I smile as I make it to my brand-new, pearl white, convertible Chevy Camaro. I bought it after waking up naked in Lincoln Locke’s bed and realizing that taking chances wasn’t for me. I wasn’t strong enough—or apparently smart enough. Lula—which is what I named my car—is my baby, but it’s also a reminder. A reminder that if I want to be reckless, there are better ways to do it than to do something that can get your self-esteem crushed, expose you to God knows what, and break your heart.
I hop in and barely get on the road with the light comes on telling me that I need gas. It’s late, and getting gas is the last thing I want to do. I’m regretting my decision to just head straight into work today.
I pull into the Fast and Go, which is across from Blake Brothers Auto Repair. I’ve always loved Blake Brothers. I always take my car there when I need it worked on. It has a vintage feel, from the shop sign to the antique gas pumps outside and writing on the windows, like they used to do in the fifties. I stare at it for a moment with a smile. Sometimes, I wish I could have lived in the fifties. It just seems life would have been a lot simpler. I could have totally rocked life back then.
I’m such a dweeb. I laugh at myself—something I do often. My dad always says if you can’t laugh at yourself, then you can’t laugh at anyone else. I’m not sure that’s the correct idiom, but that’s the thing about Dad—he twists things to say whatever he wants.
I fumble around to find my credit card in my wallet and then get out to pump some petrol into my car. I grin because that’s just another thing my dad always says. I don’t know if it’s considered cool to be as close to your parents as I am, but I don’t really care. My parents have always been there for me, and I know they will always have my back no matter what. It’s also probably not cool to still live at home—even if it is the studio apartment above their garage.
I look around while pumping the gas and notice a beat up looking white Jeep pull into the pump across from me, making my stomach drops.
Lincoln Locke.
Shit. I’ve been very careful the last month never to go places Lincoln would be. It sucked because I haven’t been to the beach, and that’s my favorite place to be. I haven’t had to see him since I left his place doing the walk of shame.
It looks like my hard work has just ran out.
I drop my head down and turn back toward the pump, giving him my back. I’m simultaneously hoping he won’t realize it’s me and willing the numbers on the pump to move faster. Right now, they seem to be moving at a snail’s pace. I had planned on filling my baby up, but if I can just get twenty bucks in it right now, I’ll be happy.
“Hey, gorgeous.”
I stiffen as I hear Linc’s silky-soft voice and feel it try to wrap around me. Instead of making my knees grow weak like the last time we met, this time it does the opposite. I feel like I’m completely frozen. I steadfastly ignore him, wanting to cry because the pump is just now counting up to the ten-dollar mark.
Seriously! What is wrong with this pump?
“I said hello, Blue Eyes, didn’t you hear me?” he asks again and this time he’s right behind me.
He’s so close his breath fans out against my bare neck. Damn it. I should have worn my hair down. I feel tiny fissures of electricity move over my skin. I swallow down my nerves and keep my face devoid of emotion, my voice cold.
I look over my shoulder and spare him an annoyed glance. “No,” I lie, turning back around and hoping he gets the message.
“You disappeared,” he says, clearly not understanding I want him to leave me alone. “I’ve been looking for you. Where have you been, sweetheart?”
Wow. Seriously?
His hand touches my back and then brushes to my hip and that small touch pisses me off.
I slap his hand away, stop my gas pump way before my twenty-dollar goal, and then jab the nozzle back into the pump as hard as I can. I’d like to ram Lincoln Locke’s face into it.
“Whoa, sweetheart, what’s your damage?” Linc asks, and I swear if it was physically possible, my head would spin around—old school, like Linda Blair’s in the Exorcist.
“My damage is you putting your hands on me,” I snap, looking him in the eye.
“Hey, I didn’t mean any harm. I just thought—”
“Yeah, I know what you thought because you’re an egotistical asshole.”
“Now, hold up, sweet stuff—”
“I don’t want to talk to you, Lincoln Locke. In fact, I’d be okay if I never spoke to you again,” I bite out. The entire time I’m responding to him, I’m mentally berating myself for getting so emotional.
“Listen, I don’t need your shit. I thought we parted on good terms,” he says, making my eyes go wide in shock. “I guess I was wrong. No harm, no foul.” His glib comment feels like a sucker punch. He caused harm. It was more harmful than he will ever know.
“We didn’t part at all. I woke up alone in bed—”
“I had to work, baby. You don’t have to get mad. If you wanted an extended booty call, you should have stuck around,” he says, holding his hands up as if to ward off my anger. He’s trying to make me feel irrational and that just pisses me off more.
“I woke up with a blonde chick, who probably isn’t even legal, letting herself in with your key.”
“Oh,” he says, drawing the word out as if he’s just now realizing what’s wrong—but I doubt he has the mental capability to truly understand. “I see what has you so pissed,” he adds, and his tone makes it clear he’s not impressed and thinks I’m ridiculous.
“You think I’m overreacting,” I confirm, and he shrugs, which I suppose is his answer. “Maybe you’re right,” I allow, not meaning it at all. “Tell me, Linc. Do you even remember my name?”
He stares at me blankly. I figure once again that his silence is my answer. It hurts way more than it should. There’s a lot more I could say, but I know it wouldn’t do any good. He’d just think I was an over-emotional idiot—and I’m starting to feel like I am.
I hurry and get into my car, not looking at Linc. As my baby purrs to life, I remind myself again that the wild side is safer with objects. Not people.
2
Linc
Jodie Jones.
For the millionth time, I think about the woman I ran into a couple of days ago. I knew her name, of course. She’s not the kind of woman you could forget. I didn’t tell her that. It was a damn hookup and she’s old enough to know the score. I don’t need to take shit from her. We didn’t make promises and we sure as hell don’t owe one another explanations. It was a night of sex. That’s it.
Sure, it was raunchy, dirty, hot as hell sex, and maybe the sweetest, tightest pussy I’ve ever tasted in my life. It was great, better than great really, but it was still just sex. Okay, again, it was the best sex of my life. It was so good that I haven’t had a taste for a woman since. Which means her attitude sucks ass, because I wanted more of her. Hell, I still want more of her.
I mean, I can handle sass in a woman. I even enjoy it. I can’t take a mouthful of shit off of her for no reason, however. That’s not what I want, no matter how hot her ass is. I sigh with that thought. It doesn’t even matter that she comes apart in my arms and is so fucking sweet that my balls still ache a month later.