7. Corbin
CHAPTER SEVEN
corbin
I spent the early morning hours at the Atlanta police station. The first thing they did was ask the police units in the areas of the airports, trains, and bus stations to scan the parking lot for my truck. It didn’t take long for them to find it and surprisingly, Oakley left the keys in it.
If she wasn’t having fun or didn’t want to stay, why wouldn’t she just ask me to bring her to the bus station? Why would she say she would be right back after she checked on Dixie? And why in the hell would she kiss me before she went up to the room?
Bryce is right. I’m too trusting. Too eager to help. Damn my parents for raising me to be good to people, especially women and animals.
The wedding party and former Stallions congregate in the lobby to go on the 5k run, but I’m headed home, hoping the police find Oakley James—if that’s even her real name, and I’m going to make her life miserable. I don’t know where she lives, but the officer said she bought a ticket to Nashville with a prepaid credit card.
Is it possible we live in the same town? And why didn’t I ask where she lived?
Luckily, we had taken a couple of selfies and group photos with my phone, so I was able to share them with the police. She’s not getting away with humiliating me.
Reed and Bryce slap me on the back. “This is one way to get out of going on the run.”
“I may not be as fast as you two on the ice, but I promise I’m faster on foot.” I’m in a bad ass mood.
Reed puts his hand on my shoulder. “Let’s just hope the gossip rags don’t get wind of the stolen truck. Brooke said there was a photo of you walking her dog and one of you with your hand on her back going into the hotel.”
“Fuck. I hadn’t even thought of that.”
Bryce clamps a hand on my shoulder, making sure I meet his stare. “Get straight home. No rescuing raccoons or any stray chickens today.” I roll my eyes, but he keeps at it. “And as entertaining and delightful as Oakley was, maybe avoid picking up any more ladies at truck stops, okay?”
Ever the leader, Bryce Wynward uses humor to convey his point. I’ll be ninety, and these asshole teammates that I call friends will be reminding me of this weekend. Every time someone mentions Bryce and Emmaline’s wedding, I’ll be the butt of their jokes.
“Wynward, I got it.”
Dane jumps in. “We’ll be back in Nashville on Monday. If you need anything, let us know.”
“Thanks. Until next time, fellas,” I say, diving into a round of handshakes, back slaps, and a few hugs.
Before I arrive home, I get a telephone call from the Nashville police asking me to come to the police station. They’ve found my Oakley. No, not my Oakley, the evil vixen Oakley. As tired as I am, I make a pit stop at police station number nine.
I stand in the fluorescent-lit lobby of the police station, completely devoid of any warmth. Still seething over being used, I wait for someone to call my name. Finally, a man and woman come out. “Mr. Shearer?”
I nod and give them a quick handshake.
“I’m Officer Trout, and this is my partner, Officer Alvarez. Come with us.” Officer Alvarez leads me between walls of painted gray concrete blocks with a thin blue line. This place is depressing.
“We need you to identify the suspect,” Alvarez says as he motions me inside the door.
The room reeks of fake leather, coffee, and sweat. And there she is. “Why isn’t she in an orange jumpsuit or better yet black and white stripes?” Bitterness coats my tongue.
Trout, the woman officer, snorts, laughing, and her coffee spews from her mouth. She wipes her mouth and says, “That’s only when they’ve been convicted, or they’re being held without bail.”
“That’s her. Can I talk to her?”
“Sure. Do you want to press charges?”
“To be determined,” I mumble as I enter the room with the woman who stole my truck. Sitting across the room, seemingly unfazed and tapping her fingers in a furious rhythm. Our eyes collide, and a spark of defiance churns like when Mamaw makes homemade butter. Those same eyes made me want to help her at the truck stop. Well, not this time.
“Why?” I demand, my voice cutting through the hum of the air conditioner above. She raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips like this is some grand game of chess. Damn her for being the most infuriatingly captivating woman I've ever encountered. There’s chemistry here, a volatile reaction of throwing gas on a fire, and the realization hits me that I've never wanted someone more even as I want her to pay for humiliating me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice drips with sarcasm.
A harsh puff of air escapes. “Don’t pretend. You’re a conman-woman.”
She crosses her arms over her waist, looking at the ceiling. “I didn’t ask you to rescue me. Maybe it’s you who preys on the less fortunate.”
“Believe me, I’m not saving you this time. I should have given you a couple hundred dollars to get your car fixed and gone on my merry way. But no, you had to look at me with those…” My words die in my throat. She doesn’t deserve a compliment about her sky-blue eyes.
Oakley’s not in any restraints, so she stands and slams her hands on the cheap metal table. “I didn’t ask for your help. I tried to refuse it, but you had to keep on and on.”
“Let’s add thief and opportunist to your list of issues.” My frustration is at a boiling point because I genuinely liked her. I take a deep breath and ask, “Where’s Dixie?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but she’s in her kennel at home. And by the way, I left your keys in your truck. If I was stealing it, I would have driven it home.” As her voice reverberates off the walls, every muscle in my body tenses. “Are you seriously accusing me of stealing your truck?” she asks, her eyes narrowing to slits.
I take a deep breath, attempting to hide my frustration, and I weigh my next words carefully. The energy between us crackles like the static on a crank radio. If we weren’t in a police station, revenge sex may be on the table—literally.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I reply, “Yes, I am. Because you did.” My voice is steady despite the turbulence churning inside me.
She steps closer, defiance etched into her every move, and I brace myself for the storm that's about to rain down.
“Press charges. A soft man like you won’t be the one to break me.”
Soft? Is she kidding? I’m a professional hockey player. I practically get paid to fight.
She’s maddening. Our eyes lock and, in that moment, conflicting emotions stir. One thing about Oakley James is she doesn’t back down. What’s happened to her to cause this stubborn, reckless streak?
There are many reasons to press charges—she stole my truck, and she played me for a fool. Yet beneath my bubbling anger, I see a glimpse of vulnerability in her eyes that makes me think twice about what type of justice she deserves.
I break our intense staring contest, knock on the table, and open the door to leave.
She gasps, “Are you pressing charges?”
“You’ll find out soon,” I say without looking at her and close the door behind me.
The officers ask me the same question. “How long can you keep her while I think about it?”
“Twenty-four hours max,” they say in unison, but their smiling faces confuse me.
“I haven’t had any sleep. Can I think about it for a few hours?” I ask.
“Yes, but you know she’ll probably just get fined or do community service.” The officers exchange glances, weighing the situation, while I wrestle with the desire to see her held accountable and the nagging curiosity about her real motives.
“I understand,” I mutter as I leave.
My bed has never felt so good, except when the occasional woman has been in it. I mull the situation over in my head while throwing a tennis ball in the air and catching it over and over, wondering what could have changed between our kiss and the walk to our hotel room. Did one of my friends touch her inappropriately? I can’t think of anyone other than John who would do that, and he would have to be ten sheets to the wind.
Why does this car thief have such a hold on me?
There’s one person who will give it to me straight and if Oakley needs to serve jail time, Mamaw will lay it all out.
“Hey, Mamaw.”
“What a surprise. Whatcha need?”
I hesitate because Mamaw just got out of the hospital and is supposed to take it easy. “I met a girl and…”
“You’re getting married. Praise be the Lord,” she says in the strongest voice I’ve heard from her in a long time.
“No, but I really liked her until she stole my truck. It’s a long story.”
“Well, tell me. That’s why you called.”
I explain meeting her at a truck stop, taking her to Bryce’s Wedding, the kiss, and the police station.
She coughs, and I realize she’s not out of the woods with her condition. “Excuse me. Well, you’re probably not going to like what I have to say, but I’m going to say it anyway. I like that girl. She obviously felt like she had no other option. Give her a break. Sometimes people just need a break. And ask her why she took your truck. Her answer might make you think differently.”
“I love you, Mamaw. Thanks for listening.”
“Love you too. Now don’t let this one get away.”
“She’s not the one, Mamaw. Call me if you need anything. I still have some time when I can fly home.”
Mamaw laughs, straining and rasping from smoking for thirty years. “Don’t worry about me. Live your life.”
When we hang up, I consider her words and the punch behind them.
Becca calls, wanting to know why I’ve been photographed at the police station, so I run through the events from meeting her at Buc-ee’s to stealing my truck.
True to form, Becca leaps to my defense with unwavering loyalty, only to follow it up with a stern lecture about my tendency to trust too easily.
Finally, I drift to sleep and what the fuck happens? I dream about Oak. Asleep for two hours, and I fucking dream about the most beautiful thief this side of the Mississippi, riding me, then going to the dog park with Dixie.
Dixie.
I call the police to inform them to let her go. I’m not pressing charges for now.
Dixie needs to be fed and walked. Not to mention, Dixie probably has as much anxiety as I do right now. King Cavalier Spaniel mixes tend to have separation anxiety and Dixie needs her mom.
Practice starts next week, and I need to push one Oakley James out of my mind.
Easier said than done.