One Wrong Choice (A Cruel and Beautiful Book Book 3)

by A. M. Hargrove

  And just like that, I break down and cry.

  Tears gush down my face as he murmurs soft words while leading me toward the back. We end up in a room, where he has me sit on a couch. The torrent of tears doesn’t allow me to see much, but his weight depresses the seat next to me. Then the warmth and heaviness of his arm go across my shoulders as he continues to mumble sweet things to me.

  This goes on for several minutes and I know I need to straighten my shit out, but I can’t seem to stop. I don’t know what started everything, but I need to turn off the faucet. Now. Sniffle snorting until I control myself, the tears finally ebb and I get a good look at where I am. It’s definitely an office because there are a desk, filing cabinets, a computer, printer, and, of course, this couch.

  “Hey,” I say, my throat all scratchy from this sob session. “Thanks. Sorry for the meltdown.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve had a time or two when someone needed to cry on my shoulder. It’s good to get that shit off your chest.”

  I want to ask who, but I step back from that thought. He’s been nice. There is no way I should intrude into his personal life.

  Holding out a hand, I figure I should introduce myself. “I’m Jenna Rhoades.”

  “Jenna Rhoades,” he says tentatively as if he’s testing out my name. Before I can say something, anything, like ask him his, he adds, “I’m Brandon Connelly.”

  “Nice to meet you, Brandon. I feel incredibly stupid and maybe a little crazy. I’m not sure what happened, but I appreciate you helping me out back there.”

  “Again, no problem.” He reaches to his other side and produces a tissue.

  “Are you used to helping out women in distress?”

  After I say it, I feel my cheeks burn, because this guy is hot.

  “I don’t leap over tall buildings or anything. But my hands are often messy and I get crap on my face. Tissues are sometimes preferable for clean up over paper towels.”

  “Soft skin?” I tease.

  He shrugs. “Don’t knock it. Last thing a woman wants is a guy with sandpaper hands.”

  I laugh, because I suddenly feel nervous. “True.”

  Things go quiet, but then he asks, “Are you a coffee drinker?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Cream, sugar?”

  “Both,” I say.

  “I’ll be right back.” And in minutes, he’s back with a piping hot mug of coffee for me.

  “Thanks.” I take the mug from him.

  I get a look at it, and it says Property of Badass Mechanic. “Badass, huh?”

  What’s more adorable is when he flushes, full-on red face.

  “It was a gift,” he says as though he’s nervous, which I can’t imagine why.

  For a second, I forget how I royally embarrassed myself to get to this point until he says, “Are you okay now?”

  Feeling the flames of hell rush to my cheeks, I take a moment to think about it.

  “Yes. No, not really?”

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  I drop my head down, losing the smile I’d found seconds before, and rest it in my hands. It throbs from crying. “I hate to cry,” I say and don’t know why, so I continue. “I don’t know. I’m just … sad. Have you ever been sad?” I rotate my body so I can actually look at the guy, and holy fucking fireballs. The dude is slap-your-momma-bad-to-the-bone-hot-as-sin. Dark, dangerous, and delicious. Black hair, lots and lots of ink on his muscular arms, which makes me assume the rest of him is, too, and eyes, oh so seductive. Yes, badass. And then he grins. Of course he does, because he knows I’m snared by his beauty. His smile is a record holder. Full lips, straight teeth that could sparkle, and … what the hell is wrong with me?

  “Why are you sad?”

  Why am I sad? Oh, right. Get your shit together, Jenna girl. “It’s a long story.”

  “I’m not on a time clock.”

  Releasing the air that’s packed in my poor lungs, I say, “My best friend’s husband died. He was also my brother’s best friend. And I loved him, too. Hell, everybody loved the guy. Anyway, and you’re going to think I’m selfish, and I probably am. But the truth is, I can’t really grieve for him because I have to be strong for my brother and my friend. And dammit, I lost him, too.” And a tsunami of tears drags me down again.

  “I get it. You’re between a rock and a hard place, playing hero to everyone else. It’s a tough position I know all too well, leaving you with no one to talk to.”

  It’s there in his voice. He gets it. And curiosity sparks, but I tamp it down.

  “Exactly.” Sniff, sniff. “And I don’t know what to do.”

  “Talking helps.” I nod. “So, do you want to tell me what brought you in here today?”

  “Oh. Right. My car. I ran over something, and it’s making a bad noise.” I explain exactly what happened and tell him which car is mine.

  He gets to his feet and holds up a hand when I try to follow him. “You sit right here and let me check your car to find what the problem is.”

  I hand him the fob and let him do his thing. As I sit here, I wonder about Brandon. After about thirty minutes, the girl from the front sticks her head in and says, “Brandon told me to tell you it may be another hour or so. He wants to know if you want a ride somewhere and come back later?”

  “Oh, thanks. Does he know what it is?”

  She looks at me like I’m a moron. “Um, that’s why it’s going to be another hour.”

  “I see. Usually the places I’ve been before let me know what it is before they fix it.”

  She narrows her eyes. “You’ve never been here though, have you?”

  “Can’t say I have.”

  “So, are you staying or going?” she asks curtly.

  “Staying.” My boss might kill me, but something about being here soothes me.

  Without another word, she leaves. She’s not what I would call super friendly. And almost on the nose, an hour passes and Brandon walks in.

  “Got you fixed up. Whatever you hit messed with your alignment. We got you straightened back up. Fortunately, it was a very minor issue. By the way, you were also overdue for an oil change, so I went ahead and took care of that for you.”

  “What about the rattling noise?”

  “The noise is gone. Most likely, whatever you hit dragged along under the car for a little bit. It’s gone now.”

  “That is good news. Thank you. So, what do I owe you?”

  “It’s on the house today.”

  “No, I can’t possibly let you do that.” And I can’t after everything he’s done.

  The corners of his mouth slightly turn up. “Well, Jenna Rhoades, I don’t see there’s a thing you can do about it, can you?”

  I boldly match his smile. “I can take you out to dinner.”

  “Are you asking me out?” His smirk is off the charts.

  Am I? Maybe a different time.

  “No, I’m offering a trade. If you won’t let me pay, then I’ll treat you to dinner.”

  His arms cross over his chest, and he wears playful well. Too well, in fact. He is everything I could want, but everything I can’t have. My mother would have a gigantic heart attack followed by a massive fit if I ever showed up at the house with a guy like Brandon Connelly. Sad as it may seem, it’s true. Mom is bound by society, and Brandon, with his sexy as hell ink and off the charts bad boy looks, is totally out of reach for me.

  “You drive a hard bargain.”

  Placing my hands on my hips, I say, “Are you suggesting that dinner with me would be a chore?”

  Laugh lines appear as he says, “Nope. No problem at all.”

  I hold out a hand. “Deal?”

  “Deal,” he says, taking it.

  “Good.”

  “Give me your number, and I’ll give you mine. Will tonight work?” I ask.

  For a second there, with our hands locked together, we stare in each other’s eyes. And there is no doubt an attraction between us. Kenneth. As if his name is like an
electrical shock, I pull back. Pasting on a smile to disguise me letting go, I move to his desk, taking liberties by finding something to write my number down. When I turn around, he’s staring at me so hard, a blush takes over my face. I hold out the paper and pen.

  He writes and we split the scrap of paper in half.

  “Thank you. For everything, from the rescue to this. I sincerely appreciate it.” My hand rests over my heart, and he dips his head in acknowledgment. He hands me the key fob, and his touch is warm and inviting. I can’t ignore the shiver it sends down my spine, but I won’t look back when I leave. He is off limits.

  The only thing wrong with this whole scenario is for the remainder of the day, every time I blink, close my eyes, or when my mind drifts, that sexy ink god fills the space inside my head. Now what am I supposed to do?

  Two

  Brandon

  Distracted from Jenna’s presence earlier, I sit at my desk trying to do paperwork to clear my head. When I finally notice the time on my screen, I realize it’s an hour after closing. Things have been slow today, giving me the chance to catch up on a few things. In fact, the whole week has been slow. So, why did I give Jenna a free alignment?

  You know why, I tell myself. She is the first woman in a while to stir your appetite.

  Just as I get up from my desk, Dana pokes her head in.

  “You up to hanging out tonight?”

  Her question isn’t as casual as it sounds. And up means other things.

  “Not tonight.”

  Questioning brows rise, and she steps further into the office so she can close the door behind her.

  “Why not?” she pouts.

  “I have plans.”

  Irritation grows on her face.

  “With who?”

  And this is why I shouldn’t have mixed business with hookups.

  “That’s really none of your business.”

  She moves closer, her eyes never leaving mine.

  “Not with that townie princess from earlier?”

  Townie princess, an apt description of Jenna Rhoades. She said she had to get to work, but she looked very much like a girl who only worked voluntarily. So, why in the hell did I take her up on her offer of dinner?

  “Like I said, Dana, that’s not your business. I’ve never lied to you, and I don’t want to start now. Just let it go.”

  “Out of all the women that come here to flirt with you, you pick her,” she grits out, not leaving it be. “She’s not your type. Oh, I’m sure she’ll fuck you, but she’ll never introduce you to Daddy. You saw her car. You know damn well she has a daddy pulling her strings. Maybe even a sugar daddy.”

  Pinching my temples, I know she’s right in some respects. A woman like Jenna Rhoades is so far out of my league. Could I be happy with just screwing her, assuming she’d give me that chance?

  “Dana,” I start.

  Her hand snakes out so fast and grabs ahold of my cock. Not wanting to hurt her, I can only grip her wrist to try to gently pry her loose.

  Her eyes are full of fire and promise. “Besides, you and me both know that I’m the only one that can handle all of you.”

  We glare at each other because she’s right in a lot of respects. Women come easily to me, yet when things get down to it, a lot walk away, even run with fear in their eyes, and excuses rushing from their lips. Dana hasn’t been one of those women.

  When my dick doesn’t stir, she jerks her hand free. Annoyance mutates into hurt, and she spins on her heels, leaving the room before any more words can be exchanged.

  Out in the hall, I hear her make an offer to my other full-time mechanic, Jeff. “Do you want to hang tonight?”

  If she thinks she’s making me jealous, she’s mistaken. Our few times together are infrequent and spontaneous, usually after several drinks on my part. She seems to know when I have an itch, and she’s always willing to scratch it. She’s been cool with that. And that’s all there is between us. I don’t like that she’s becoming possessive. I don’t like that she reads me well. I have an itch now, but it doesn’t have her name on it.

  I reach for the door she’d closed behind her in a huff, and Jeff’s looming there with a hand outstretched. He drops it when I swing the door open.

  “You hanging tonight?”

  I shake my head. “Plans.”

  He nods. “You don’t mind if me and Dana…”

  My response is quick and before he can finish his statement.

  “No. Go right ahead. I’m not in it. You’re both free to do what you want.”

  We knock fists because I don’t have to explain more. He gets it and leaves. I turn off lights as I go and lock up for the night before driving my Harley home. I pull up and stare at my place for a second. I’d worked my ass off to buy it. It’s a decent house in a decent neighborhood. A ranch I can call my own. It’s a reminder that even though I didn’t go to college, I’ve made something of myself.

  Walking inside, I toss my keys into a bowl near the door to commingle with my little brother’s.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, wondering for the millionth time why I’d given him keys.

  At seventeen, he stands in the kitchen almost taller than me and tries for the picture of innocence, but can’t manage it. The laugh bursts through him, and I have to shake my head.

  “You were safe, right?”

  He nods. It isn’t the first time he’d used my house as a hookup spot. And maybe that’s why I gave him keys so that I can play the role our absent father should have. Mom would freak the fuck out if she ever caught him with a girl in her house. I know, because it happened to me when I still lived at home.

  “Dude, she was loud.”

  I glance around. “She’s not here, is she?”

  He’s still young enough not to know better than to say shit within earshot of her.

  “No, she’s gone. And it’s a good thing. I thought for sure your neighbors would call the cops the way she screamed. And my luck, it’d be her dad to show up with his badge, and I would be so fucked.”

  Glaring at him brings no shame to him. His grin only grows wider. Then I recall that I hadn’t seen the truck I’d given him out front. “She drove you here?”

  “Yeah.” He says it like that’s obvious. “Can you give me a ride back to the school?”

  I sigh, but he knows I’ll do anything for him. These days, I can’t tell who spoils him more, Mom or me.

  “Give me ten minutes. I have to get cleaned up.”

  He salutes me before flopping on the sofa and grabbing the remote.

  While showering, I spend more time than usual cleaning the grime from under my nails. The place I’m meeting Jenna is in a trendy part of downtown I don’t normally frequent.

  Digging in my closet for a pair of pants that aren’t jeans, I also find a button-down shirt to wear. Hell, I went all out and shaved. I hardly recognize myself when I’m done. Unconsciously, I find myself rolling up the sleeves, revealing my tats. I almost stop myself, but she needs to know who I am, or maybe I’m the one that does.

  When I step out twenty or so minutes later, my brother doesn’t give me shit about underestimating my time. Instead, he blows out a long whistle.

  “Who are you going out with?”

  He knows me well. I only dress like this when Mom drags us to church, which isn’t often anymore now that I don’t live with her.

  “Did I ask you any questions?”

  From his perch on the sofa, he frowns and pats my arm like I’m the errant child. “You’re uptight. I get it. You need to get laid.”

  I give him what I think is a fatherly look. “You don’t get it, but you will.”

  “What? Have you decided to bang one of those rich chicks that comes into your shop and says, Oh, Brandon, can you check under my hood?”

  I try hard not to laugh, but it’s too comical the way he’s blinking his eyes at me after doing his best impression of a breathy woman.

  “Come on, kid. You are way too young to
be thinking like this.”

  Ruffling his hair, I sling an arm around him, still shaking my head.

  “I’m not young. I’m almost eighteen, and I’m going to college next year,” he says petulantly. “By the way, can I throw a party at your house next weekend?”

  Continuing to shake my head, I avoid answering his question because no matter how I say no, he’ll no doubt talk me into it.

  After I drop him off, I wait like a concerned parent, watching him start his truck and pull out of the lot before I leave myself. My brother is the best of me. Seeing him grow up and get accepted into college makes me feel like everything I sacrificed is worth it.

  However, the side trip costs me time, as traffic is jammed. I’ll be late meeting Jenna. Frustration has me coiled tight. First impressions are everything, especially to a woman like her.

  I am late. Five minutes to be precise, but she hasn’t arrived either. Checking my ego, I don’t allow doubt that she’ll not show up to creep in my mind. She doesn’t seem like that type of woman. Why invite me in the first place? I’ve just taken a seat when I see her hurriedly come in. The hostess points toward my table, and she strides over with a worried expression. I get to my feet as she makes apologies before leaning in. For a second, I lose my ability to breathe thinking she might kiss me. And what the fuck is that? Only it’s air on either of my cheeks that gets her greeting.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” she says, slightly flushed as if she’d run to try to make it on time.

  “No problem. I just got here.”

  We pull apart and it’s as if she feels it, too. Her cheeks grow more color and I stand there enjoying the view. She’s fucking gorgeous wearing a dress that could stop any man dead in his tracks. When she had been at my shop earlier, I hadn’t had a chance to fully appreciate how it clung to curves that made my mouth water. And I’m not the only one. When the waiter walks up to our table, he can’t take his eyes off her.

  I position myself behind her chair, not letting him do the honors for her. She smiles at both of us, her face brightening even more red. She seems slightly uncomfortable with the attention. But she has to know how gorgeous she is. She sits and I scoot her in before taking a seat opposite her. I can’t stop staring at her eyes. They are bright, not gloomy gray, glittering like stardust, or maybe that’s fairy dust in a midnight sky. I feel like Peter Pan smitten with the girl. And smitten? Who says that, and is that what I am? In fact, who the fuck am I around this woman?