Blitz: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy (Blast Brothers Book 3)

by Sabrina Stark

  Emory didn't even notice.

  All she noticed was the annoyingly hot guy within pouncing distance. Abandoning her duffle bag, she stood and scurried down the steps. She sidled next to him and practically purred, "So who are you?"

  I gave a snort of disbelief. She knew darn well who he was. Cripes, everyone did. But I'd seen her play this game before. In fact, this was the exact same thing she'd said to Bryce the first time she'd met him in person.

  I knew, because I'd been there, standing only a few feet away in the sporting goods store. Bryce had been a junior at Western Michigan University, and his parents lived in a town only forty minutes from Bayside. He'd come home for Spring break, supposedly to see me.

  In the end, he'd seen way more of Emory, naked and otherwise, considering that they'd taken off for Florida only two days later.

  Now, from the roof of my car, I waited to see if Chase would react to Emory the same way.

  He didn't.

  In fact, he didn't even look in her direction. But the reason for this was nothing to celebrate. Apparently, he was too engrossed in watching me molest my own vehicle.

  I watched with renewed irritation as Emory sidled closer to him and tried the same line again, this time with a lot more innuendo. "So who are you?"

  He spared her only half a glance before saying, "I heard you the first time."

  She blinked. "Oh. So…why didn't you answer?"

  He turned away. "Because you're full of it."

  "Excuse me?"

  "You know damn well who I am."

  In spite of everything, I almost snickered. Hah! Take that, Emory.

  But in true Emory fashion, she refused to give up. With a flirty laugh, she said, "Oh, so that's how it is?"

  Chase shrugged. "Pretty much."

  By now, I realized I had a choice. I could either get off my car or keep working at the sunroof. Call me stubborn, but I hated the idea of giving up.

  I called out to Chase, "Hey, you don't have a hammer, do you?"

  Emory turned to look at me. "Oh, get real," she said. "Why would I have a hammer?"

  Yes, because everything was about her.

  I said, "I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to him." I mean, he was the hammer guy, right?

  Chase replied, "Hell, I got a million hammers."

  Obviously, he was missing the point. I tried again. "I mean, do you have one on you?" Yes, I realized he wasn't walking around with a hammer in his pocket. But the point remained the same. I needed a hammer. His company made hammers, just a few blocks away, in fact.

  If by some miracle, he agreed to fetch me one, it would solve two of my biggest problems.

  Problem number one – I hated the idea of him watching me make a fool of myself.

  Problem number two – I still needed to get into my car.

  If Chase left to get me a hammer, I could still work at the sunroof – without him watching from the sidelines. If I were lucky, I might even get the thing open before he returned.

  And if I weren't lucky? Well, in that case, the hammer would come in extra-handy, wouldn't it?

  And just maybe, if he left, he'd take Emory with him, which would leave me in blissful solitude. I cherished this idea for only a split second before I realized something totally awful.

  I didn't like that idea at all.

  Why, I wasn't even sure.

  He was annoying. She was annoying. If they both left, they could annoy each other to their hearts' content.

  It would have been a lovely plan, if only I weren't annoyed, too. And now, I was annoyed that I was annoyed, which only served to annoy me further.

  And speaking of annoying, Emory turned to Chase and said, "I know! I'll come with you."

  Great.

  Now she says it?

  After I've already rejected the idea?

  Chase told her, "Forget it."

  Emory frowned. "But why?"

  "Because you're nuts."

  At his reply, I felt a silly grin spread across my face. Oh sure, I still looked like an idiot straddling my roof, but at that moment, I swear, it was almost worth it, if only to see Emory's reaction.

  Her frown deepened, and she took a quick look around, as if searching for a hidden camera. She saw none. But she did see her fallen nuts on the pavement. At the sight of them, she gave an audible sigh of relief before turning back to Chase. "Oh, don't worry about them," she laughed. "The birds can have the rest."

  It was vintage Emory.

  In her world, no guy would ever call her crazy. But they would worry about her fallen snacks.

  I muttered, "Don't forget the squirrels."

  She turned to glare at me. "What?"

  Damn it. I hadn't meant to say that so loud. But now that I had, I couldn’t seem to let it drop. I gave her my snottiest smile. "The squirrels. Don't they get any nuts?"

  Her mouth tightened. "It doesn't matter who gets them. They'll be gone before we get back."

  We.

  Meaning her and Chase.

  How nice for her. If history repeated, she'd return in nine days with a sunburn and hickies.

  When she looked back to Chase, I blurted out, "Well, I'm not gonna eat them." I wasn't even sure why I said it. I just knew that I didn't like the way she was looking at him, as if she'd just love to taste his nuts, if you know what I mean.

  Emory sighed. "I never said you would." Once again, she turned back to Chase.

  He told her, "Hey, don't look at me. I'm not gonna eat 'em."

  Emory paused for a long moment, and her gazed darted from him to me and back again. Finally, with a flirty smile, she laid her hand across his forearm. "Of course you won't," she laughed. "You won't even be here."

  But Chase wasn't laughing. He didn't even crack a smile. "Yeah?" he said. "And why's that?"

  "Because…" She tried for another laugh. "We'll be getting the hammer."

  Oh, please. She didn't want to get a hammer. She wanted to be hammered.

  By his cock.

  I bit my lip. But what did he want?

  I held my breath and waited.

  Her hand was still on his forearm. I was still on the car. The nuts were still on the pavement. And Chase? Well, he was still a sight to behold, even as he looked down and gave Emory's hand a long, cold look.

  As he did, I swear, I felt the temperature drop ten degrees.

  Emory's smile faded, and she released his arm, looking more awkward than I felt. And that was truly saying something.

  She had barely let go when Chase looked to me and said, "Forget the hammer. What you need is a ride."

  Chapter 21

  Chase

  Thirty minutes ago, Mina had looked ridiculous, but cute as hell, atop the roof of her old Chevy Malibu. She looked even better now, sitting in the passenger's seat of my newest vehicle, a bright orange Ferrari.

  The vehicle was low and fast, thanks to its twin turbo-charged V8 and over 700 horses under the hood.

  Even so, I was driving barely above the speed limit. Already, we'd left downtown and had just turned onto M-13, the four-lane country road heading out toward Hazelton.

  We'd spent some of the last thirty minutes walking back to my building and retrieving my keys from my desk before heading down to the underground parking garage and getting into my car.

  During the walk, Mina had been strangely quiet for someone looking to sell her ideas. Instead of using the unscheduled time to make another pitch for the sponsorship, she'd said very little, except to claim that she didn't need a ride at all.

  Bullshit.

  I knew desperation when I saw it. It was the reason I was driving at a sensible speed.

  No need to poke the crazy, right?

  And yet, I couldn’t resist saying, "So, the blue Malibu – was that your car or…" Deliberately, I left the question unfinished, leaving Mina to fill in the blanks.

  She gave me a wary glance. "Or what? Somebody else's?'

  I smiled. "It's just a question." At this, she looked so disgr
untled that I couldn't resist another tweak. "Don't worry. I'm not gonna report you."

  She tried for a laugh. "What, you think I go around trying to break into other people's cars?"

  No. I didn't.

  She might be crazy, but she wasn't that kind of crazy. She was the kind of crazy that popped out when you weren't expecting it, like when you happened to look out your office window, only to see a chick in a dress straddling the roof of an old Chevy.

  Still, I shrugged behind the wheel. "Hey, you never know."

  "Oh, please. Even if I were trying to break into someone's car – which I'd never do, by the way – I'd hardly do it with an audience."

  I'd seen the audience with my own two eyes – the brunette in the yoga pants. She'd looked good, and she'd known it. Obviously, she'd had more than her share of male attention.

  Not from me.

  She had roaming eyes and a hard mouth. I hadn't liked her.

  I'd left her standing on her own as I'd offered Mina a helping hand to climb off the car. And then, I'd picked up Mina's things.

  As for the brunette, we'd left her standing on the sidewalk with her fallen nuts. For all I knew, she was still there.

  Or not.

  I didn't know, and I didn't care.

  To Mina, I said, "So, you do that a lot?"

  With a weak laugh, she replied, "What, 'hump' my car?"

  At the word hump, something stirred in my pants. The word was pure vanilla with nearly no spice. It wasn't even X-rated. And yet, from Mina's lips, it was getting more attention than it deserved.

  Mina had a nice voice, sweet and sexy, even more so because unlike Yoga Pants, she wasn't trying to be. And for my part, well, let's just say I hadn't been getting the action I was used to.

  Sure, the change-up was my own decision – a long-overdue hiatus to clear my head.

  It was a good call. But my other head – meaning the one in my pants – was having a hard time seeing it the same.

  As far as the car-humping, it hadn't looked that way to me – which meant that Yoga Pants was either crazier than Mina, or had said it to make Mina's shitty situation just a little shittier.

  Back in high school, my own car had been older than Mina's, and I was no stranger to being stranded.

  And like Mina, I didn't stand around bitching about it either. I just did what needed doing – changing a tire, jump-starting the battery, or hell, even hitching a ride if it came that.

  Mina might be crazy, but she was no slacker – and no complainer either. In my book, that earned her a lot of points, even if she was on the crazy side.

  I said, "So, with the car, what happened?"

  "Nothing, really. I just locked my keys inside. That's all."

  "And you don't have a spare?"

  "Sure, but not on me."

  Obviously. "And no one to bring you one?"

  If true, this was a surprise. The way Mina had talked during her presentation, I'd gotten the impression she had plenty of people she could call in a pinch. Friends, family, whoever.

  Apparently not.

  What was that about?

  She replied, "Sure, there's people I could've called."

  "But you didn't. Why?"

  She hesitated. "I'd better not say."

  Now that was unexpected. Normally, women jumped to answer whatever I asked – and do whatever I asked, too.

  Hell, most of the time, I didn't have to ask.

  I gave Mina another glance. Was she being coy? I didn't think so.

  Now I was more curious. But I wasn't one to beg for secrets, and I didn't plan to start now.

  I leaned back in the driver's seat. Earlier, I'd input her home address into my GPS. According to the screen, we had nineteen minutes until we arrived at her destination.

  Something buzzed in her purse – her cell phone, obviously. She gave a little jump, but made no move to answer it.

  I said, "Hey, don't let me stop you."

  I wasn't being polite. I was curious to see how she interacted with other people.

  Maybe she was only crazy with me.

  Hey, it wouldn’t be the first time.

  She shook her head. "Nah, that's okay. But thanks."

  I gave the GPS another glance. Eighteen minutes. This should have been a good thing. And yet, my foot wasn't seeing it the same way. It eased off the gas, and the car slowed accordingly.

  This wasn't like me. And it was her doing.

  Ever since our first encounter, she'd been on my mind more than made sense.

  Even what I was doing now – giving her a ride home – it wasn't something I'd normally do. And I sure as hell wouldn’t have insisted on it.

  Normally, if I were feeling nice and wanted to get someone where they needed to go, I'd pay for a service.

  But with Mina, I hadn't.

  Instead, I was driving her personally.

  And Mina? She was driving me nuts.

  I couldn’t even say why.

  Our first meeting had been a total shit-show. I'd been rude as fuck. And if I were the kind of guy to apologize, I might've told her by now that I was sorry for being such a dick.

  But she hadn't asked for an apology, and I saw no reason to offer one now, after she'd let it slide.

  When the phone buzzed again, I asked, "You want me to get it?"

  "Sure," she laughed. "As long as you tell her what she wants to hear."

  It was an obvious joke. And yet, I sensed a note of worry under the surface.

  I didn't like it. "Her?"

  She sighed. "My mom."

  I recalled her mom from the pictures. She'd looked friendly enough. "Oh yeah? And what does she want to hear?"

  In the passenger's seat, Mina bit her lip but said nothing. Her lips were full, and her long blonde hair fell loose around her face. After a long moment, she said with a shaky laugh, "Trust me. You don't want to hear it."

  She was wrong.

  I did.

  And I would.

  Chapter 22

  Mina

  I meant what I said. Chase wouldn’t want to hear it, even if I was dying to tell him.

  For all of his flaws – and heaven knows there were many – he was doing me a favor. Instead of loaning me a hammer, he'd insisted on driving me home, personally.

  And earlier, on the walk back to his office, he'd even offered to carry my things, like he was a high school boyfriend instead of the biggest jackass I'd ever met.

  Except, he wasn't acting like a jackass now. He was being surprisingly civil, which only made me more determined to keep my thoughts to myself.

  In the driver's seat, he said, "Go ahead. Tell me anyway."

  Tell him what my mom wanted to hear? If he were anyone else, I might've. But he wasn't anyone else. He was the guy who could make or break the festival.

  And that wasn't all.

  For all of his current civility, he was also the asshat who'd gotten me fired from my barista job.

  Did he even know? Or had he complained to the owner, thinking she'd give me a quick reprimand and be done with it?

  Judging from his current demeanor, he'd already forgotten the whole thing. And was it any wonder? I mean, hey, I was just a barista, right?

  If Chase Blastoviak were any other guy, I would've already read him the riot act. It would've been so satisfying, too. But at what price?

  The sad truth was, he held all the cards, which meant I'd be smart to keep my mouth firmly shut, and not only about getting fired.

  With this in mind, I kept my reply as vague as possible. "Well, you know how moms are."

  In the driver's seat, Chase made a sound. I might've called it a scoff, except something about it was terribly wrong – as if it contained no humor, only bitterness borne of a wound so deep, it was still festering.

  Coming from him, this surprised me.

  For years, I'd been watching Blast on my TV screen. Chase was the funny one, the jokester, the one who let everything roll off his back, even as he dished out smart-ass remarks th
e way lunch ladies dished out fish sticks on Fridays.

  But Chase Blastoviak was no lunch lady.

  In fact, he couldn’t be more opposite.

  From the passenger's seat, I studied him from the corner of my eye. He was pure male, all lean and hard with sex appeal oozing from his pores, even now, when he was only driving me home.

  Now, I almost scoffed.

  He wasn't only driving me home. He was driving me home in an orange sports car that probably cost more than a house, maybe multiple houses in this neck of the woods.

  As far as the car's make and model, I had no idea what it was. I just knew that it looked terrific, felt great, and smelled brand new, like it had just come straight from the factory.

  And even though the engine was purring like a contented cat, I just knew that if Chase hit the gas, we'd roar forward like a cheetah chasing its next meal.

  But we weren't roaring. Far from it. Unless I was mistaken, he was driving below the speed limit.

  Weird.

  The thought had barely crossed my mind when a family sedan slowly passed us in the neighboring lane. As it did, everyone in the sedan – two kids in the back, a mom in the front and even the dad who was supposed to be driving – turned their heads to stare.

  I couldn’t exactly blame them. It was still daylight, which gave them not only a clear view of the car, but also of Chase himself, who was totally stare-worthy even aside from his celebrity status.

  As the sedan kept on going, I waited for Chase to hit the gas, to roar forward and show the sedan who was boss.

  But he didn't.

  Instead, he dropped our speed even lower as he said, "So you're not saying, huh?"

  I felt my brow wrinkle in confusion. The sedan was now a full car-length ahead of us. From its rear window, the two kids were staring back like they'd just spotted a spaceship going down M-13.

  I knew the feeling, even if we weren't exactly flying.

  I turned and gave Chase a longer look. Judging from his easy demeanor, he didn't care one bit that he'd just been passed by a family sedan. In fact, I wasn't even sure that he'd noticed.