Nico
NICO
I stared at the closed door for a good ten seconds, then got to my feet and peered out the window of my office that overlooked the parking lot. A few seconds later, Everly Lawson appeared, her long, wavy, caramel-colored hair blowing in the breeze. She powered up the narrow path that led from the main building to the visitors’ parking area, and my dick twitched as my gaze fell to her swaying hips. She wasn’t putting it on in an overt kind of way. She wasn’t the obvious type. Rather, she walked with a kind of “I’m sexy and I haven’t got a fucking clue” manner that I found so attractive.
Christ, had she any idea what a turn-on I’d found it when she sparred with me across the desk, her eyes silently reprimanding me for probing too deeply?
Forget it, . She’s off-limits.
I’d given up taking married women to bed months ago. In fact, I’d given up taking pretty much any woman to bed. After spectacularly going off the rails following my accident and subsequent diagnosis—a.k.a. a fucked-up future—I’d screwed enough strangers to last me a lifetime. Very little outside of this place turned me on these days.
Until now.
She stopped and glanced over her shoulder. I ducked behind the drapes like some creepy voyeur. When I dared to peek outside again, she was sitting inside her truck—held together by rust and prayers—with her head resting on the steering wheel. She stayed like that for a minute or so. Eventually, she sat up and leaned back, blowing out a breath through pursed lips. With a brief shake of her head, she reversed out of the space and drove off.
I strode into the main office.
“Adele, I need the Lawson file, now.”
Instead of her usual mad scramble whenever I asked for anything—the bloody woman was the most disorganized human I’d ever encountered—she immediately handed me a brown folder.
“Here you go.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, turning away to head back to my office.
“Don’t forget you’re giving a talk to the latest intake in forty minutes,” she reminded me.
I rolled my eyes and growled. “It’s my legs that are fucked up, Adele, not my memory.” Hobbling down the hallway, I slammed the door.
Adele wouldn’t take offense. She might’ve been Tate’s pick for this gig, but she and I had jelled pretty well these last few months since we opened the PFK Racing school. She was used to my sour moods and gloomy outlook. I’d make her a coffee later, maybe force a smile, and she’d forgive me for anything—even if I didn’t deserve it.
I sat behind my desk and opened the file. It was on the second page where Everly’s backstory started to get interesting. This was the section of the form where we asked them to justify why we should consider their child for a coveted space as opposed to the hundreds of other worthy cases vying for a spot? The depth of feeling in her words hit me squarely in the chest.
Jesus. Her husband just upped and left without saying a word? What a twat.
I clenched my fist around my pen. What possessed a man to walk out on his wife and child, and then simply disappear as if he’d never existed in the first place? That took a special kind of arsehole, and wherever he was, I hoped he’d gotten a bad case of the clap and his balls had shriveled to the size of olives.
Why am I so outraged over a woman I don’t even fucking know? Would I feel the same sense of fury over another woman cruelly abandoned, or was it only Everly Lawson who provoked such strong feelings?
Don’t be ridiculous. You barely know the woman.
I closed the file. Getting to my feet, I grabbed my phone and shoved it into my pocket.
“I’m gonna take an early dart,” I said, dropping the Lawson file on Adele’s desk.
“You can’t,” she said. “I told you before, you’ve got a briefing to do.”
I hadn’t forgotten, but I wasn’t in the mood. “Get Patrick to do it.”
“He’s not here today.”
My jaw worked. “Fuck’s sake, then you do it, Adele. You know the goddamn drill. You’re better with people than I am anyway.”
“Who’s bitten your ass?” she yelled after me.
I slammed the door and hobbled to my car. The tires kicked up gravel as I floored the gas, tension riding me hard. I drove onto the freeway and cursed. Fuck’s sake. Bumper-to-bumper traffic crammed into every lane.
Christ . I loved most things about LA. The weather, the beaches, the pretty girls who skated up and down the beach path. But the traffic… that I despised. It was worse than London, and that said a hell of a lot.
The car crawled forward a few inches at a time, every half mile increasing both my irritation and guilt. I shouldn’t have left the briefing to Adele. It wasn’t her job. I’d make it up to her somehow. Maybe get her a day pass to that spa she often rabbited on about and a bottle of the French perfume she was so fond of.
When the traffic didn’t clear, I pulled off at the next exit in search of emptier roads and a bit more speed. My mind wandered. Goddamn Everly Lawson burrowing inside my head. What the fuck was that about?
I zipped through the streets, unsure of where I was headed and not knowing how to clear the fog in my head. In the past, when I wanted to calm the anxiety swirling in my gut, I’d sink several glasses of scotch and bury my dick inside a faceless woman, then fall unconscious, waking with a head full of regrets the next morning. I didn’t miss those times, but I sure as fuck missed the life I’d once had.
I steered the car left at a stop sign, then frowned as I realized where I’d driven to.
What the fuck was I doing in Wilmington?
Everly Lawson lives in Wilmington.
Stop! Just stop, okay?
I readied the car to make a U-turn. Then, almost as if the damn thing had a mind of its own, it pulled back onto the highway. The guy behind me leaned on his horn as I slewed right in front of him. I held up my middle finger in the rearview mirror even though I was the one in the wrong.
Knowing where I was headed, and unable to stop myself, I parked directly opposite Everly’s house, a small place synonymous with properties in this neighborhood. A couple of potted plants sat on either side of the steps leading up to the front door, and a kid’s bike was propped against the wall.
First voyeur and now stalker.
Go home, Palmer.
I put the car in reverse, but before the wheels had moved an inch, I caught sight of Everly striding over to me, arms swinging by her side.
Oh, shit.
I rolled down the window. “Hi.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing here, Mr. Palmer?”
Fuck. I could hardly admit I’d sought her out like some creep. And for what purpose? Getting caught hadn’t been part of the plan. I’d just wanted… Christ, who knew what I wanted?
Dammit, Palmer, you should have executed that U-turn and gotten the hell out of here. Now what are you going to do?
“Um…” I gave her a wry smile and lied through my teeth. “We’ve had occasions where the applications we’ve received for kids to join our school have been… less than genuine, and the kids aren’t really the right fit. PFK Racing has strict acceptance criteria, and it’s my responsibility to make sure the spots are going to those children who really deserve it.”
Her eyes turned cold, and her jaw worked as she glared down at me. “Are you saying you think I lied about my circumstances when I completed your form?”
“No.” I held up my hands in a form of apology. “No, not at all. This is… just routine.”
“Routine? You’re saying it’s routine to spy on me.”
Shit. The hole I’d dug split wide open, and no matter how hard I scrabbled to cling on to the edge, I felt myself slipping. I should’ve just come clean. Too late now.
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what are you saying?” she bit out. “Because from where I’m standing, it sounds exactly like that.”
I tightened my jaw, keeping my mouth shut. Every time I opened it, I made things worse. Better to stay quiet and let her irritation fizzle out. I half listened to her rant, but my attention flicked to her mouth. Damn, she’s got amazing lips. Soft, full, rosy pink. What would they feel like pressed against mine or, better still, wrapped around my cock? I hardened inside my jeans, forcing a shift in position.
Everly grabbed the door handle and wrenched it open. “If you’re so worried about my circumstances , then you’d better come inside and check things out for yourself. After all, if a job is worth doing, it’s worth doing well.”
Oh, no. This is completely out of hand.
I eyed the set of steps leading up to the front door. My ankles had been acting up something awful today, probably due to the number of physio sessions I’d missed in recent days. I’d have to use the handrail to haul myself up to her front door. Fuck that. I didn’t want Everly Lawson’s pity when she realized the extent of my disability. No one wanted a woman they found attractive to feel sorry for them.
Dammit, Palmer, you’ve royally fucked up here.
“That’s really not necessary,” I said.
“On the contrary,” she countered. “You’ve made it necessary.”
She spun on her heel and marched toward her house, leaving my car door wide open. When she reached the other side of the road, she turned around, folded her arms, and tapped her foot.
I slowly closed my eyes. Jesus Christ.
Willing my erection to wane, I swung my legs out of the car and lumbered across the street. Before I reached her, she set off again, bounding up the four steps. Envy cut through me. My bounding days were long over, although, on a positive note, this experience had given me the kick in the arse I needed to commit to regular physio sessions.
I made it up the steps without making a complete fool of myself and entered the house.
“This is the living room,” Everly said, motioning with her hand. “And through there is the kitchen. Those two doors there lead to the two bedrooms, and over there is the bathroom. The TV is secondhand, but it doesn’t matter because we don’t watch a huge amount anyway, and I picked up my laptop at one of those computer stores where they recycle old equipment.”
She marched into the kitchen and yanked open the back door.
“This is the yard. It’s small, but secure.”
The door slammed shut and she whirled around, hands planted on her hips.
“So, tell me, Mr. Palmer, are we poor enough for your program?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. “Mrs. Lawson, I apologize. There’s been a huge misunderstanding.”
“Really? It didn’t sound like that to?—”
“Mommy, I’m hungry.”
My gaze fell on a young boy dressed in a pair of shorts and a white shirt, his dark hair flopping over his forehead. He squinted and looked up at me with eyes that were a replica of his mother’s—sea blue and hauntingly innocent.
“Who’s this?” he asked in that blunt manner kids rocked.
“This is Mr. Palmer,” Everly said. “He’s a friend.”
I arched a brow, and she gave me the smallest shake of her head, a sign she didn’t want me to elaborate any further on who I was and how we knew each other.
Unused to dealing with the little kids—I left the younger age group to Patrick—I limped over and stuck out my hand.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m . You must be Rhett.”
“Yeah,” he said, slipping his tiny hand inside mine. “I like your name.”
My lips stretched into a smile. “I like yours, too.”
“Wanna see my room?”
“Mr. Palmer was just leaving,” Everly said.
“Oh.” Rhett pouted.
“Maybe another time.” I cut my gaze to Everly and tersely nodded.
“What’s wrong with your leg?” Rhett asked as I made my way to the front door. “You walk kinda funny.”
“Rhett!” Everly exclaimed, heat blooming in her cheeks. “That’s very rude. God, I’m so sorry, Mr. Palmer.”
I shook my head and held up my hand. “It’s fine. See you soon, Mrs. Lawson.”
I left as fast as my busted-up ankles allowed, dove into my car, and drove away.