“I hope so.”
It’d be nice if they were still here since now I’m stuck in a cabin with an insanely attractive woman I’ve avoided for years. Good thing she hates me.
Chapter Seventeen
MIA
Current Day
Warmth wraps around us as we push through the front door. Considering the cabin is an open-floor plan with one bedroom, I take the heat as a good sign that someone has been here.
“The room’s warm,” I say.
AJ grunts and walks over to the fireplace that is essentially the prime heat for the entire cabin. He grabs the poker stick and jabs the ashes. His hand hovers over the top of the coals for a moment before he nods.
“These coals are still warm. Someone has definitely been here.”
My exhale releases the tension I’ve carried ever since…well, it feels like since I woke up this morning. The two of us may be stuck here, but knowing Drake was here makes tackling these horrible road conditions worth it. The gust of wind howls against the side of the house as the pine branches whip against the glass. A stark reminder that they aren’t safe if they’re driving the same treacherous roads we just exited.
“Maybe they left before the storm came in,” I offer.
“Yeah.” AJ glances out the window again, and I don’t miss the tightening of his jaw.
“I’ll try Drake’s cell one more time.” I hit the button and silently beg for him to pick up, but his voicemail message crushes any hope of reaching them. AJ’s expectant look sends a sharp pang of sympathy through my chest. I hate seeing him worry. I also hate that I even care. That type of man, one who travels and can have any pick of women his heart desires, is not good for me. He proved that theory correct eight years ago with me being the lonely test subject. The quick shake of my head makes AJ’s face drop, and just like that, what happened in the past turns irrelevant. I still feel sorry for him.
“I’ll get the fire started. Looks as if we’ll be here awhile.” AJ sheds his coat and drapes it over the couch. The Henley shirt stretches across his broad shoulders as he bends to grab a few logs. He really is handsome—even with his clothes on. Life isn’t fair.
The need to release the bottle of water I polished off a hundred miles back hits me quick, and I excuse myself to step into the bathroom. As I wash my hands, I catch my reflection in the mirror. My heart rate increases but not in a good way. It’s more of a panic-induced pounding against my chest that makes me want to puke. Did I really leave the house without makeup? The horrid creature staring back at me confirms the answer. I had intended to stay in my editing cave all day, so I didn’t bother getting ready. AJ’s walking around like a male Aphrodite—the goddess of beauty—and I look like a plain Mary Jane—the very forgettable girl next door. Have I mentioned life is unfair?
A filigree dragonfly hair clip catches my eyes as I dry off my hands. I snatch it off the counter, immediately recognizing it as a Lilla Rose clip. My assistant had one of those parties, and I almost bought this exact style. Hopefully, this is one Cara wears often and AJ’s observant enough to recognize it.
“Hey, I found this in the bathroom. Does it look familiar?” I hold the barrette out for him. As he reaches for it, his fingers brush against mine, and a warm tingling sensation causes me to shiver.
“The fire will warm things soon,” he mutters, eying the piece.
Yeah, that’s totally why I shivered. We’ll go with that excuse.
“I’m pretty sure this is Cara’s. One of her friends from college had some party thing. I don’t know. She kept going on about this piece but didn’t…” He quits talking and shakes his head.
“That makes me feel better,” I say when it becomes obvious he isn’t finishing the sentence. “At least we have proof they were together.”
“I should update Mom.”
As he grabs his cell, I go to scope out the kitchen. Other than a bag of chips and a few water bottles, we have no food. We’re going to be hungry by morning if Drake never stocked up. I glance out the kitchen window and grimace. Or whenever we leave.
I tug the refrigerator door open and grin. Score! The shelves are filled with goodies. Thank God, my irresponsible brother cares about his stomach. There’s enough food to last a few days if we scrimp.
Footsteps pad across the hardwood floor and step behind me. Right behind me. Does he have to stand so close? It’s hard enough to keep my wits around him, but when his warm breath raises the tiny hairs on the back of my neck, it’s impossible.
“Cupcake, I think we’ll be okay.” His voice is light, and his mood seems to have lifted after talking to his mother.
“For once, my brother wasn’t irresponsible,” I say, my voice a little husky. Why can’t I be as smooth as him? Disgusted with myself, I scan the shelves and spy the three-quarters full jug of milk and unopened lunchmeat. “I’m not sure food was what they were eating.”
I bite my lip as to what my statement implied and hope he doesn’t mull my words over. But then, adding insult to injury, our gazes land on the can of whipped cream that’s obviously been opened. I try like heck not to picture my brother’s intentions.
AJ grunts and grabs the can, pitching it into the garbage across the room.
“Doubt we need that,” he mutters.
The insides of my thighs clench as if revolting in protest. The last thing I need to be thinking about is AJ and whipped cream. Pissed that those types of thoughts enter my brain, I slam the door and shimmy away.
“I’ll try to reach Drake again.”
This time, the call rings through, and I’m greeted by my brother’s cheery voice. I could kill him.
“Sis. What’s up?”
“Don’t you ‘what’s up’ me. Where the heck are you, and is Cara with you?”
When he confirms Cara and he are both safe, AJ relaxes beside me. But he yells for her to call their mom. It takes great restraint not to yell at Drake. I mean, he’s a grown man, sort of, and I can’t make him do anything. But dang it, his flippant attitude makes me so angry. I hang up and glance at AJ.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Stop apologizing. You can’t control your brother any more than I can control my sister.” He heaves a sigh and plops on the couch. “She’s just as much to blame.”
“At least they’re safe.” An awkward silence creeps in between us. I’m not sure what to talk about. In the cab of his truck, it was a little easier to explain our quietness—worrying will do that—but with the excuse taken away, the conversation seems a bit hard.
“I should scrounge something up to eat.”
“Yeah, I’m fucking starving.”
I throw him a look.
“What?”
“You know, you curse a lot.”
His lips purse as he studies me. “You sound like my mother.”
“She sounds smart.”
I leave him open-mouthed and drag the veggies and chicken from the refrigerator. Knowing Drake, this food was for stir-fry—the only dish he knows how to make—so I open the cupboards in search of rice and seasonings. Bingo. The bag of rice is still sealed, and the bottles are all unopened. I question if they ate anything at all. Shaking my head, I grab a pot and boil some water.
“I think chicken stir-fry will be easy enough for tonight.” I glance at the clock and cringe. It’s already eight thirty. “Unless you think it’s too late.”
“Nah, it’s good.”
He grabs a knife and starts cubing the chicken, while I slice the vegetables. The awkwardness between us still hangs around, and part of the reason is my own fault. The reason behind standing me up all those years ago gnaws at me, and I want to know why. Sure, he apologized, but that didn’t give me the underlying reason. Maybe if he explained, I could finally let it go.
“Do you like to cook?” he asks, breaking the tension.
“Yeah, I do. I don’t get to make elaborate meals living by myself, but I sometimes splurge.” I set the wedged onions aside and grab the green peppers. “I
had to teach myself though. Mom was great. Taught me everything but cooking.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, the worst was when she baked. I was nine years old, making my own chocolate chip cookies.”
“That’s kind of impressive.”
“More like survival.” I laugh at the memory. Her cookies were the worst. “I learned early on if I wanted to eat or try new things, I’d have to make it myself. One day, I’m going to learn how to make sushi.”
“Sushi?” He shoots me an incredulous look.
“Yeah, do you like it?”
“Never tried it.” His voice comes out gruffly, and he clears his throat.
“You need to. It’s so good. Trust me, I’ll learn how to make it one day.” I shake my head in disbelief. Who would have thought raw fish would be the icebreaker between us?
“So, you paint and play a mean game of racquetball. You cook too? Very talented, Miss Gunner.”
“Eh, I hold my own.” I play off my talents. Being an artist doesn’t do me any good if I don’t have the tools to create.
“I should introduce you to Jax’s girlfriend. She’s starting up her own catering business or something like that. I know she’s done small parties.”
“I’d love to meet her sometime. I bet she has some awesome recipes.”
As we continue to prepare the meal, the conversation becomes more relaxed. Easy. AJ’s expression eases into the guy I remember from freshman year. And with that thought, I grow quiet, discontentment rearing its ugly head.
“What’s going on inside that mind of yours?” he asks.
That’s a question I don’t think he wants the honest answer. He still hasn’t told me why he ignored me. If I knew the reasoning, maybe, just maybe, I’d understand. No matter how well we get along, I’ll never move past this.
The knife stills on the cutting board. His chin dips and his shoulders slump forward as he speaks in a voice barely audible. “Do I want to know?”
A heaviness sits on my chest from the defeat in his voice, and it makes me mad that I feel guilty. I summon my courage and plow ahead. “We get along pretty well.”
“Yeah.”
“Even back when we first met.”
“Yeah.” With a quick breath, he turns into MasterChef, chopping the chicken like his life depends on it.
“Then why did you leave me at that restaurant without any reason? Why did you block my number instead of explaining?”
He grabs the last piece of chicken and remains tightlipped as he concentrates on each slice. I would think he’s not going to answer, but his jaw keeps twitching. There’s an apparent battle raging inside him. I pick my knife back up and chop down hard.
He looks over at me. “Cupcake, I—”
“Ouch!” I drop the knife and bring my thumb up to my chest. Blood trickles down my hand and drips onto the floor. Shit!
Chapter Eighteen
AJ
Current Day
“Shit, Mia.” I drop my knife and dart to the sink. This can’t be good, not by the amount of blood dripping from her elbow. Her panicked moans ring through my ears, and I swallow back another curse as I lather and wash my hands at record speed. She may not understand, considering the state she’s in, but I explain anyway. “Give me a second. I don’t want to contaminate your wound.”
As soon as the last suds are rinsed away, I shake my hands and grab some paper towels. Another one of her whimpers slices through me as I rush over to her. The deep cut needs stitches, but we’re not going anywhere with these road conditions.
“Please tell me there’s a first aid kit somewhere?” I ask as I cover her wound with the paper towels and apply pressure.
“Sink…bathroom.” Her breath comes short and fast, and I’m afraid she’s going to hyperventilate.
“Breathe, baby. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Nice and easy.”
Her breathing paces to a normal rate, and I continue to hold pressure as we stumble into the bathroom. I lower the stool seat and set her down.
Placing her other hand on top of her wound, I look her in the eyes. “Keep pressure on this while I look for supplies.”
She nods, and when I feel she has a strong enough grasp, I turn toward the sink.
“Hopefully, you have a butterfly bandage or Steri-Strips.” I rifle through the first aid kit and pull out the hydrogen peroxide along with a few gauze strips. My eyes scan the contents and... Yes, butterfly bandages. Thank fuck. These will still be effective even if the wound is deep. They have to; it’s not as if we have much choice.
“This may sting a little.” I place a folded towel under her hand and kneel in front of her. My knees dig into the ceramic tile. Squatting and kneeling are part of my daily routine when playing ball, but I usually have more of a barrier than jeans. This tile is unforgiving.
“I’m okay,” my brave girl says. “Thanks.”
And the pain in my knees is forgotten.
Mia hisses when the peroxide pours over the wound and bubbles.
“Sorry,” I say, our gazes connecting. Something changes in her expression. The planes of her face soften, and the hardened stare, reserved just for me, is wiped away. Part of me wonders if I absorbed some of the peroxide because a strange sensation bubbles inside me. The look she’s giving me is like truth serum, making me want to tell her everything. But how do I explain to this girl the reason I left her was because of my unworthiness? Once she learns my secrets, she won’t want anything to do with me.
Tearing my eyes away from hers, I blot the wound dry with sterile gauze. I need to concentrate on the wound. These tight quarters intensify her presence, and she has no idea what she’s doing to me. Or what I’m thinking. Shit. Here she is, wounded, and my dick twitches like he’s about to get lucky. So not a saint.
I work quickly to secure the bandages in place, and when the bleeding subsides, I wrap gauze around her finger. Her warm breath against my face and her knees resting against my chest are overbearing. I want to close the gap between us and take what I wanted all those years ago. I do neither and finish taping the bandage. It’s not until I lean back on my heels that I dare to look at her.
A storm brews behind her eyes, and the way she gnaws her bottom lip, something other than her finger bothers her. The sinking feeling returns.
“Thanks again. I think I was on the verge of panicking. There’s no way we could leave and I…I don’t know. I lost my sense.”
“It’s okay. It happens.” I release a slow breath. The truth behind the reason I ditched her still plagues my mind. She deserves an answer, and the longer I hold off, the tension will only rise. I open my mouth but close it again, words failing me. I run my hands along my thigh and grip my knees. She continues to stare at me, beautiful and vulnerable.
“I didn’t show up for our date because you deserved better than me.” My words come out rushed and in the form of a grunt. But they’re said. My hand played and on the table.
Her eyebrows knit together. “What do you mean?”
“I…” I shake my head, unable to complete my thought and look away.
She places her palm on the side of my face and pulls my chin back to her. “What is so wrong with you liking me?”
“You’re good.” Unlike me.
“Sweetie, I think you have me on the wrong pedestal.”
“No.”
She’s wrong. She doesn’t realize how wrong I am for her.
“Why do you think I’m so much better than you?” She leans closer, her citrusy scent encapsulating me.
The ball in my chest tightens, and I lean into her soft, comforting touch. Her eyes beg for an explanation, but I don’t give it. I can’t.
“You crushed me when you didn’t show up or return any of my messages,” she whispers.
My pulse quickens, and I let out a shaky breath. I haven’t thought about this shit in years.
“Why are you not good enough?”
“Stop.” I close my eyes, willing her to be quiet. Bu
t I know better. Mia isn’t going to give up that easily.
“I want to know. Why do you think you’re not good enough for me?”
“No.” My eyes pop open, and the genuine curiosity displayed in her gaze guts me. She’s not going to stop until I tell her. But she can’t know the truth.
“Please tell me.”
I shift forward and bridge the gap between us. My lips crash upon hers to silence her. The kiss is meant to be quick. A distraction. The last thing I expect is those mismatched lips to open so warmly for me. For her to be so responsive.
Goddamn, I want her. Need her.
But I can’t. The truth hits me upside the head like a wild pitch. I no more deserve this woman now than I did back then. I pull away abruptly.
“Why did you stop?” Her breath comes in short pants. Desire coats her features, and I can’t believe how stupid I am.
“I had to.”
“Had to?” She pins me with a look. “Or wanted to?”
“No, needed to.”
Concern floods her eyes, and she draws me into her chest. I lay my head against her softness and wrap my arms around her slender waist. Damn, if this doesn’t feel right, though.
“Why do you think I’m too good for you?”
My face tightens, and I squeeze my arms around her as if any second she’ll disappear. She just might once she learns who I really am.
“Tell me,” she begs.
“Everything I touch, I taint.” I manage to choke out the words.
“That’s not true.”
“You don’t know about my past. The things I’ve done.” I tighten my hold. She feels so good pressed against me.
“Did you kill someone?”
“No.” I laugh humorlessly.
“Then it’s not that bad.”
I shake my head. Her soft sigh is comforting as she runs her fingers through my hair. The touch of her fingertips tracing circles breaks my resolve.
“I grew up poor,” I murmur.
“Being poor isn’t a crime, either.”
Bottom Of The Ninth: Bad Boys Redemption: Book Three Page 10
