Set the Pace (The Detroit Love Duet #1)

by Kim Karr

  It’s small, but big enough for two.

  Jasper follows me out and I watch as his long, lean body emerges into the night. The air is cooler now. It’s a little windier up here, too. There’s a far-off rumble of thunder that might frighten me if I were alone. A few raindrops are still falling, but the building shields us from most of them.

  I point to the sky. “Look, you can see Detroit for miles and miles from here. Doesn’t the city look so beautiful? Lights and empty space. You can’t see the destruction or desolation.”

  He steps toward the railing. “It’s like all you can see is just the good and none of the bad.”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  He’s beside me, and we’re so close our arms are almost touching.

  I’m craving his energy. The spark he makes me feel. I’m a little tipsy and my mind isn’t clear. Without thought of consequence, I purposefully move closer so our arms are touching. And then I feel it. Zap. Like an electrical current, it’s that powerful. “Can you feel that?” I ask.

  It happens all at once, so smoothly, how he pulls me close to him. How we’re face-to-face. He is going to kiss me. And I am going to let him.

  But that’s not what happens.

  “Charlotte,” he sighs.

  Inches apart, I turn away, embarrassed.

  His hand captures my wrist. “We need to talk.”

  I swim for a moment in his gaze. I rock a little bit, my entire equilibrium a mess. This is something I want and I know I shouldn’t. “I can’t. Not right now.”

  My emotions are way to volatile right now to talk reasonably.

  He lets go of my wrist and I turn and head back toward the window. Jasper doesn’t stop me. Just as my feet hit the soft cushion, my eyes land on the bag the police gave me filled with things from my hotel room. The contents have spilled out; obviously the bag was knocked off the couch when we stepped on the cushions.

  An orange snakeskin computer case lies on the floor and I rush toward it, worried it’s not my computer it holds since that is Eve’s case, not mine. Wishing I would have checked the bag before I left the hotel.

  When I unzip the case and pull out the Macintosh laptop, I sigh in relief when I see the bright blue forget-me-nots on the silver metal. A flower that grows wild on Mackinac Island. As I set the computer down, I notice that’s not the only thing that fell from the bag. There are books, pictures, and folders that don’t belong to me. The material appears to focus on Jasper. Eve must have been researching him for longer than just one night. Not sure what to do, I start to gather it up, but it’s too late.

  Jasper’s just inside the window and he’s staring at the mess on the floor. “Why do you have a yearbook from the University of Michigan?”

  My eyes dart to the Michiganensian. The date is clearly printed along the spine and reads 2007, which would have been his junior year, and Eve’s, too. There are also a number of photos scattered everywhere. She was obviously deeply involved in investigating him, and not just for the Storm.

  He points to the photos. “Are those how you knew I lived downtown? Have you been following me?”

  “No, I . . . I . . . I’ve been stalking you on social media—no, not stalking, that’s not the right word, but that is how I knew where you lived,” I stumble to admit.

  He steps closer and his eyes widen in horror. “Are those pictures of my mother’s house?” he barks.

  Staring up at him, I am struck speechless for a moment. I hadn’t realized how far Eve had gone in her quest to investigate Jasper. The police must have just thought it was all in the line of duty. “They’re not mine, Jasper.”

  Shock moves through him as his eyes look over the items. Newspaper clippings, a picture of the Kales Building downtown where he lives, pictures of him in his car, pictures of him and women, so many different women, of his friends, of him, him, him. It’s like Eve was doing an exposé about him, the man, and not a story about the man behind the launch of a new kind of car that could quite possibly change Detroit’s economy. He bends and picks up a photo of him with his friends sitting in a booth at a bar surrounded by women, and then tosses it to the ground. “I fucking trusted you. I really believed you weren’t here to hurt me. How could I have been so stupid?”

  I can feel my breathing increase exponentially as I stop trying to gather the items together and bolt to my feet. Without hesitation I approach him.

  Pain and fury seem to have quickly replaced his shock.

  To witness the betrayal on his face crushes me. “Listen to me, Jasper—these aren’t mine. They’re Eve’s. The police must have given me her things by accident.”

  His hand whips through the air and he points to the pile. “Why would she have all this shit about me?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Eve went to the University of Michigan. She told me last night that she knew you and that the two of you—” I stop, uncertain of how to put it.

  His eyes shift to mine, and then he steps forward, forcing me back against the wall. “The two of us what?” he hisses.

  Again I don’t think, and I place my hand lightly on his chest. My fingers are trembling against the smooth fabric of his white shirt. I can feel how fast his heart is beating. Tears threaten to spill, and I have to close my eyes for just a moment to gather the courage to just say it. The words burn at the bottom of my throat. I open my eyes. “She told me that the two of you got together one night.”

  “Together?” The word is laced with disbelief.

  I nod. “That you . . . fucked . . . in the bathroom of a dive bar one night and then you never called her when you told her you would.”

  Genuine confusion is all that remains on his face, but it clears up quickly and leaves resignation in its wake.

  “Considering the circumstances, I should have told you about Eve when we were talking earlier, but I didn’t feel it was right to talk negatively about her on today of all days.”

  He turns and looks over his shoulder at the collection of items that lie on the floor.

  My entire body begins to tremble with the fear that I am going to lose him. And that without the companionship of the people I worked with, I will now be truly alone in this world. It’s a stupid reason to be scared, because I know I never had him to begin with. I’m not delusional. Still, I cling to the hope that this man standing before me remembers who I am and that above all else, he remembers that he used to be my friend. “I didn’t know any of this until last night and I had no clue she was collecting material on you. I honestly have no idea what she was doing.”

  Doubt seems to loom on his face.

  He has to believe I want to protect him. “Jasper, you were the only one who ever cared about me or protected me. I would never want to hurt you. And I didn’t mention anything about what Eve had told me to the police. I wasn’t even certain it was true. You have to believe me.”

  His doubt seems to fade.

  Moments pass and we stand there looking at each other.

  Until finally he speaks. “I do, Charlotte. I do believe you. You could never lie to me—remember, I could always tell,” he says nostalgically, his words so soft tears form in my eyes.

  Without any shoes on, I am small enough for him to tuck me against his neck. And when he does, when he embraces me, engulfs me with his strong body, I’m taken by surprise. Even more surprising is the ache I feel in my chest.

  The fact that I need this.

  Eve is dead and despite what kind of person she might have been, she didn’t deserve to die.

  Jasper strokes a hand up my back.

  Every ounce of skin he passes over tingles in the wake of his touch.

  He anchors me to him with his fingers curled around the back of my neck. “It’s okay, Charlotte. We’ll figure this out.”

  It’s not until his lips brush one of my eyelids that I realize I’ve been squeezing my eyes closed.

  They stay that way because I feel deliciously, overwhelmingly, surrounded by him. His strong body so close to
mine, his big hands on me, his knee wedging between my thighs.

  Full lips travel to my cheek where he places a sweet kiss, to my chin where he drops another sweet kiss, and then those warm lips find my mouth.

  Sparks, bigger and brighter than before, explode like fireworks beneath my eyelids. His lips are soft on mine; they aren’t demanding the way I’d pictured his kiss might be. Rather, his kiss soothes me as much as his embrace.

  I open for him, giving myself over to him, and even though I have the wall behind me for support, I still rest my hands on his upper arms. Immediately, I can feel the push and pull of his muscles beneath my fingertips, and those butterflies are back. Tiny wings poking against my belly.

  The kiss gets deeper, but it’s not frantic. Slow and soft, his mouth moves over my jaw and chin and throat, never biting. Not rough or hard. He doesn’t press his body against mine in a frenzied need. It is as if he doesn’t want to turn the kiss into any more than a kiss.

  We kiss like this for the longest time. Lips caressing. Tongues lightly touching. Bodies aligned but not pressing.

  Soon, too soon, Jasper releases his hold on my neck. Wanting to keep that physical connection, I place my hands back on his chest. Once there, I can feel his heartbeat begin to slow and I know the end is coming. Then, just as I already knew would happen, his lips are no longer on mine and he places a soft kiss on my hair. “I have to tell you something.”

  Pulling away, I look at him and wonder why he’s stopping when all I see is want written all over him. His lashes are low-lidded with lust. His eyes are dark and swimming in desire. His breathing is fast, his body taut. And if I dared drop my eyes, I know his cock would be hard, but I don’t look; instead I hold his heated gaze.

  Although the kisses were light, my lips are still swollen and stinging, and I run my tongue over my bottom lip wishing for more. “What is it, Jasper?”

  Without pretense, the words spill out of him. “Eve ended up in my bed last night. I didn’t have . . . sex with her, but we did do other things. I just thought you should know.”

  Sadness fills me, and I suck in a breath and slowly exhale. She went to the party where liquor flowed to get her story. To get him. And he was intimate with her. Eve. Just last night. Eve. Eve. Eve. Now Eve’s dead. I feel sick. Trembling, I cross the room and place my hand on the doorknob. Without turning around I whisper, “It’s probably best if you go.”

  His heavy steps are hard to miss, and I know he’s behind me before I’ve even had a chance to unlock the door. Feelings of betrayal I know I shouldn’t be feeling mix with guilt over Eve’s death and me being here with him now. It’s a weird combination. One that seems to be messing with my head. It’s like I can’t breathe. Like the air that was already so thick between us is now stifling. Thoughts I shouldn’t be having cross my mind. Like, was Jasper involved somehow in Eve’s murder?

  No.

  I know he wasn’t. I know it deep down in my soul. This man, the one who just kissed me so sweetly, the same one who was the boy that always took care of me, could never hurt a woman. I know it. I know without a doubt he wouldn’t have hurt her.

  The question is, who did and why did she end up dead?

  It’s the question that scares me the most.

  I want to turn to him for comfort. Find solace in his warmth. Then his words echo in my head, and thoughts of him and Eve together make me so crazy that I have to fight the urge not to scream, “You are a slut, just like Eve said you were!”

  His hard body moves closer to mine. “We’ve both had a really shitty day and now isn’t the right time to discuss anything, so you’re right, I should leave. But I’ll be back tomorrow. To talk.”

  Resolute, I shake my head no. This thing between us needs to end right now. I know this. I’m here for a reason. For my father. And the two, Jasper and him, will never mix. But then his hands are on my hips and his mouth is near my ear and my head starts to spin with him. All of him. I’m about to tell him why I’m in Detroit when his breath whispers across my skin and I find myself struggling for the right way to say it.

  His mouth grazes the back of neck. “Yes, Charlotte. We need to talk about the past.”

  Whatever this is between us, I don’t want to crush it. The flame is too hot to blow it out before it even starts to burn. So this time I nod yes despite what he just told me about Eve, because I want to see him again.

  But right now I need space to breathe.

  I can’t take much more of the still-thickening air between us. Moving fast, I open the door and avoid his gaze.

  It’s not until his long, lean body saunters past me that I let my eyes land on his beautiful backside. A backside I shouldn’t even care about and definitely shouldn’t be looking at, but that kiss, that kiss—I can still taste him on my lips.

  Just as he crosses the threshold, he glances back—not at me, though, at my bicycle that sits in the corner on the other side of the television. “You ride?”

  I nod again.

  “I’ll pick you up at one. We’re going biking, so be ready.”

  Torn, I say the only thing I can. “I’ll think about it.”

  He looks at me, really looks at me, when he says, “Please, I need to talk to you.”

  I so badly want to give him a small smile and say yes, but I can’t. His confession is still raw and I’m not sure I can handle spending more time with him, so I avoid committing. “I should be home.”

  The stoic look on his face weighs on my heart and I have to drop my gaze. When I do, he starts to walk down the hallway, and I close the door without another glance.

  Collapsing against the now shut door, I look at the mess on the floor.

  What were you up to, Eve?

  TIGHTENING THE SCREWS

  Jasper

  THE FIRST CAR I ever owned was a piece-of-shit neon-green Nissan, which I pulled apart and reassembled more than a dozen times. My mother bought it for me as a graduation present right after high school and I devoted all my spare time that summer before college to fixing it up. I worked at a garage that Hank hooked me up with, honing my skills on other people’s autos, making money to buy parts for my own, and thinking up the schematics of the Storm in the process.

  Will, Drew, and Jake were working too, and they added to the pot whenever they could to help make that green machine better, stronger, and faster.

  We were constantly retooling it, and every time I took it to the street I won. That summer I was quickly forging my reputation as the fastest around. Then again, it was the heyday of street racing. When wagers soared and reputations rose and fell in the blink of an eye. Back then the cops had better things to do than worry about a bunch of kids drag-racing down a deserted strip of 8 Mile Road.

  Things are different now. And not just the fact that street racing has been officially declared illegal in Detroit. The whole police system has changed. There aren’t that many cops left in the city, but the ones who are left are overworked, underpaid, and out for blood—any blood.

  Claiming innocence isn’t necessarily a factor when the crime rate in the city is one of the highest in the nation. Guilt by association is very real. Closing a case, not leaving it unsolved—that’s what the police force is striving for these days. Better numbers equals more funds allotted to hitting the streets.

  I get it.

  It’s a means to an end. A way to let the criminals know that even though police presence is low, they will be caught. Unfortunately, it also means some innocents get caught in the process. And no one wants to hear that.

  Especially me.

  Especially right now.

  Eve Hepburn’s name is splattered all over every newspaper and TV station following the uncovering of her body yesterday. And my name is right beside hers as the one who dug her up. I still can’t believe she’s dead and her body was buried on the piece of property we are so close to buying. The site where the factory is supposed to be built.

  I run a hand through my hair and then avert my eyes from the t
elevision in the corner flashing her photo, back to Will, who looks like he wants to pull his hair out.

  I feel the same way.

  Up the creek without a paddle.

  Going against the tide.

  Whatever metaphor you want to use, we’re experiencing it. To avoid being easily sucked up by Will’s brooding despair, I look toward Jake, whose jaw is hanging open. I just told them all my sabotage theory and after all agreeing it is a possibility, we also had to agree that it sounds way too out there to be real.

  “Coincidence,” Will says, although not very convincingly.

  Switching gears now that we’ve talked about Eve’s dead body, how much this could hurt us, and the possible delay in the factory ad nauseam, Drew points his fork at me with as much of a grin on his face as he can muster. “I’ve had enough of the doom and gloom. Let’s go back to last night, shall we?”

  I roll my eyes.

  “So if I got this straight, you were supposed to be going to the hotel to, and I quote, ‘get her out of your system,’ and instead you friend-zoned her?”

  “I’m not sure I’d say I friend-zoned her.”

  “Yeah, dude, you did.”

  Taking a sip of my coffee, I give in with a nod. “Okay, yeah, maybe I did.” I might as well let him raze me about my staged run-in with Charlotte last night, because a change of mood as well as topic is much needed. Drew thinks I’m overthinking the situation between Charlotte and me; I can tell by his all-too-familiar line of questioning. Then again, he thinks everyone overthinks everything.

  “Jasper, my friend, you’re an idiot. It doesn’t work that way. You only friend-zone chicks you don’t want to lay; otherwise managing the relationship gets way too difficult.”

  Setting my cup down, I stab my food with my fork. “Yeah, Drew, thanks for the info, but I think I figured that out.”

  “Why would you do something so stupid anyway?”

  I grit my teeth, already regretting having allowed the subject to go past the first remark. “I don’t know. Because we were once friends. Because I didn’t know what else to do. Because I’m a dumb ass.”