Chapter 7
SHYANNE
When I woke up the next morning, I stared around in utter confusion.
Panic welled in my chest as I sat up. Where the fuck am I?
The memories of the night before came flooding back. The late night, the strange handsome man at the garage door, the fight, the running, the…
“Oh shit,” I muttered, putting a hand to my forehead. Dragons. Dragons were real.
I could still barely believe it all. My analytical side kept arguing against it, but as Jackson had said, seeing was believing. And there was something so honest and truthful about what he’d said that I couldn’t ignore the truth, even if it tore my perception of reality to shreds.
The entirety of my world and the foundations of everything I’d ever known had been turned upside down in one night. All the myths, legends, and bedtime stories had turned out to be true, and now I was in the house of one of those legends. It was almost too much to believe.
The smell of coffee brought me back to reality, and I threw off the covers and padded to the bedroom door, cracking it open an inch. The scent grew stronger, mixed with the savory aroma of frying bacon and eggs.
“Ja—Jackson?” I called, my voice shaking.
Opening my mouth, I took a breath, terrified that he would answer, but also afraid that he wouldn’t.
What if all that had been a really fucking weird hallucination.
Maybe I’d gone to a bar after work and met some sleazebag, who’d slipped me a roofie or something.
What if I was a prisoner of some psychopath?
Though, the windows of the room looked like they were easy enough to open, and I hadn’t been tied to the bed. Also, nothing felt off with my body.
“Hey,” he called back. “Are you ready for breakfast?”
Letting out a shuddering sigh, I nodded to myself. “Uh, yeah. Be down in a second.”
“Good timing. It’s almost ready,” he said as I closed the door.
Leaning against the door, I took a few calming breaths. As I did, I spotted my cell phone lying on the nightstand beside the bed.
He really had gone back to get it.
“A man of his word,” I whispered as I punched in my code.
Seeing the ten missed texts and five missed calls, I groaned.
“Shit.”
Most of the texts were from the guys at the garage. Carlo asked if I was sleeping late. Reggie asked why I wasn’t in yet. Brent told me to answer my goddamn phone. The calls were all from Dad.
I didn’t even bother listening to the voicemails, instead calling my father immediately. It was only eight in the morning, but that was late for me. Usually, I was the first one at the shop.
Dad picked up on the first ring. “Where have you been?”
“Hey,” I said, wincing and closing my eyes. “I’m okay.”
“You didn’t come home last night,” he said, and I could hear the worry in his voice.
“I was working late,” I said, which wasn’t a total lie. “It got really late, and I didn’t want to wake you up.”
“But you weren’t at the garage this morning. I called Reggie, and he said you weren’t there when the whole crew arrived. I went down there to wait for you.”
Oh my god. I already felt bad enough about making him worry, but he’d actually gone to the garage with his health issues?
“Dad, you didn’t need to do that. I’m fine, I was… I was just tired, okay? I slept through my alarm.”
There was silence on the other end of the line, and I knew what was coming. I stifled a moan of embarrassment.
“But where did you sleep, conejita?” The worry was gone now, replaced by shrewd excitement. “Were you perhaps at a friend’s house? Or better, a boyfriend’s house? Or girlfriend, you know I believe love is love.”
“Jesus, Dad, stop.”
Over the last several years, my father had begun to worry that I was focusing too much on the shop, the employees, and him, and that I would grow old alone and sad.
He’d even started asking people in the neighborhood if they had any eligible family members close to my age.
There was nothing more embarrassing than having your retired father trying to play matchmaker.
“What?” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “I’m only asking.”
“Yeah, I know. Listen, I’ve got to go, I’ve got some errands to run. Can you call the garage and let them know I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere?”
He sighed, but thankfully didn’t argue. “Fine, but I want to know more about this mysterious night out.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure, sure. Later. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
I hurried downstairs, stepping into the kitchen right as Jackson was setting down a plate of food on the island.
I looked at him, sweeping my eyes up and down his form.
He was dressed in a pair of jeans that hugged the muscles of his legs and ass, and a simple white T-shirt that showed off his flat stomach, thick biceps and forearms, and broad chest. He looked fresh as a daisy, even though there was no way he could have gotten more than two or three hours of sleep—not when he’d flown all the way back to the garage, then got up earlier than me to make breakfast.
“What?” he said, lifting an eyebrow.
I glanced down at my wrinkled work pants and stained shirt. I could feel the dirt on my face and in my hair, and my teeth felt fuzzy from not brushing the night before.
Great. A hot guy is making me breakfast, and I look like a panhandler.
“Nothing.” I sighed and sat at the table, picking up a fork.
The plate held three slices of bacon, a pile of eggs, and a buttered piece of toast. I eyed it, then glanced up at him.
“Was all this in the fridge last night?”
He looked uncomfortable, then shrugged. “I made a detour on the way back from getting your phone.”
“Jesus, did you sleep at all?” I said, biting into a strip of bacon.
“It’s fine,” he said, waving the question away. “I’ve operated on less sleep before.”
We ate in silence for a few minutes, then he brought up the most-pressing issue at hand.
“When do we call this guy?”
Setting my fork down, I reached for my phone. “No time like the present, right?”
Jackson nodded, but he had a haunted, worried look in his eyes. There was a lot riding on this, and I needed to make it happen. My stomach twisted as I listened to the phone ringing on the other end.
When he answered, Dusty Millew had that same cocky used-car-salesman tone he used every time I spoke to him.
“Shy? Is that you?” he said. “To what do I owe this call at such an early hour? Wait, let me guess, you woke up from a dream? Was I there? How good was I? Was it everything you hoped it would be? I can assure you, it’s most likely bigger in person.”
Stifling a groan of disgust, I ignored his poor attempt at flirting and got to business.
“Good morning, Dusty. I need to talk to you about something.”
“I bet you do,” he said, lowering his voice.
“How about dinner at Le Jardinier? A few bottles of wine, some caviar, maybe we go back to my place? You know how much I love that pretty dark skin of yours. I love that forever-tanned look you’ve always got going on.
I’ve been wanting to see all of it for years now. ”
I shuddered. I always forgot what a horny piece of shit Dusty was until I talked to him. It made me think he had some weird fetish for darker girls like me. He always talked about me like I was some dessert to eat. If he’d been the last man on earth, I’d simply become celibate.
“Cut the shit,” I snapped, and Jackson blinked in surprise. “We need to talk about my shop.”
His slimy pick-up artist persona vanished in an instant. “You’re thinking of selling? After all this time? I’d given up hope. Come over now, we can hash it out real quick.”
“Uh, no, that, won’t work. It needs to be tonight.” I glanced at Jackson. “After hours.”
Dusty was quiet for a beat, then said, “I suppose I could do that. Why so late?”
“I’ve got a lot of work to do, we’re swamped at the shop,” I said.
“Ha, you and I both know that’s a lie. Ever since that big whale moved away, you guys have been struggling. Listen, come on over at lunch today, we can discuss a good sale price, I can maybe give you a shoulder rub and—”
“Seven o’clock,” I said. “Either be there, or you’ll never get another chance. Got it?”
He sighed, and I could almost hear him rolling his eyes. “Okay. Fine. Seven. I’ll be there. Jesus, you’re so uptight about—”
I hung up.
“God, he’s a dick,” I said as I took another bite of eggs.
“I kinda got that idea,” he said.
“We’re on for seven,” I said, sliding my empty plate into the sink.
“I should really get to the shop. The guys will need help the rest of the day.” I glanced out the window and sighed.
“I can’t really take that,” I said, looking at Lamborghini.
“You don’t have a truck or something in the garage I could borrow, do you? ”
Jackson finished his own food and began loading the dishwasher. “No need. That’s silly, even if I did have one. It’s over an hour’s drive back to the city. I’ll just fly you back.”
For a few seconds, I looked at him, blinking and thinking back on the flight in the car to this cabin.
“Uh.” I shook my head, unsure how to go on. “Like, with you carrying me?”
“Up to you. Carry or…ride,” he said, and the look in his eyes emphasized the double entendre.
Where the crude jokes and sexual innuendo from Dusty made my skin crawl, a similar comment from Jackson sent a pulsing warmth through my stomach. A heat that eased lower, like warm honey, dripping down toward—
“I need to go to the bathroom,” I blurted, standing up fast. “To, uh, freshen up. You know?”
Jackson nodded, but he shot me a knowing grin.
“That’s fine. I think there are some clothes that belong to my mother around here. You’re quite a bit more muscular than her, but you’re both tall. They’ll be tight, but they’ll fit. I’ll leave them outside your door.”
“Thanks,” I said, cheeks burning as I ran up the stairs.
Why does this guy make me feel like some goofy kid?