Junkyard Dog

by Katja Desjarlais

  But this…

  He walked into the back room to grab a few cases of beer, calling over to Thomas as he passed by. “I promoed a round of tequila for the rangers,” he said, hefting two cases up. “Max and Charlotte finished night shift.”

  Thomas grunted. “I’ll write off their meals, too.” He picked up the last case of beer and followed Alex. “I don’t like that girl working nights. Especially with some psycho on the loose.”

  “Me either,” he muttered, opening the beer cooler as he glanced back at the loud group.

  Thomas passed him a few bottles. “What’s going on between you two?”

  “Just hanging out.”

  Setting the rest of the case at Alex’s feet, Thomas snorted. “I’m old. Not stupid. Who’s keeping who at arm’s length?”

  *

  Charlotte huffed and finished off the rest of her coffee. “We’re just friends.”

  The women at the table leveled her with a flat stare. “Really,” Becky stated, apparently prepared to forgo the silent treatment in exchange for gossip. “Let’s put that to the test.”

  She stood up and sashayed over to the bar, leaning far over the counter to give Alex a view of her cleavage. Charlotte feigned disinterest as Alex smiled at Becky and poured her a drink, nodding at something she said. When Becky tilted her head to the side and pushed a small piece of paper across the bar, he took a step back and leaned on the counter until she walked away.

  Becky set her drink down on the table and looked around at the expectant women. “I gave him my number and a good view of the twins,” she announced, giving her breasts a quick tap and lifting her brows. “He didn’t look at either one, told me I was sweet, and said he’s taken. Who’s he taken by, Chuck?”

  Flashing back to Alex’s obvious panic over his use of the term boyfriend, she shrugged as her phone buzzed. Grateful for the interruption, she looked down at the message. “More coffee?”

  She typed in her affirmation quickly, biting back a smile.

  “Here he comes,” Becky sang, sitting back and crossing her arms under her bust.

  The coffeepot appeared in her peripheral vision as Alex topped up her cup and addressed the group. “Anyone hungry?”

  He took the orders of the others, leaving her for last. “Miss Charlotte?”

  “Steak sandwich, well done, no mushrooms, no onions, garlic toast on the side, please,” she said, smacking Max as he mimicked her.

  His hand grazed her shoulder as he walked away, her phone buzzing moments later.

  “Meet me in the kitchen?”

  Ignoring Becky’s loud postulating about Alex, she rose to her feet and walked through the heavy kitchen doors, waving at Thomas as she passed through and met up with Alex at the back exit. “What’s up?”

  “Your coworker Becky is exactly my type,” he stated, scooping her hand into his as she lifted an unimpressed brow. “Melanie, too. That’s the woman I was with the night you were out with that Spider-Man guy. Same with over a dozen women scattered through the lounge right now, all of which I’ve been with. But you? You are really, really not my type.” He released her hand when she yanked her fingers from his grip and crossed her arms. “That was a really bad opener,” he muttered.

  She pursed her lips, refusing to show any disappointment or anger despite the growing hurt rising in her chest. “That was a really clear opener,” she corrected, turning away and walking back through the kitchen. “I’m going back to wait for my food.”

  Her group had become exponentially noisier when she got back to the table, amplifying the thoughts going through her head. Forcing a smile, she ignored Becky and joined in Max’s conversation with Andy, tossing in a few opinions about underinflated footballs for good measure. When Alex arrived at the table and began passing out plates, she kept her attention on Max, ignoring the gentle nudging of her elbow until he walked away, and her phone buzzed.

  “Let me finish?”

  She glared at the message. “I’m eating.”

  Thomas had prepared her meal exactly as she liked it, the steak and fries not touching, no veggies, and a small plate for her garlic toast. But despite the perfect presentation of her lunch, she found it unappealing, finally succumbing to Max’s insistent attempts to snag her steak. She pushed her plate toward him while she stood and walked over to the bar. “Finish,” she said, placing her hands on the counter.

  Alex shifted his stance and shoved his hands into his pockets. “My type knows I’m out the door after I get laid, and they’re cool with it. My type has five others like me waiting in the wings,” he replied, his strange eyes flicking over the lounge. “My type doesn’t even get saved into my phone because there’ll be another one within the week.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and pushed it across the counter toward her. “I have eight numbers in my contacts. Two are my brothers, one is Thomas, one is my RV park office, and the other four are you, Max, the park station, and the national parks emergency line.”

  “So you’re a man-whore,” she muttered, refusing to touch his phone. “That’s appealing.”

  “Yeah, well, I come from a long line of them,” he retorted under his breath before clearing his throat. “What are you doing tonight?”

  She looked over her shoulder, glaring at Becky briefly. “We’re heading to the Washout for a night of debauchery. If you want to meet up, we’ll be there around nine.” She turned and walked back to her table. “And don’t freak out. It’s definitely not a date.”

  *

  Alex shrugged an unwanted hand from his arm and craned his neck toward the dance floor, scanning the hordes of people until he caught sight of Charlotte. Weaving through the crowd, he made his way toward the group, stopping at the perimeter so he could watch her for a few moments.

  He’d screwed up, and he knew it.

  His pathetic attempt to meander his way to admitting how much he actually liked her had backfired horribly. The hardening of her dark eyes had been instantaneous, hitting him in the gut with more force than he ever thought a simple look could give. And the speed with which she had frozen him out still had his head spinning.

  The logical side of him recognized it as a good thing, the universe reminding him he wasn’t meant for the topside world.

  His less rational side, the one that reared up every time he was around her, disagreed.

  Becky caught sight of him first, leaning toward Charlotte and pointing. Charlotte gave him a brief smile and a wave before returning her attention to Max and his over-the-top emoting of the dirty lyrics blaring over the sound system. Alex crossed the floor and joined them, risking a harsh rejection as he came up behind her and placed his hands on her hips. When she didn’t miss a beat, he relaxed a fraction and leaned toward her ear. “You look incredible.”

  And she did.

  Hot damn did she ever.

  Black miniskirt, high black boots, and a tight black button down? Yes, please.

  She arched her head back to look at him. “We just got here,” she called out over the music, her hips swaying as she reached back and wrapped one arm around his neck.

  “Want one?” Max yelled over, passing a beer toward him.

  “I’m driving,” he replied, gritting his teeth when Charlotte’s ass pressed against him.

  Noticing his problem, Max grinned as he exited the dance floor. “Good luck there, Romeo.”

  The song switched to one he had heard a hundred times, and he braced himself for the inevitable squeal of the women in the crowd. Even Charlotte joined in, stepping away from him to join Becky and the others in something he had always deemed the mating call of the clubbers.

  But as Charlotte ran her hands down her body and flung her hair back, he felt the full-blown effects of the beat for the first time.

  Hot. Damn.

  He backed up until he hit the railings surrounding the floor and watched shamelessly. Every so often, another woman would interrupt his view and he’d switch positions, his attention locked on Charlotte and her slither
ing movements.

  “You’re in the doghouse,” Max’s voice called out, pulling him back to reality. “She’s mad mad. What the hell’d you do?”

  He tore his eyes off Charlotte. “I tried to tell her I like her by bringing up other women,” he grumbled. “Rookie mistake, right?”

  Max looked thoughtful for a moment. “Dunno. I never told a woman I liked her before. At least, not since sixth grade.” He pointed his beer at the women. “That’s her hunting outfit. You better not stray too far from her view tonight or you’ll be out for good.”

  “Dammit,” he muttered, running his hand through his hair. “Did she say anything?”

  “Not a word. Which should terrify you.”

  Dammit.

  The music turned to something heavier and the dance floor emptied, Charlotte trailing the others as they headed back to their table. With Max’s warning hanging in his head, Alex cut her off from the group. “Could I get you a drink?”

  She shook her head. “You could actually get me out of here.” Pausing, she looked up at him, her big brown eyes uncertain. “Unless you’re scoping out the place for your next conquest.”

  He reached down to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “One more chance,” he said, ignoring the well-deserved jibe. “I promise not to freak out about the word boyfriend if you promise to be okay with me calling you my girlfriend.” He paused. “And if you’re cool with me using you as chick-repellent. Women are as pushy as men, you know. I’ve never said ‘I have a girlfriend’ before. I’m curious to see if it works.”

  There was a small shift in her expression as she processed his words. “So ginormous you wants me to protect you from big, bad Becky?”

  “Pretty much.” He wrapped his hand around hers and led her through the crowd toward the doors. “So, Max mentioned that’s your hunting gear. What exactly are you hunting tonight?”

  “Pretty bartenders who notch their bedposts until they fall apart.” She smirked, wrinkling her nose. “Dating them never ends well, but they’re perfect for a fling, wouldn’t you say?”

  Holding the door open, he bit back the blast of disappointment that passed through him. “Then how about we forget the dating idea and just call it exclusively hanging out in our downtime?”

  She nodded and tucked in tight to him as they walked to his SUV. “You did say you were taken. And we wouldn’t want to make a liar out of you.”

  He grinned. “I am taken. Even if you walk away from me right now, I’m taken.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Charlotte stretched out in her bed, keeping her eyes shut tight as she smiled into the empty room, her mind winding through her evening with Alex, lying on the hood of his SUV and watching the Perseid meteor shower.

  “I’m related to the guy this is named after, you know,” Alex stated, grinning when she elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “What? Distant relative, but still.”

  “You are not.” She laughed, inching closer to him and pointing at another meteor flashing across the clear sky. “I, however, am a descendant of the illustrious Scarlotti line, of Dayton, Ohio. You may have heard of us. We’re known in most circles as the noisy neighbors with those damn dogs.”

  He worked his arm under her shoulders. “Come from a long line of animal lovers then?”

  “It’s in our blood.” She smiled. “My dad’s a farm vet and my mom runs a rodent and bird rescue. My brother followed Dad’s footsteps, but I couldn’t handle the whole sick-animal thing, so I went a different route.”

  “Yeah,” he scoffed. “Stalking wild dogs and trying to domesticate them.”

  She paused to listen in the still night for Butch. “He’s already domesticated. Shaking a paw, slack leash…someone trained him well. I think he just needs a little TLC.”

  Alex had hummed in agreement and gone silent after that, his arm tightening around her until the first light of dawn faded the stars.

  It was exactly what she didn’t know she needed when she’d shown up at the bar, half of her hoping he’d stand her up and prove her right, the other half scared he would.

  Even if you walk away from me right now, I’m taken.

  Silver tongues had ensnared her before, pretty promises from handsome men who operated on a different level than she did. The sting of his “type” speech remained a small warning in the back of her mind that he was a different breed than she was, a breed she knew well.

  But this was different.

  She was walking in with her eyes open and expectations low.

  He was a fling. And flings weren’t messy.

  They were on the same page.

  And that would keep everything in line.

  *

  “I’m coming to you. Address?”

  Alex reread the text and slowly scanned his trailer.

  Whoa.

  He fired off his address to Charlotte and got to work straightening up the neglected RV, filling his trash can quickly as he frantically sprayed down and wiped off every surface he passed until the place looked better than it had since he moved in. Calculating out the time he had remaining, he jumped into the shower without waiting for the water to warm.

  Every hour that had passed as they lay on the hood of his car, he’d sworn to himself time was up, that he was going to take her home and head back out on the hunt.

  And every hour, he’d pulled her in a little tighter.

  Rinsing the shampoo from his hair, he shoved aside the guilt seeping into his head. Guilt over lost hours he should have been tracking the Pirithous. Guilt over the halfhearted trot he’d taken through the western rim of the park in the early morning hours after he’d walked a groggy Charlotte to her door.

  And the guilt over not regretting a moment of it.

  Bang her tonight and it’ll be over.

  Even the most alluring goddesses lost their appeal for him after a roll in the sheets. The sooner he bedded Charlotte, the sooner she’d be out of his system. The chase would be over, and he could get his head back to the hunt he should be focusing on.

  Almost believing his own lie, he turned off the water, wrapped a towel around his hips, and scooped up a pair of shredded jeans he was ninety-nine percent certain were clean.

  Her little coupe pulled up as he yanked his shirt over his head, his wet hair already dampening his collar while he opened his door. “I know what you did there,” he said, lifting the bags of takeout from her arms. “And I’ll have you know, I had this place cleaned with ten minutes to spare.”

  She laughed, her sunglasses hiding her eyes as she entered the trailer. “I’m impressed. More impressed a guy your size even fits in here. Show me around.”

  Smirking, he pointed out the grand tour. “You’re standing in the living room, kitchen, and dining room. Bathroom’s through that door, and you can see the bed from here. I… Damn. I forgot to make the bed.”

  “I like it,” she said, passing him a box of Caesar salad. “If I wasn’t so averse to bugs, I’d definitely live in something like this. Apartments suck. And you can just pick up and go anywhere whenever you want.”

  He nudged her hip to the side to open his cutlery drawer and handed her a fork as she sat. “How the hell do you work in a desert if you hate insects?”

  “Easy,” she mumbled, swallowing a bite of spaghetti. “Bugs outside, no problem. That’s their house. But in my home? No way. I’ll blast those little bastards with all the hellfire I can rain down on them.” She looked around. “Where’s the TV?”

  “Uh,” he stammered, tilting his head. “That way.”

  “The bedroom.”

  He grinned. “Yup.”

  She stood and wandered down the short hall, peering into his messy room. “I’m not sitting on that bed.”

  “You should,” he insisted, refilling his plate. “You’ll be the first woman to step foot in there. Think of it as a mission to Mars. Boldly go where no woman has gone before.” His jaw flexed as he realized the truth to that statement.

  He’d been in thousands of
beds, but very few had ever been in his. And even then, the sporadic few that had breached his sanctuary had done so only out of necessity.

  He looked up to find her watching him, her eyes thoughtful. “You really do have issues with any kind of relationships, don’t you?”

  “My job keeps me pretty opposed to it,” he muttered, holding out a slice of garlic toast to her.

  She accepted it and sat down beside him. “Meh.” She shrugged. “You’re young. Maybe the nomadic bartender lifestyle will lose its appeal at some point.”

  With a grunt, he leaned back against the sofa, stretching his arm across her shoulder. She settled into him and began asking a litany of questions about RV living as he tangled his fingers in her hair. Once she was satisfied with his responses, she stood up and opened her purse, popping a mint. “Movie?”

  He hesitated.

  He definitely didn’t want the evening to end. But he wasn’t an ass either. “Let me tell you a few things first, and if you’re still into a movie after that, I’ll pick up my dirty socks and put one on.”

  Charlotte eyed him warily and sat just out of reach, her sudden closed position momentarily throwing him. “Okay,” she said slowly. “Go.”

  Flipping through everything he wanted to say, and matching it up to everything he could say, he took a deep breath. “Bartending is kind of a secondary job,” he began, studying her reactions intently. “My brothers and I work for another business that sends us all over the world, and right now, Coachella Valley is it.”

  Her expression changed, her dark eyes widening slightly in interest. “That’s pretty cool!” she exclaimed. “What do you do?”

  Hitman.

  Killer.

  “Bounty hunter.”

  She froze, her brows shooting up. “What?”

  “We track down bad guys for payment,” he continued, his fingers itching to reach for her. “My brothers are pretty heavy into it. Definitely more invested in it than I am. We’re tracking one now with a pretty important payout for us. If we catch the guy, I’ll be moving on to the next job.” He ran his hand through his hair. “So this,” he said, gesturing between them, “has a time limit.”