by T. S. Joyce
“You drove to a store, picked out something you thought would look all right on me, and bought it without me asking. You thought about me. After I slapped you. That is nice,” she said with a giggle.
His face cracked into a smile, and he rubbed the scruff on his jaw, shook his head. “Lady, where did you learn how to slap? You got me good.”
She laughed as her cheeks were catching fire again. “I have a temper.”
“Damn redheads. I think it’s true what they say about y’all.”
She shrugged up her shoulders coyly. “Don’t piss me off.”
He rolled his eyes heavenward. “Lady, it takes a lot to scare a creature like me. But I had a moment out there. I’m pretty sure you’re a hellion.”
She snickered. “My dad used to call me that. My mom was a spitfire redhead, too, and he used to joke about being surrounded by us hellion women.”
“Fuuuuck,” Holt said. “There were two of you? Your poor dad.”
“Whatever.” She shrugged. “We were awesome.”
“Were?” He shook his head fast. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know too much.”
“About me?”
He nodded jerkily.
“Makes it easier to keep me at a distance if you don’t know anything real,” she murmured.
“Exactly. It’ll make it easier for you, too.”
“Right. So…no talking.”
“About anything real.”
“Sweet, this should be a super fun relationship.”
“Partnership.”
She rolled her eyes to the rafters. “I’m hungry.”
“Sexiest thing a woman can say in these parts. I like a girl who can eat.”
“Yeah? How many girls have you had?”
“Billions. Quit asking questions. I was going to cook you up some catfish and bribe you into not slapping me around anymore with some good bayou cooking, but I went shopping at some terrifying girl-store instead. Some boutiki a couple towns over.”
Bre nearly choked on the sip of beer she was taking. “Boutiki? You mean a boutique?”
“Whatever it’s called,” he said with a careless shrug. “It was full of colorful shit. I felt like a butterfly lookin’ for the right flower in there. I think my dick shrunk half an inch. I’ll probably grow a vagina tonight.”
“Oh my gosh,” she said, laughing. Okay, sense of humor and hot. Check and check. “Sooooo, what’s for food? ’Cause I can’t live on beer alone.”
“I was thinking you put on those shorts, and we’ll head into town, see if you can handle some spice.”
“Spice in the food?”
“Yep.”
“Deal. I like spicy food.”
“Mmmm,” he said with a slow grin. “You ain’t had spice like this.”
But staring at that wicked grin painting his face, she couldn’t figure out if he was talking about the food…or him.
Chapter Four
Why was she nervous? She pulled the side of her green T-shirt to her hip and put her hair tie around it, stuck the little microphone pin into the knot. Brian was here, listening. She’d forgotten that for a few minutes. She’d gotten lost in Holt. She blew out a breath and checked the length of her shorts again in the bathroom mirror. Still short as hell. Her butt-cheeks were damn-near hanging out. Her boss at the station would poop himself if he saw pictures of her right now. How many speeches had he given her to always look professional? You never know when you’ll be on camera, and you’re representing this station twenty-four-seven… Blah blah blah. She was pretty sure hoochie shorts weren’t in the dress code portion of her contract. Whoopsie. Bright sides, they were comfortable in this crazy Texas heat.
When she walked down the hall and into the living room, Holt’s attention dragged slowly down her body. The hungry look in his eyes made her heart drum even faster.
“Holy shit, Hollywood,” he murmured under his breath as he dragged his bright green-gold gaze down her body, slowing on the curves.
“Did you just call me Hollywood?”
“Sure did. You had pretend eyelashes. If that ain’t Hollywood, I don’t know what is.”
She belted out a laugh and nodded. “Okay, well it’s better than some nicknames I’ve collected over the years, so I’ll allow it.”
He cleared his throat. “You look— Aw fuck it, we both know I will screw up a compliment. You know what I’m trying to say.”
She ducked her gaze so he wouldn’t see her blush. “Well, thank you. I’m glad your type is unkempt, natural, ho-lookin’ woodswoman.”
Holt laughed. “Clever woman. Look at you, already figurin’ me out. Just so you know though— Aw, seriously, fuck it, I’m gonna mess up anything nice I try to say.”
She laughed and jerked her thumb at the door. “Get in my truck, animal-man. I need to be fed.”
A rumble filled the whole room and vibrated the air around her.
“Whooooah,” she whispered. “What was that?”
Holt shook his head hard, and the noise stopped immediately. He cast her a quick glance and murmured, “Sorry.”
“For what?”
“Look, if this is going to work? You’re going to have to get real good at pretending.”
“Pretending what?”
“That I’m normal.”
Her heart had never hurt so bad for the look in someone’s eyes before. He looked sick for a split second before he rearranged his face to be expressionless. Bre opened her mouth to tell him that it was okay to growl. It was his nature. A part of him. But before she could take the sting away, he got up suddenly and made his way to the door. He opened it and gestured for her to go out.
That was it? That was the entire conversation about his animal side? That wasn’t good enough. She made her way to him and squared up.
“No.” He cut her off before she even got a word out. “This talk is off-limits. Always will be. I would never trust a person enough to share that side of me, so accept it quick.”
“You sure tell me to accept a lot that you won’t change.”
He shrugged up one shoulder and twitched his head toward her truck. “You can go if it’s too much.”
“You’re okay just like you are.”
Holt laughed. He laughed! It was a cruel sound that echoed and rattled around her brain. “You wouldn’t say that if you saw me.” He arched up his dark eyebrows, and those gold-green eyes seemed to flash brighter as he leaned closer to her. “You would run. You would need to. Your instincts would kick in, your adrenaline would spike, you would scream if you saw the monster in me. And you would run. You have no idea what you signed up for.” The threat in his voice softened as he lowered his gaze to her lips. “I’m glad you don’t. I like that you stand this close to me and you don’t tremble. So there’s the rule. We pretend.”
What could she say to him? How could she argue? It was his wish. Whatever animal he shared his skin with would remain hidden from the world. From her. She didn’t know why, but that part stung.
But then again…the trust thing? She had a microphone in the knot of her shirt, so he was right to be careful with his dark side.
He didn’t know it, but she was a monster, too. A monster pretending to be normal. She wished she could rip out the microphone and squish it between her fingers until Brian couldn’t hear anything they said.
Feeling sick to her stomach, Bre made her way outside and straight past a sleeping Fargo, down the stairs and to the passenger side of his Bronco.
“Not tonight, Hollywood,” Holt called as he sauntered to her truck. “Your first lesson starts now.”
“What lesson?”
“How to drive your damn truck without grinding every gear.” He slapped the hood with a clunk. “This old boy is a work of art, and I won’t have you killing his transmission. I can fix a lot of things, but it’s better to avoid the break in the first place.”
Bre glared at him. “You’re going to teach me how to drive my own truck?”
“Yep. And if you
get us to town without giving me whiplash, I’ll buy dinner tonight.”
“Whooo, gentleman monster.”
Holt snorted. “God, you’re trouble. I just said we’re pretending. There’s no monster.”
“I’m not good at following directions.”
“Clearly,” he muttered as he opened her driver’s side door for her. There was a tiny microscopic smile tugging at the corners of his lips, though.
“First off, don’t leave your windows rolled down out here.”
“Robbers in the woods?” she asked, looking around at the trees.
“No. Bugs. And animals looking for a seat to shred. You have the original leather seats in there, so take care of ’em.”
“Oh, my gosh, you like me for my truck, don’t you? That’s why you’re being so nice about me staying.”
“You’re being weird.”
“Look at how you’re staring at the shift knob! You’re in love!”
He let off a long sigh and made his way to the passenger’s side. She just sat there gripping the oversize steering wheel with a beaming grin on her face. She sang softly, “Holt and Beetlejuice, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”
She’d never seen a man look so offended before. “You named a 1967 Ford Highboy Beetlejuice?”
“Beetlejuice was a badass.”
“Just…turn the truck on.”
“Say his name,” she whispered. “Three times.”
She knew Brian was in the news van somewhere cackling because they’d watched the movie a couple weeks ago in a rundown hotel outside of Idaho City.
“Start the damn truck, Hollywood. Don’t you be bringing any ghost mojo around to these parts. Even if it’s just a movie, people around here don’t mess with that shit. We’re too close to hoodoo territory. Whole lotta dark magic you go deep enough into the swamps. You joke about that stuff in town, and the locals will serve you up quick.”
“Fine. No ghost talk, wearing nice clothes, leaving my windows down, or talking about your animal. Rules, rules, rules.”
“Not all rules, woman. Get us to town, and I’ll show you some fun.”
Done stalling, Bre jammed the brake and the clutch to the floorboard and started the truck. It roared to life, and she was pretty sure Holt got an instant boner because he melted into the seat and leaned his head back, rolled his eyes closed, and chuckled.
“First comes love,” she sang softly, “then comes marriage, then comes Beetlejuice junior in a baby carriage.”
“Shut it,” he muttered, rolling his window down. “Hurry up, or we’ll miss it.”
“Miss what?”
“You’ll see.”
He gave her tips on driving a stick shift for a few miles and then told her to turn off onto a dirt road.
“If you’re gonna take me into the woods and murder me, you could’ve done that back at the house—” A light flashed in the woods, and she jerked to a stop. Another light flashed a little closer, just a shimmer and then it was gone.
Another lit up, and another. Fireflies.
“Cut the engine,” he murmured.
Bre turned the keys and killed the engine, then turned the lights off, too. They didn’t talk. It felt as if their words would disturb the magic that was happening in the woods. With the light and noise gone, more fireflies talked to each other with their glowing lights. One was close, so close Bre reached out of her window and almost touched it when it lit up again.
Barely daring to breathe, she got lost in this most beautiful moment. This existed. She’d been so caught up roaming city to city, or back and forth commuting from her apartment in Missouri to the station. Her life was always on the move, but here…here in the dark woods of Uncertain, Texas, she was still, and it was the fireflies on the move.
She relaxed back in the seat, hunger forgotten. “Why do the tire marks stop here?” she whispered, gesturing to the thick, overgrown foliage directly in front of them.
“The tire tracks are mine. I come out here when I want an escape. They don’t light up like this all year. Just certain times. I was hoping there would be at least a few out tonight, but it seems they showed up for you. Hollywood lights.”
Bre huffed a breath. If Holt was a different man, she would reach over and squeeze his hand as a thank you for this incredible moment. Another gift. He was good at gifts. But Holt was who and what he was, and he wouldn’t like her touching him. He hadn’t said that out loud, but she had a big feeling he was determined to keep her at a distance. So she clenched her hands on her thighs and told him, “Thank you, Holt. This is really special.”
“It’s just bugs that can light up their butts. Come on. Let’s go into town. I need another beer.”
And just like that, he’d taken away the moment. That was a defense mechanism. He didn’t want her to think he’d put any thought into taking her to a place he used as an escape. “How many girls have you brought here?”
“A million.” He looked behind them. “There’s nowhere to turn around so you’ll have to back up for a bit. More lessons for you. You’re welcome.”
“A million, huh?”
“Yep. Don’t worry if you wreck the truck a little. A few scuffs in the paint will only make old Beetlejuice look better. Add a little more character.”
“Will you tell me the number someday?” she asked, the nosy reporter in her unable to let it go.
Another soft growl rattled the air. “Earn my trust, and I’ll tell you the number.” His eyes bore right into her soul, daring her. Earn it. And in this moment, she wanted to so bad. She wanted to rise to the challenge. To stick around long enough for him to let her in.
But…the microphone. She wasn’t trustworthy.
She swallowed hard and started the truck, put it in reverse, and twisted in her seat.
“That’s what I thought,” he murmured so softly she nearly missed it over the roar of the engine.
What was happening? These feelings…she wasn’t supposed to grow these feelings. How could a man make her feel so much guilt in such a short amount of time? The microphone, the microphone, the damn microphone. It was burning a hole into the knot of her shirt. She imagined it burning right through her jean shorts that he’d gifted her and straight to her skin. She deserved the burn.
Steady, girl. Just get the story and get out of here.
More teaching, more tips, more of him getting frustrated or making fun of her when the car jerked and wheezed if she was too harsh on the clutch, but she was actually getting the hang of it by the time they pulled into the parking lot of Tacky’s, which was apparently the place to be at six-thirty on a weekend night in this town. She had to circle the gravel parking lot twice before she ended up parking in the grass on the edge of the asphalt.
“You didn’t suck as bad as I thought you would,” Holt said.
“Thank you. I think.” Like a good student, Bre rolled up her window without him reminding her and slid out of the cab.
Holt was tall as a building. She hadn’t realized that until he had to duck under the doorframe to go inside. She wasn’t that short, at five-foot-five, but she only came up to his shoulder.
The place was hoppin’ with people waiting on a table in a line at the hostess stand, servers bustling around, TVs turned up loud on sports stations, and there was a constant hum of chatter from the patrons.
“Haven’t seen you in here in a while, Holt,” the blond-haired, blue-eyed hostess said, clutching a menu to her chest. She didn’t look flirty, though. She looked…wary. Nervous, even.
“Figured I would show Bre the town. Old Mac is still cookin’, ain’t he?”
The hostess, Dawn her nametag read, nodded her head and said, “Old Mac will be cookin’ in this place until he up and dies on us. Stubborn.”
“Good,” he said low. He gestured at her. “Bre. This is Bre. She ain’t from around here.”
“Well, this is a good place to start her,” Dawn said. “Nice to meet you, Bre. The wait is twenty minutes unless you want to sit at the b
ar. There’s two seats together if you rush.”
“This way,” Holt said, hand on the small of Bre’s back as he guided her past the hostess stand.
“Nice to meet you, too,” she said to Dawn as she passed. But Dawn didn’t say anything. She just tracked her with a worried look in her eyes and her lips half-parted like she wanted to say something but couldn’t.
Weird.
People moved out of the way quick for Holt. He didn’t seem to notice, but the crowd parted like the Red Sea as he made his way straight for the bar at the back corner of the restaurant. “What do you drink?” he asked. “I know it ain’t beer because you nursed the one I gave you and left half of it in the bottle.”
Observant man. “Ummmm, margaritas?”
“Tequila girl. Nice.”
“I guess. I don’t really drink that much,” she said over the noise of the crowd. Everyone was staring at Holt and her, but most seemed to be still talking.
He pulled out a barstool for her, and she took a seat. When he took his, the two men on his other side stood up and threw a twenty-dollar bill down, gave Holt a dirty look, and walked away.
“What’s your problem?” she asked them, angered by how people were treating Holt.
“I ain’t sittin’ next to no killer,” said the older gentleman with a full gray beard and beer gut. He punctuated the last word by jamming a finger at Holt, who ignored them like a pro and flagged down the bartender.
“It’ll settle down,” a friendly-looking bartender said with a grim smile.
“Hey, Joe,” Holt said. “This is Bre. Bre, Joe.”
Bre smiled and waved. “What’ll settle down?”
“The rumors,” Joe said with a sigh. “This is a small town, so everyone is in everyone’s business.”
“The lady needs a margarita, and I need a beer and a shot.”
“One of those days?” Joe asked as he started prepping their drinks.
Holt was twisted in his seat, glaring at the two good ol’ boys who were leaving the restaurant. “Every day is one of those days.”
Bre whispered, “Why did that man call you a killer?”
