I try his cell, but it goes straight to voicemail. I leave him a message that I’m heading to the restroom and slip my phone back into my purse.
The only person who’s been able to get him to do anything wedding-related is my maid of honor. Craig and Mindy were friends first, and if I needed to make sure he would be somewhere, I asked her. She’s MIA also, though, which is weird because she promised she’d get here ahead of time and make sure everything was ready for us. I try calling her, but she doesn’t pick up.
The restrooms are at the end of a long hallway, and the security guard tells me I can use the private family restroom so I don’t have to get in and out of a stall in my dress. When I find the one he mentioned, the door is closed. I put my hand on the knob.
“Mmmm. God, do that again,” I hear from inside.
That sounds like Craig’s voice. Confused who he’s talking to, I hesitate.
“Oh, baby. Fuck!”
My fist grips the doorknob tightly. Because…
I know that voice.
She’s my maid of honor.
I turn the doorknob. To my surprise, the door opens an inch, leaving just enough of a crack to get an eyeful of Mindy’s bare ass. Craig has her bent over as he plows into her from behind.
My heart plummets into my stomach as a combination of rage and humiliation washes over me.
Inside my head, I scream.
And then, I scream out loud.
Craig pulls out of Mindy faster than lightning, and the two of them whip around to find me standing in the doorway.
I’m frozen there while Mindy pulls her dress down and disappears out of the bathroom. And then, I listen to Craig give his excuses. And he’s got a lot of them.
The whole time, I’m thinking about how Craig hasn’t just been my boyfriend for the last six years. He’s been my mentor, my confidante, and my only family.
And now, it’s all over.
I put my hand up to stop him from talking and quickly step back when he tries to reach for me. “Craig, if you loved me, you wouldn’t be standing in a public restroom with your pants wrapped around your ankles, making excuses on our wedding day. So, yeah, Goodbye.”
I whip around and run off.
Tears run down my cheeks as I hurry to the lobby of the courthouse. That’s where Mindy is lying in wait for me.
“I’m sorry, Hannah.” Mindy’s eyes are bright and her lipstick smeared.
Something about her straight back and styled hair makes me even angrier.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” I say. “There’s nothing you can say that will change what you did. And what he did.”
“I’m your maid of honor,” she says like it means something to her.
“And that’s exactly why you shouldn’t have fucked my fiancé.”
The words come out louder than I mean for them to. A woman nearby gasps.
Feeling my face heat, I step backward. “He’s all yours now. I’m done with you both.”
“But where will you go?” she asks me. “You can’t just leave your own wedding!”
“Oh, really?” I pick up my train and glare at her. “Watch me.”
Chapter Five
I spin on my heel and storm out the revolving doors.
Tears continue to stream down my cheeks, and I can’t tell if I’m more angry, humiliated, or sad. I just know that I need a getaway car.
I hurry around to the front of the building, making sure to stay hidden in the shadows. Then, I cross the street and duck behind a short tree on the corner.
My hopes are dwindling that I’ll be able to get out of here before Craig catches up to me and begs for a second chance. A chance he’s never going to get.
The sound of loud laughter distracts me.
The dark-haired, sexy guy I stared at earlier is walking away from his pickup truck. His two friends are with him. All three are well-built and athletic-looking. None of them notice me lurking behind the tree, a fact I’m immensely grateful for.
I’ve never had any game with men. And right now, I’m starting to think that’s how I ended up here.
But now is not the time to psychoanalyze my issues with the opposite sex. I’ll have plenty of time for that later.
I stare at the now-unattended pickup truck for a second longer. I take a quick glance around. Not surprising for L.A., no one’s looking twice—or even once—at the non-famous person in a wedding dress hiding behind a bush. Once I’m sure nobody’s watching, I dash over to the truck and struggle to climb up into the back, cursing when my wedding dress snags on the bumper. I pull the bottom of my train loose, and I can hear the tear as I tumble into the truck bed.
Well, it’s not like I’m going to be wearing this dress ever again. I crawl forward along the truck bed, relieved to find it filled with several large duffle bags and boxes tucked under a tarp. I squirm between a couple of the boxes up against the back wall and dry my eyes while I wait for my getaway driver to return.
Chapter Six
Maverick
Chance calls my cell as I’m at the coffee shop.
“Are you still in town?” he asks me. “I’ve got something for you.”
“I’m about to leave,” I say. “I’m downtown by the courthouse.”
“See you in a few.” He clicks off before I can respond.
I pay for my drink at the register and wait for Colt and Dylan to get their orders before we walk out the door.
“Hey, mates!” Chance’s hand flies out the open window as he drives past us and pulls into the parking lot across from the courthouse.
The three of us are still waiting for the walk signal. By the time we make it across the street, Chance is walking toward the truck with his damn goat on a leash.
“Christ, Chance. You brought Pixy with you?” I say incredulously.
Chance shakes hands with Colton and Dylan then turns to me with that typical Chance grin. The kind that gets him pretty much whatever he wants.
My friend is too handsome for his own good, and he knows it, too. He’s also cocky as all hell. But he’s loyal to a fault, and I trust him. Those traits mean more than his little annoyances.
“He likes car rides,” he says to me in mock offense. “He wanted to get out for a bit.”
“Hey, Pixy.” Colton gives the goat a scratch behind the ears. “Are you freaked out by all the noise in the city?”
“Pixy’s calm as can be,” Chance says confidently.
As if in response, the damn goat “baas” and then tries to climb into the back of my truck.
“Here.” Chance opens the tailgate. “Take a rest in there,” he says to Pixy.
Rest is the exact opposite of what’s on Pixy’s mind. The damn goat nudges around the tent and my bags and tries to bury itself under the tarp like there’s a stash of oats hidden there.
“I know you’re on your way out.” Chance reaches into his sweatshirt pocket. “So I wanted to give you this.”
I stare down at what he’s holding in his hand. “A Tom Brady bobblehead?”
Colton and Dylan chuckle, and Chance grins as he hands it to me.
“Aubrey and I had some good luck with a bobblehead on our road trip,” he says. “So she asked me to bring you this. A football god will look good in your truck, and maybe it will even prove to be a good luck charm. Aubrey thought it might help with your hopeless love life.”
“Tell her, ‘Thank you, but I’m riding solo. Happily,’” I add.
Chance ignores me as I try to hand him back the bobblehead. “Even so. Put it on your truck dashboard, or Aubrey will ask questions.”
“What kinds of questions?” Colton says.
“She’s anxious for Mav to find the right woman before he’s famous. She doesn’t want him attracting any gold diggers.”
“Do I look like a guy who’s ready to settle down?”
“You never know.” Chance raises a brow. “Can’t plan everything, Mav.”
Hannah
I’m squatting under the tarp
when I hear voices getting closer to the truck.
“You brought Pixy?” someone says.
Who is Pixy?
“Baa.”
There’s a heavy thump and the truck sways like someone climbed in the bed. Someone’s rustling around at the edge of the tarp, and I shrink back. I swallow my scream as two bulging eyes appear around the corner of one of the boxes.
It takes me a second to realize it’s a goat that I’m making eye contact with from less than three feet away.
“Baa,” it says again as it continues to stare directly at me.
I put my finger to my lips.
Maybe it understands the universal “be quiet” signal because it turns its back on me and lies down in the truck bed.
Shit.
A few minutes pass where I alternate between holding my breath as long as I can and then letting it out as quietly as possible.
I know there are at least four different voices outside the truck, and I’m praying no one sees me when they go to reclaim their goat.
Who has a goat for a pet, anyway?
“…Kick some ass in training camp, Wilds.”
“You too, Court.”
“Text us so we’ll know you’re alive and didn’t get attacked by a bear.”
“Hold onto that bobblehead, Mav. You never know…”
“Fuck you, Chance.”
Laughter follows.
“Be good.”
“Pixy! Let’s go.” The goat—Pixy—clearly responds to its name because it gets up immediately.
Without glancing back at me, it ambles away—I’m assuming out of the truck bed, thank God.
The tailgate slams shut, and I hear some slapping sounds like pats on the back or maybe a handshake, and then the front truck door opens and closes.
“Hannah!”
Shit. That’s Craig. I’d know that nasally, irritated tone anywhere.
I start panic-sweating. Before I can decide what to do, the engine starts.
And I’m whisked away.
I just ran away from my own wedding.
And even though my entire life is now completely screwed up, I can’t stop a smile from spreading across my face. The wind whips my cheeks as we pick up speed, and I have no clue where my getaway driver is taking me.
But for the first time in my life, I relaxed and feel free.
Chapter Seven
Maverick
I pull away from the curb and honk the horn as I wave to Colt, Dylan, and Chance standing on the sidewalk. Saying goodbye is always tough. But, as I press down on the gas, I start to whistle. Because I am now officially on my way to the beginning of a—hopefully long—professional football career.
And this week, I get to be on the road. To think, to clear my head, and to do a whole lot of nothing. No commitments and no drama. I’ve got a two-thousand-mile drive ahead of me, and I couldn’t be happier to be all alone with just my truck for company.
I drive for the next hour. It’s dark by the time I reach the edge of the city, and the rain is starting. I’d heard it was going to pour buckets tonight and that there could be flooding. That’s what you get sometimes in California. But the forecast predicted it wouldn’t start until much later, so I thought I’d be well out of the city congestion in plenty of time.
Hannah
What started out as a little rain shower turns into lots of rain. Pouring rain. Just the kind of day I’m having.
I sink further underneath the tarp to stay dry. But…
“Shit!”
With a large gust of wind, the section of the tarp that’s protecting me blows off.
It takes me a few minutes to grab at it and pull it back over me. And I can’t cover up completely.
Soon, I’m soaked through. And freezing.
I pull my knees up into my chest and try to stop my teeth from chattering.
I can’t wait for this guy to pull over so I can jump out. I have no idea where I’m going to go, but anywhere will be better than the back of a pickup truck in a rainstorm.
Maverick
The rain is really coming down hard as I take my time getting through the outskirts of L.A. The wind has picked up so much I need both hands on the wheel to keep the truck in check. I turn off the freeway at a lonely exit with a sign for food, gas, and lodging. I can barely see through the windshield, which makes it tough going.
I let out a breath of relief when I see the lights of a gas station up ahead. I park underneath the overhang, hop out, and head for the convenience store to grab a coffee.
I’ve made it about ten steps when I stop and turn around.
I should probably make sure all my stuff stayed dry.
As I head for the back of the truck, a hand appears, and then a figure in white flashes into sight.
Someone’s inside my truck.
I run past the gas pump and round the corner to the tailgate just as a woman appears at the edge of the truck bed.
“Hey!” I grab her by the back of her dress.
Her wedding dress, which is soaking wet from the rain. Which means I can see her nipples through the fabric, nipples that are hard from the cold. Christ. I force my gaze back up to her face.
And find myself staring into the ice-blue eyes of the very same woman I caught checking me out by the L.A. courthouse.
“Hey,” I say again, my tone softer now. “I remember you.”
Her blood-red lipstick is still intact, and her gorgeous, jet black hair still takes my breath away.
Her fancy updo style is now a hot mess from the rain, but it still highlights her pale skin and bright eyes.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I demand as she tries to pull away. “And what the hell were you doing in the back of my truck?”
She flashes me a guilty smile. She’s also shivering.
“Hey,” she says, and I’m knocked backward by the sexy huskiness of her voice. “Sorry to scare you.”
“What are you doing in my truck?” I repeat. “Did you sneak in back at the courthouse?”
She nods once. “I was supposed to get married today.”
“I figured. You look beautiful.” Why the hell did I just tell her that? I clear my throat. I blame my chattiness on my dick, which is now wide awake from the sound of this woman’s voice. “If you’re running away, I’m assuming he either did you wrong or you don’t love him. Or both.”
She shoots me an appraising look. “You’re a smart guy, Mr.—”
I give her a second glance, trying to ascertain whether or not she knows who I am. I’m not super famous, but around Los Angeles, I’m the hometown kid who was drafted in the first round. I’ve done a bunch of interviews the last month, and I’ve been getting asked for more random autographs than before.
But her face is blank without a hint of recognition on it. And I admit I find that refreshing.
“Maverick.” I let go of her dress and extend my hand. “Maverick Court.”
She takes my hand, and I jerk as an electric current shoots between us.
Her eyes widen a fraction of an inch like it surprised her, too, but she covers quickly. She drops my hand and flashes me another friendly smile.
“Hannah Walsh. Nice to meet you.”
She’s trying to hide the fact that she’s shaking from the cold rain. I start unbuttoning my flannel shirt.
“Oh, no!” she says immediately. “I’m not looking for a hookup. You may think you’re trying to be nice, or maybe you’re just one of those opportunity jumpers, but I’m not having sex with you, Mr. Court.”
My lips twitch in amusement, and I continue unbuttoning my shirt. As I peel it off my body, the little hitchhiker actually starts crawling away from me again.
I simply reach out and get a firm hold of her dress again, keeping her in place.
Then, I drape my flannel over the backs of her shoulders. “Put this on. You’re going to get sick from the cold.”
“Oh.” She looks at me over her shoulder. “Oh! I’m so sorry for misreading.�
�
Her cheeks darken with embarrassment. Her ice-blue eyes thaw a touch, and I’m…smitten by her.
For a split second, I nearly lean forward and kiss those blood-red lips.
Instead, I lean back on my heels and close down my expression. “Come sit in the front seat while I fill up. We’ll figure out what to do then.”
She hesitates.
“Hannah Walsh, get out of the back of my truck and into the front seat before you freeze to death. Now.”
I stand up and walk by her without looking back.
Chapter Eight
Hannah
My getaway driver sure is bossy.
He’s also hot AF.
I knew he was handsome when I first laid eyes on him. But up close like this, he’s even more attractive. From those soulful, dark brown eyes to the confident way he carries himself, I have to drag my gaze away to keep from staring.
And from the back? Holy Jesus—his ass is so bitable butterflies turn over in my belly as he exits the truck bed. He’s all pissed off and authoritative, and I’m turned on.
I don’t get turned on. Not this Hannah Walsh, who’s been dating the same guy for years. Craig and I were lukewarm sexually. Okay, maybe less than lukewarm.
So I’m pleasantly surprised to feel my body wake up after the interaction I just had with Maverick Court.
I scramble out of the truck bed and walk around the truck until I reach the passenger door. I find the door unlocked, and I climb inside, shutting the door behind me. I pull Maverick’s flannel tighter around my shoulders, trying not to openly shiver from the cold. I am freezing.
I glance around the cab of the truck. My eyes light on the bobblehead doll sitting on the dashboard.
I lean in to look more closely. Brady.
I’m not a big sports fan, but even I know who Tom Brady is. And the funny thing is that my ex is a Pittsburgh fan, so he automatically hated Tom Brady for his success.
Bossy Baller: A Hero Club Novel Page 2
