Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
The motor of my BMW hums before I push the button to turn off the engine, having parked in my usual spot at the Mowry Beach reserve. I get out of the car and shudder at the cold wind through my thin workout pants and shirt.
It’s super early, and the sun is hidden beneath a thick layer of clouds. There is frost over everything.
I go to the back of the car and take out my black hoodie and red running shoes with spikes on the soles. The boardwalk is made of wood, and the frost covering the planks can make them slippery. The spikes clack with every step, but I prefer that to falling on my ass.
Early-morning joggers and people I encounter on the beach here are way too friendly. I put in my headphones, even though I don’t plan to listen to music. I figure the passersby will just smile and nod if I have them in, so I keep doing it.
I need this run desperately.
I’m still not over my outburst from yesterday and can’t seem to figure out if I overreacted or if I was in the right. Seeing her playing poker with the guys like Saylor and I always did, it nearly killed me.
I miss him so damn much.
And it’s all my fault.
But it wasn’t only that. All the men were leering at her.
I know a lot of them, and most are pretty good guys with families and little kids—people I would spend my free time with if I had any.
But there are still some left who Dad employed that I’m not particularly fond of.
The way they looked at her made my skin itch. And she didn’t even notice.
At the start of the boardwalk, I spot the woman herself stretching her tight little body.
Of course, she would be here again too.
Can’t I catch a fucking break?
This is my spot, my morning run, the only hour during the day when I can let myself breathe and clear my head, the only hour I allow myself not to hate my own guts because I can empty my thoughts.
And now she’s here too, every single time.
No matter if I get here a little earlier or a little later, somehow, she manages to show up.
Yes, fine, one time it was a lucky coincidence that she was here, saving my ass. But honestly? I would rather call a cab than have her do that.
That shit was fucking embarrassing.
I scowl at her, but I don’t let her presence deter me from my run. I hear her mutter, “Good morning to you too, asshole,” as I walk past her and start running without saying a word to her.
I try to tune her out, focusing on my breath, in and out, attempting to let go of everything tearing at me—the guilt, the anger, the frustration, and the loneliness. I’m trying to relax my shoulders with every breath. Running is the only time I feel a little bit like my old self.
Like the good guy I used to be.
After a while, I stop because my shoelaces have come undone. I hadn’t realized Sloan was just behind me. She’s faster than I thought and quickly runs past me. I can’t help but let my mind wander to some very inappropriate thoughts when I see her ponytail swing and her ass wiggle as she goes.
That ass would look so pretty with a red handprint on it.
Just then, she slips on the frosty wooden path, and I watch as she twists her ankle and falls on her perfect behind.
“Oh, come on.” I groan to myself, debating whether I should just run back the way I came and leave her be. But she attempts to stand, hissing in pain as she puts weight on her injured ankle.
“Fuck!” She breathes, then she mutters, “As if that dickhead would help me. You know that.”
I furrow my brow. Maybe I’m not entirely wrong in thinking this girl is crazy. It’s the second time I’ve caught her talking to herself.
I decide to remove my earbuds and walk over to her. She’s trying to limp away, but I simply scoop her up bridal style, startling her with the move. She instinctively wraps her arms around my neck, bringing our faces close together, our breaths mingling in the cold.
“It’s quicker to go back the way we came,” I tell her, my eyes flicking between her hazel ones.
Her stunned expression morphs into a scowl. “Let me down,” she snaps, and I comply, letting go of her and nearly dropping her on her ass. She manages to keep herself on both feet, but it looks painful.
“You’re such a dick,” she remarks, her face contorted with pain.
I shrug. “Just doing as I’m told.”
I start to run again, telling myself I’m content to let her be, but I keep a much slower pace. She hisses in pain once more, then yells a desperate, “Wait!” I stop, turn, and tilt my head to look at her. “I need help,” she admits but avoids making eye contact.
Oh, this is priceless.
“What do we say?” I inquire, and her eyes snap to mine. “Come on, even my five-year-old has better manners than you,”
“I need help, please,” she finally says through gritted teeth.
I’m enjoying the fuck out of this.
“That’s a good girl,” I praise and can’t keep the smirk from forming on my lips, stepping over and sweeping her up again.
Her breath hitches, and her full lips stay open for a second while she clings to me, her cold hands on my neck making me shiver slightly. I walk slowly, telling myself that it’s because I don’t want to slip while holding her, not to prolong the time of having her in my arms.
“Why are you such an asshole all the time? It seems like you can be at least decent if you want,” she asks.
I can only laugh. “Stop getting yourself and others in danger, and I might be nicer.”
She frowns, her cute nose scrunching up with the movement. “Really?” she asks, her tone telling me she doesn’t believe me one bit.
“You want the honest answer?” I ask, trying to concentrate on something other than the feeling of my fingertips sinking into her thighs.
“Yes,” she answers on a visible breath, her teeth starting to chatter.
“Probably not, no. I’m just a dick.” I shrug, making her laugh out loud, her head falling back. I’ve never seen her laugh so carefree. It’s loud, and she’s snorting like a piglet.
It’s adorable.
I need to stop thinking about her that way, but having her clinging to me, smelling like holidays in the Caribbean and a hint of sweat, is intoxicating.
Fuck, I wonder how she would smell with my scent mixed in after she’s done moaning my name and gasping for breath. The thought has me suppressing a groan, and I have to think about anything but to keep my cock from hardening.
We get to my car, and I let her down gently this time, pulling out my keys to open the back and switch my shoes.
“Thanks, see you around,” she mutters while I put my second sneaker on, attempting to hobble away.
“Are you kidding me, woman? I didn’t carry your ass off that boardwalk just for you to walk home. Get in the damn car.” I don’t wait for her and walk to the driver’s side instead. I’m not a gentleman. If she wants a ride, she can open her own door.
I start the engine and the heater, the warm air is a relief as I feel how cold my nose and hands are.
The door to the passenger side opens, and she slowly slides in, making sure to tap her feet outside the door against each other to get rid of the dirt before she pulls them inside and gently shuts the door.
Sloan puts on the seat belt with a sort of attentiveness, then sits there, looking like she’s in awe, gently stroking the side of the leather seat before letting her fingers glide over the interior.
I reach out to put on the heated seat for her, and I can see the moment it hits.
She’s closing her eyes and letting herself relax into the leather.
Her head falls back on the headrest, exposing her slim neck, and her chest rises while she breathes in deeply.
My gaze zeroes in on her peaked nipples through the material of her running jacket.
“Thank you,” she breathes out, pulling my head out of the gutter.
As we drive the short way into town, I realize I have no idea where to take her. Which somehow bugs me. “Where do you live?” I ask, eyes on the road.
“You can kick me out at Shannon’s, please,” she mutters, seemingly still basking in the warmth.
I think about what’s around Shannon’s but come up empty. A supermarket, some houses of people I know, no inn or Airbnb whatsoever.
When I halt in front of the restaurant, Sloan unclicks her seat belt and gets out of the car before leaning down to look at me. “Thank you. It seems like we’re even now,” she states.
Right, the battery cable fix.
“Seems like it, Blue,” I respond, unsure what to say and still feeling embarrassed about that little encounter.
I could have fixed that too. I was just so damn worried about Lio’s doctor appointment that it didn’t even cross my mind that that could be the problem.
In the end, I only showed up in time because of her.
I clench my jaw, irritated to admit she helped.
“Seems like you can go back to your assholey self now.” She smiles before giving me the finger. “See you later, Satan,” she mutters, shutting my car door but letting it click shut softly.
I huff a laugh to myself.
This girl is something else.
I look back up to find her hobbling over to the old, rusty orange Chevy G20 in the parking lot.
She opens the side door with a creak so loud I can hear it inside the car and gets in.
The side windows are shielded by curtains, but there is frost on the windshield, and a cord runs from the back of the van to the back of the restaurant.
Is she living in that monstrosity?
I’ve never had this happen to me.
Usually, I’m the one refusing to go in for seconds. Typically, a fling doesn’t keep playing on repeat in my head days after.
She’s Pina Colada in the air,
Tequila’s taste, beyond compare.
Soft as whispers, hot as sin,
Lost in her, I can’t begin.
Crumpling the note, I throw it into the trash can next to my bed and press my palms into my eyes.
God, that was just plain bad.