by Emily Bowie
“Second of all?” My eyes are having a hard time staying on the road, wanting to watch each of her moves, to learn how to read her.
The way she slowly turns and tilts her head at me tells me I’ve hit another prickly spot of hers.
“Excuse me?”
Man, I love this sass.
“You just said ‘first of all,’ so I thought you were going to give me a list of why I should not call you sweetheart.” I try to play innocent, but I’m having too much fun right now.
She pulls out her can, and I see the red locking device is still on it.
“You’re a feisty one, aren’t ya?” I should have kept my mouth shut, but it won’t listen to me.
“Listen, thanks for the ride. Just drop me off at my house so I can look at the car myself. No need for us to stay in this truck together longer than necessary.” She pauses, still looking annoyed, but her eyes give her away.
Our banter has an electrifying pull to it, one I can’t quite explain. My whole body is reacting to her. My heart pounds faster, my skin feels like it’s vibrating in place, while my dick seems to be very much up for our conversation.
The way her long hair moves with her has my fingers wanting to slide through it and give it a yank. Her features are soft, making her firecracker personality seem contradictory. She has a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and her eyes are big, making her light green irises stand out.
“Once you drop me off, I’ll give you five minutes to unhook my car before I let out my hundred-pound Pincher. He really hates men, especially ones he doesn’t know.” She seems too smug, but I’ll take her word. I would love to live another day.
I begin to slow down as we start to get into the Three Rivers town limits.
“Turn here.” She directs me to a street on the outskirts of town that would still be a good half-hour walk if she needed anything.
“So you got a Doberman pinscher?” I ask, pushing my luck for clarification. Again, she gives me a wildly cheeky grin like I’m daring her to let him loose on me.
I force my eyes to leave hers and focus and the road ahead.
The house that comes into view is sheltered by a row of trees. The yard looks to be kept up, with garden decor covering every surface not taken up by grass or flowers. There even looks to be fake flowers planted in the flower bed by the house. Not what I would have envisioned for her. It reminds me more of an old lady’s home, with small lace curtains that hang in the window. Behind the small house is an oversized garage, which is almost hidden by the house and shrubs in front. I pull up right to the garage. She is out of my truck so fast I still haven’t unbuckled myself.
She’s a wild one.
I take my time, keeping my eyes on the rearview mirror. Her arms are crossed, and her foot is tapping as she waits oh so patiently for me. Just to be a pain, I draw out each movement I make.
Slowly getting out of the car, I ask her, “Should we put it in the garage?”
She huffs and looks at the large old door then to the car. I see the moment when either her defense goes down or she gives up; I’m not sure which one.
“No. It’s full of junk. My car won’t fit in it.” She looks defeated. Again, I get this urge to dig my fingers into her hair, for the sole purpose of claiming her mouth with mine, along with a protectiveness I’ve never felt before.
“Any car parts in that junk?” I inquire. It’s been a few years, but I used to be quite talented under the hood of a car. Years of working on the ranch equipment and my own truck with my dad made me skillful at it.
Her shoulders shrug. “I’m not sure.” This seems to be the first real, vulnerable answer I’ve gotten from her so far.
“I’m pretty good at these things. Want me to see if there’s anything in there to help?”
I look around her property, half expecting her dog to start barking out any of her windows, but there’s only silence.
“You can hold your dog while I work if it makes you feel better.” I try calling her out, to see if she takes the bate.
Now she chuckles and says something under her breath, and I’m pretty sure it was the sexiest curse word I have ever heard.
“It’s manual.” She nods at the garage door, telling me in her own way to go open it up.
Progress.
I head over, but she constantly stays in my vision. I can’t help it. Lifting the door up, I open what I can only describe as a male’s wet dream. It is a picking ground for all odd things. I can see half of it is car parts, and what could possibly be an old rusted-out vehicle of some type under it all. Then there are tools, screws, and furniture, all sitting for someone to find their own treasure.
I can’t help but smile at the beauty of it all. The old saying, “one man’s junk is another man’s treasure,” comes to mind.
Turning around to face the back door, I watch as Sloan dashes out after an orange tabby cat that seems to have leaped out from under her.
“Pincher! Come here,” she yells at the cat, and I realize the Doberman pinscher I thought she was talking about must have been this cat.
I can’t help but laugh out loud. This five-foot-four beauty is definitely a firecracker.
I’m going to like hanging out here, I decide. Walking back into the garage, I’m still chuckling to myself about her so-called Pincher as I look for the tools I will need.
*
I welcome the distance I have put between Kellen and me. I have no idea what I’m doing. I curse at myself for giving him my real name. That wasn’t planned. Allowing a stranger into my home, also not on the planned list. Everything I’ve been doing has gone wrong.
I am finally able to pick up Pincher and hold him tight in my arms. He struggles at first, wanting to check out Kellen, then slowly realizes he won’t be going anywhere and accepts my soft touches with loud purrs.
My feet pace along the cracked concrete, my shoes kicking the little rocks that have flaked up around them. Lifting my eyes, I see he looks relaxed and settled in my grandpa’s man cave/ junkyard/puttering room. We all had many words for this place. I watch as his muscles flex under his shirt as he moves larger objects.
I think of what I can offer him, but I honestly have nothing other than water currently. I’ve been here less than a day, and all I’ve been able to do is open up the house. Which reminds me that I need to get a job.
Grabbing a padded stool on wheels, I take a seat. I can feel my cheeks flush with each of his looks, and I scold myself for it. This is what happens. I end one relationship to just head right back into another one. I glance back up at him, studying his appearance. He walks with confidence, and the way he handles himself makes him extra sexy to me. I love a good, confident, slightly cocky man who knows how to uses his hands in every aspect of life.
I tell myself that I refuse to go down that road again; last time, it almost killed me. I’m writing off the opposite sex for good, no matter how sexy and mouthwatering they might be. I refuse to be lured in by his attractiveness.
I can’t help but imagine what his hands might feel like on my body, cupping my jaw, my hips, my—
I give my head a shake, trying to erase those images now flooding my mind and needing to clamp my legs together.
Drawing in a deep breath, I focus on my breathing, holding the air in my lungs for as long as I can before letting it out. Looking back at Kellen, I wish I could tame the fire starting to heat my skin from just the look he keeps sending my way as easily as I did with those erotic images I had just imagined. Then I remind myself that once he’s done with my car, he will be gone from my life. I have no intention of making any type of friends around here. This is just a stepping-stone to allow me to get back on my feet before I continue on my way.
CHAPTER 4
“Find anything?” her sweet voice carries through this man’s dream of a junkyard, and I pop my head around what looks like a front window for a car.
“I have a few things, but I know the rest I can get at home,” I lie. I
will have to go into town to see if they have the parts, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“Oh.” She looks taken aback. “You don’t have to do that.” I watch as she pulls at the light blonde tips of her hair that slowly turn darker as the strands get closer to the root.
“I know.” I shrug while placing everything I will need on a small, concrete DIY bench. I see another flash of ink poking out from under her other wrist as she yanks on her hair.
“I’ll stop by tomorrow,” I inform her, as I start heading out, ready for her to fight me on it.
“No.” She stands, almost dropping her cat as he tries to pounce away. I hold back the grin that wants to escape, as I pretend to be confused by her answer.
“Sooner I get this done, the sooner I’ll be out of your hair,” I simply state, with zero intention of it actually going that way.
She looks out into the backyard with an obvious internal battle warring inside her. Taking a step toward her, my skin prickles with static once again. Her green eyes immediately turn toward mine as she senses my stance closer to her.
“I don’t need your charity.” Her face tries to look angry and upset, but her hitched breath gives her away, along with the way her eyes watch me.
“It ain’t charity, sweetheart.” I make sure to flash her my cocky grin, giving her a reason to be upset.
“If you come back on this property, I will shoot you.” Now her eyes hold the look of determination that matches her words. Her eyes narrow on mine while her lips purse. I can’t help wondering how different her look would be if I had her under me, calling out my name, as she reached a state of euphoria because of me.
“Good day.” Nodding, I walk toward my truck, ignoring her threat. “I have a wedding I need to be at,” I throw over my shoulder, watching her forced smile crumple as her nostrils flare, before I close my door.
She stands in the middle of her old driveway, her arms crossed over her cat, glaring at me until I can no longer see her in my rearview mirror.
CHAPTER 5
Senior year of high school
I can’t help but strut as I make my way to my truck after filling it up. I feel like the big man. I feel good about blowing off school. I have found a new group I fit into. They like to street race, hustle pool, and shoot the shit. My kind of life.
“Hey, kid.”
I puff out my chest, feeling like the greeting is condescending. I look the stranger up and down. His clothes are too big for his frame, almost as if he’s trying to look bigger than he is. His eyes look tough in the way they assess me, while he could be mistaken for a guy with a boring desk job.
I give him a nod while turning my back, blowing the guy off, not caring who he is. I’m all about looking out for number one—me. I’ve had a shitty year, trying to do what everyone wanted, and it all blew up in my face.
I gave up drinking for the love of my life. Began working on my life, becoming a better football player, making an effort at school for the first time ever. My grades increased, and scholarships began to be a real possibility for me. I started to look into the future—not only for myself, but for her. “Her” being my teacher, Ms. Davis. I would have done anything for her.
Then she left, saying our relationship was too risky and she couldn’t take it. She disappeared from the school, Three Rivers, and me, all in a matter of hours after telling me this. That was my spiraling point, which helped pave the way to where I am now.
“I’ve seen you at McGrath’s place.”
His words now hold my attention as I turn back toward him. The McGrath mansion is a shit hole where bikers like to drink, money flows from hand to hand, and everyone has a “take no bullshit” attitude, causing more problems than necessary. The name is far from reality.
“What’s it to you?” I turn up my nose at him.
“The way I see it, you have two choices here.”
This was the day I realized I wasn’t invisible and actions had consequences.
“Keep doing what you’re doing, and I’ll arrest you in the next forty-eight hours when you fuck up somehow.” He flashes me a badge. “Or switch sides and come work for me.”
“I’m no snitch.” I scoff, insulted anyone would think that.
“I understand. I look forward to booking you on your first misdemeanor. Or would it be your…” He pauses like he’s thinking. “What number are you at with Officer Rhodes now?”
He has me there. The way I have been living my life so recklessly, I’m sure he’ll have ample chance to book me for something. I think back to McGrath mansion, still loving that lifestyle, not wanting to let it go.
“What do you need me to do?” I ask cautiously.
“Just keep on making friends like you are. Your life stays the same, pretty much, except you might have to have a wire on you, and report to me with all your fun.”
My chest deflates as I think it over, not wanting to let go of that lifestyle yet.
“I’ll give you to the count of three.” His words are sharp, his body language telling me he’s prepared to walk away.
“I’ll do it.” I don’t give myself time to think.
A smile crosses his face. “I’ll be in touch.”
I watch his back retreat, shaking my head as I get into my truck. I refuse to think deeper into this, not caring. In my mind, I just entered something more exciting than the previous. This gives me a new purpose, one I’ve been looking for but never realized that’s what I was doing.
That was the moment I became the new intel guy for the FBI.
CHAPTER 6
The next day, Kellen doesn’t show up. My car sits abandoned. For the tenth time today, I peek out the old white lace curtains to see if I heard him coming up the driveway. My grandfather’s rifle sits at the door on call. There’s nothing more agitating than a man who doesn’t listen. When he comes back, I want to be ready, and that’s where the problem lies. I want him to come back. There’s something in his eyes that has drawn me in.
I can’t help going through our interactions. He did say he had a wedding. Maybe it was his wedding. The luck I’ve had, this would be right up there with what I know about men. I blow a tendril of hair out of my face that has fallen out of my loose messy bun that sits on top of my head wildly.
It has taken me most of the day to clean up a small section of my grandmother’s house as I wait for him to show up. I roll my eyes at myself; this is pathetic. It’s time I get a job. With no car, it looks like I’ll be staying here longer than necessary.
I hope this town is small enough there’s no need for printed resumes, as this girl has nothing to print off. Grabbing my worn black leather purse that could also double as a bag, I slip it across me, preparing for the long walk to the center of town.
The trip is nice, everyone waving to me as I walk by. The weather is beautiful with the perfect amount of cloud cover, keeping it from being a dreadfully hot day. I try to survey what seems to be “downtown” and conclude it’s still the main street that I remember all those years ago when I visited as a young girl.
Squaring my shoulders, I walk into Nelly’s, hoping for a job. Considering it’s midafternoon, the place seems to be hopping. It’s packed inside. Immediately, my spirits flood with hope.
“Hi!” I’m greeted by what looks to be the only waitress on the floor. “Feel free to find a spot, and I’ll be by soon.”
A few tables are isolated throughout but are right in the middle of the front, where I just stepped in.
I head to the bar, which looks like the room is organized around, with it being in the middle and the focal point of the place.
“What can I get you?” The bartender smiles warmly at me, making it two people on shift right now.
“A water please.” He nods, sliding the one laminated menu page toward me. I skim it over, not exactly prepared to eat. “Are you hiring right now?” I ask when he comes back with my water, my fingers crossed and resting on my lap.
His mouth forms a straight line, making my
hope dip dramatically. I can feel it fall into my stomach after it plummets.
“Not that I know of.” I watch as he tilts his head toward the waitress. “Becca does all the hiring. She would know for sure.”
Looking around, I see she’s run off her feet. I watch the interactions between Becca, the bartender, and the customers, seeing how I can put myself into a position to be helpful. I’ve waitressed my whole life, and when I was too young to waitress, I washed dishes. The smooth running of this type of business is second nature to me.
I’m so caught up with the ins and outs of how the system looks to run that I’m caught off guard when Becca stops in front of me. “Sorry, we’re not hiring. Wish I could tell you otherwise.” Her words fire at me breathlessly, stopping for a rare moment. Her smile is genuine and warm; instantly, I like her.
Before I reply with my predetermined “we’re not hiring” answer of “I’ll just work for tips,” she’s off, as drinks are being left to sit on the side of the bar, waiting for her to replace them.
Pulling in all my nerves, my stomach jumps. I hope this works. I stand up, already having memorized what everyone has been drinking, preparing myself to help them out. If this doesn’t show motivation and willingness to work, at least I can tell myself I tried.
A set of drink orders rest on a small round tray. Looking back to where Becca is scurrying, I take a deep breath before picking it up to walk it toward the second table to the last. I’ve already numbered them all in my head. The process is all second nature to me.
I watch the guy—I really need to learn his name—about to call me off, when he realizes what I’m doing. His head bobs with a smirk as he continues doing his job. It takes me helping for fifteen minutes before Becca is all caught up. She starts toward me from the bar, looking at me like I’m an alien breed who’s entered their small town.
