
“No serious talk, either. Not tonight.”
Hesitation is clear.
“I promise. Not after the day we both had.”
This time she laughs.
It makes my breath catch.
“You always could persuade me to do just about anything.”
Her comment causes my mind to wander back to a time when we would climb on the hood of my mother’s car, bury ourselves in the largest pile of snow, and slide across a frozen pond that I wasn’t certain was completely frozen.
I was her friend.
She was mine.
She was someone whose bedroom window I snuck into when I knew she was alone and afraid. Whose bed I slept in. Whose body I wrapped my arms around. But we were eight then, and innocent.
“Come on,” I insist. “I mean it, no heavy talk tonight. We’ll eat, grab your stuff, and then I’ll see to it that you get home safely.”
And so I beg.
I beg because I can see her goodness. Her innocence. Her fear. But most of all, I can see her sadness and I want to take a little bit of it away.
From the look in her eyes I can tell that her resolve is waning, and because she needs me, needs someone, she takes my hand.
I don’t know if we can ever be friends again. I don’t know why she’s here or if she’s
still in touch with her father or his business partner. However, right now none of that matters. Someone she knew is dead. She lost her job. Her car is broken down. She obviously can’t afford a hotel room. And she’s not exactly welcome in this town.
So yeah, even though I have my own shit going on and my head is a fucking mess, I can sense she really needs someone to talk to. A friend. And I can be that for one night.
One night.
One night won’t change anything.
FREEZE FRAME
Charlotte
THE SIGN NEAR the valet reads be back in 5 minutes.
Even standing beside Jasper for five seconds seems to make my heart beat double time. Five minutes will send it flying off the chart. Needing to calm down, I take a step away and move to stand in front of him. “You know I can take a cab home. I’ll be fine.”
That killer smile is just too much. “I’m a man of my word, Charlotte. I told you I’d make sure you got home safely and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
He’s not like anyone I know, yet he’s so much like the Jasper I knew at eight years old. Just like when we were kids, he has proven to be a person who keeps his word. He didn’t bring up the past, but I did bring up the events of today.
It felt wrong not to.
In essence, we were two strangers with a bit of familiarity who shared in a traumatic experience today. So we talked about Eve. How Jasper felt when he discovered her body. How I felt when I figured out the dead body was my co-worker. I confessed my concern that someone killed her and there was no clear motive as to why. We also talked about the fact that more than likely this would cause a delay in Jasper’s plan to buy the land, as it was now a crime scene. And it was okay to be sensible in our thinking for those few minutes, for Jasper to be concerned about his livelihood, but then we went back to the emotions we were both feeling about someone being killed and purposely put where she would be found during the very public groundbreaking ceremony.
They were raw.
Real.
Filled with honesty.
And I think we both felt better letting our feelings out.
Things started to feel a little heavy and once we’d eaten, we both sat in silence for a few minutes. Needing to clear my head, I left Jasper with plans to meet in the lobby and went to check on my room. The police were finished with their search and when I went in to retrieve my things, they had placed my laptop and research folders in a hotel laundry bag. They let me take them because they thought I needed them for work.
Of course they don’t know I no longer have a job.
One of the officers did, however, notify me that my hard drive had been copied and my documents scanned. The bag they handed me was all I could take out of the room. All of my clothing and other items were considered evidence. I wasn’t even allowed to take my toiletry bag.
Still, letting me take my computer and files has to be fate. The upside to some of the down. I really want to believe that. I have to, because things are really bad. A person I know has been killed. I no longer have a job. My car needs more repairs than I can afford. And if the police hadn’t let me keep my computer, I wouldn’t be able to do what I came here for. So at least I have that, my way to prove my father’s innocence, and for now I’ll take it as a positive sign.
Heart still racing, I look at Jasper, and with the toe of my sandal I push it against his shoe. It was something I did all the time when we were kids. “I don’t remember you being so bossy.”
Both of us feeling better after talking about Eve, the mood seems to have shifted between us, and he raises a brow. “I’ve changed a lot over the past twenty years.”
Boy, he’s not kidding.
Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I want to respond with a yes, you have, but I don’t. That seems too flirty. Instead I stare at my once best friend. At the light and dark of his chocolate-brown hair that is more than perfect. Thick and glossy, he no longer wears it so much longer in the front that its bad habit of falling over his eyes is anything he has to worry about. Still, the way it sticks up in just the right places and allows for the perfect shape of his brows to be seen, his long, long eyelashes to be noticed, and the golden flecks in his eyes to mesmerize anyone they come in contact with, are all traits beyond perfection.
Oh God, my entire body tingles just looking at him. He has to be the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.
I shouldn’t be thinking this way.
Not about him.
And especially not after everything that has transpired today. This must be some kind of coping mechanism that I need to get under control.
Yet when he leans forward and his male scent assaults me, all of my sanity goes right out the window, along with my control.
In that moment his eyes capture mine, and for one second I think he’s going to kiss me. I tense. My pulse pounds as I wait with both desire and uncertainty. Wait for the brush of his mouth against mine. The wet slide of his tongue. The exhilaration of my fingers threading through that hair from his forehead all the way back to his neck. His stubble razor sharp against my soft flesh. His hands rough on my hips.
“Let me hold that for you,” he says.
Blinking rapidly, I realize he is reaching to take the bag from my hand. “No, I got it, but thank you.”
His body resumes its upright position, but he’s closed the distance between us.
My hair is a wild mess, and I attempt to tame it by pulling it over to the side.
He seems to be watching me with fascination.
“Can I help you, sir?”
Jasper wheels around so quickly to hand his ticket to the valet that I know he, too, must have felt that spark between us. “Yeah, sure, here you go.”
The young valet’s grin is wide. “This is for the Storm, isn’t it?”
Jasper smiles. “It is.”
“The guys are going to freak when I tell them I drove it.”
“Zero to sixty in two-point-four seconds, and she stops on a dime. Go for it.”
The valet stares in astonishment. “You won’t mind?”
Jasper tilts his head back and laughter fills the air. It ripples with pride. “That’s what she’s made for.”
There’s something infectious about the way Jasper laughs, the way it changes his face, makes him seem carefree, highlights his gorgeous mouth, and despite everything I find myself laughing too.
When the valet practically skips off, Jasper turns back. “I think I just made his night.”
Still laughing, I respond with, “I think you did too. How many are there?”
“Storms?”
I nod.
“Four—well, five. The one at the party last night and at the old plant is the one we use for concept testing, so it’s not on the road.”
“Designing and building your own car that you plan to roll out nationwide is a pretty amazing feat to accomplish, Jasper. You should be proud of yourself.”
“I didn’t do it alone.”
“No, but it has your name on it, so I assume it was your idea.”
“It was. I’ve been designing that car in my head since I was fifteen.”
“You always did like cars.”
“Of the Matchbox variety,” he says with a laugh.
I laugh too, and soon the silence of the night surrounds us. With my arms wrapped around myself, I let the muggy air seep into my lungs. Jasper has his hands in his pockets and is looking down.
An engine screams from the garage and brakes screech as the Storm approaches the waiting zone. Fancy cars aren’t really my thing. I don’t even know the difference between a Ferrari and a Lamborghini, but I can tell this car is special. Up close, with its sleek black body, red rims, red mirrors, and red racing stripes across the bottom, it looks like a piece of art.
Jasper’s gaze lifts, and the look on his face is priceless.
The valet hops out. “Oh man, that was unreal.”
With raised brows Jasper asks, “How fast did you get her?”
“Fifty.”
Jasper laughs. “That’s nothing.”
“How fast does she go?”
“A hundred ninety-five miles per hour.”
Keys are tossed in the air. “Sweet.”
Quick to catch them, Jasper then slips the valet some money. “Have a great night.”
“You too, sir.”
Left alone, Jasper beats me to the passenger-side door and opens it without a word.
The car is low to the ground, yet still I am able to slide in with ease. As soon as I sit down, my body practically molds to the leather. I look around and feel the need to run my hand over the smoothness of it. Red and black interior, no backseat, too many gauges to count, and for lack of a better word, almost romantic lighting. When my eyes swing back to the still-open door, they land on golden flecks.
His gaze slowly skims up my body and it feels as if he’s touching me. The current of energy is almost too much. My pulse is pounding and my breathing erratic.
When our eyes meet, the corners of his mouth tip up like he has a secret. “You want to get in?”
Oh.
Feeling silly that although my body is in the car, my legs are still on the sidewalk, I quickly pull them in and duck my head in embarrassment.
Gently, he closes the door, and I can still feel the weight of his stare as he saunters around the car, and I swear he’s laughing.
For no reason, I laugh too.
Chemistry.
It’s there. There’s no denying it. And it’s not wanting to fight it that is the hardest to bear.
Because I know I have to.
Even without a job, I have work to do. My mind has to be clear. And so I use this moment alone to breathe deeply and refocus.
I’m in Detroit for a reason.
Remember that.
His door opens and the small space fills with his energy. “Where to?” he asks.
There’s a ghost of a smile still on my lips when I answer. “I live in Woodward Square.”
Pressing his foot on the gas, he pulls out fast, almost in a huff. Everything about him seems to go dark. All the energy drained, and the small space feels like it’s filling with a palpable tension. “The old Cass Corridor,” he mumbles.
Wondering what’s come over him, I respond with, “Yes, I think that’s what it used to be called.”
