Chapter Nineteen
Anna
Saturday finds me working a mixer for the engineering department’s alumni fund, held at the Student Union. It’s a big party with a full dinner service, which means my back is aching from hauling around massive trays, laden with dinner plates. Attendance is fairly low, something my manager, Dave, blames on holding the dinner at the same time as the football game. I think of Drew playing and a strange twinge of guilt pricks my gut. I ought to be there. Watching. Cheering for him. I shake it off and concentrate on my job.
It takes us a good hour to clean up the back kitchen, load the sheet pans into the washer, and lock up the remaining wine. When the rest of the staff leaves, I stay behind with Dave, because someone should and no one else is volunteering.
As manager, Dave is responsible for returning the key to the main office. Once he’s done here, I’m done for the night.
He walks out with me, which is nice since the building has gone dark, and screams “ideal slasher film location.” When I tell Dave that, we have a laugh over the idea, even though a shiver crawls along my spine. I’m creeping myself out.
“Though, really,” Dave says lightly, “every venue we work is ideal for murder. Just think of what could go down in the architecture hall. All that unrelenting glass.” His blond brows wag. “There’s no place to hide.”
I laugh again. “Stop. Or I’ll never work another night shift again.”
He mocks a terrible Bela Lugosi accent. “Do not resist. Your nights are mine, Anna Jones.”
“Goof.”
We’re almost to my scooter when I see him. My steps slow to a crawl.
Bathed in the brightness of a parking lot light, he’s leaning against the side of a cherry red classic muscle car with thick white racing stripes running down its center. I know enough about cars to identify that it’s a Camaro and it’s in mint condition. Not that it really matters. My eyes are on Drew. And, God, he looks good.
Faded jeans hang low on his lean hips. He’s got one leg crossed over the other and his hands stuffed in his pockets, pulling the jeans lower. A pale gray Henley hugs his broad chest and gorgeous arms.
He’s watching me, has been since I noticed him, and that one dimple on his cheek deepens when our eyes meet.
“Oh man, that’s pretty,” breathes Dave at my side.
I’m fairly certain he isn’t talking about the car. I roll my eyes. “Night, Dave.”
He ambles off, muttering under his breath about lucky bitches, as I walk toward Drew. A casual stroll, as if my heart isn’t going ten miles a minute, as if I don’t want to run and jump on him.
A wicked smile curls his lips as I get closer. I’m smiling too. I can’t contain it. He just looks so fucking good. There’s a strange buoyancy in my chest. Happiness. I’m so happy to see him, my legs want to go faster. I force a steady pace.
When I’m five feet away, Drew pushes off the car and stands tall. He’s still grinning when I stop in front of him, and his eyes travel over me. I feel that look down to my bones. God, he’s sexy. I don’t usually think of guys in those terms. Sexy sounds false, an adjective better left for advertisers’ use. But Drew is sex on a spoon. I want to slide him into my mouth and savor him.
“He’s gay, you know,” Drew says by way of greeting.
It’s a minor miracle that I know what he’s talking about because I can feel the warmth of his body, and it’s making me dizzy.
“Considering I’ve met more than a few of Dave’s boyfriends, I’d say, yeah, I know. You’re warning me, why?”
Drew huffs out a short laugh. “Petty jealousy, Jones. He’s a good guy for walking you out.”
“Mmm.” I look him over. “You win tonight, Baylor?”
I’m guessing he did. Even here, far away from the stadium, the faint strains of the school band and laughter drift through the air.
His whole face lights up. “Yeah.”
I can’t help but grin. “Good on you.”
Drew shrugs as though it’s nothing, but he isn’t fooling me. Happiness bounces around him, a bubbly fizz in the dark night. “I did my part.” His gaze roams down my body. “Nice outfit, Jones.”
I’m still in my catering clothes, a white oxford shirt, black knee-length skirt, and ballerina flats. I probably look all of twelve.
“You have your uniform. I have mine. Why are you smiling like that?”
There’s a gleam in his eyes that’s so dirty it makes my heart skip a beat.
“I’m picturing you in my uniform.”
“Because those massive shoulder pads would look sooo sexy.” I make a goofy face.
His tongue runs over the edge of his teeth. “Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of my jersey. God, you’d look hot in my jersey.”
“A jock’s wet dream, I suppose?” I quip, but my breath is a little too fast now. It’s as if I can feel the silky texture of Drew’s big jersey sliding over my bare skin.
“You bet, baby.”
“God.” I roll my eyes and shake my head.
He’s laughing again, a low, rolling sound that warms me inside. Suddenly we’re closer, less than a foot apart. I don’t know if he moved or if I did. I can’t think. He’s so close that heat surges between my legs, and my breasts grow heavy. I’m surrounded by Drew. Again.
“I’ve missed you.” His voice is soft, that special tone that I’ve come to think of as mine. A low intimate sound that fills the space between us. Like we’re in our own world. All I can think about is the last time he used that voice on me. I want to kiss you, Anna.
From the way he’s looking at me, his focus going to my lips and his brows drawing tight with intent, I’m guessing he’s thinking about that too. He hasn’t yet touched me, but his body leans closer to mine.
A gust of icy wind rushes over the lot, and I shiver. “I don’t know how you can stand it out here without a coat. Aren’t you cold?”
Drew reaches out and grasps the lapels of my secondhand pea coat that’s hanging open to the breeze. His touch is so gentle as he pulls the ends together, that I stand there, throat closed, mouth dry.
“I just played football for hours.” He doesn’t let my coat go, but holds it, his thumbs slowly rubbing over the wool, his forearms an inch away from my breasts. “If I could get away with it, I wouldn’t be wearing a shirt at all.”
“That would—” Be wonderful? Yes, please? With sugar on top? “—give the campus police something to talk about over donuts in the morning.”
“Mmm,” he agrees with a lazy rumble, while he tugs just the slightest bit on my coat. I drift closer, and his voice drops to a murmur. “The press would have a ball. Drew Baylor shocks all by revealing his nipples.”
He shouldn’t be allowed to say words like nipples in public. As if called, mine instantly perk up. His lashes lower, and I know he’s noticed. I hear his slow inhale.
A steady throb joins the heat between my legs. My chest is so tight now that when he dips his head to graze his lips across my ear, I can’t breathe.
“Did you miss me, Anna?” he whispers.
My hands find their way to his chest, and I press my palms against the dense muscles there. He smells clean, like the shower gel he uses and, underneath it, his natural scent. It’s so familiar to me now, I can no longer describe it. I only know I want to draw it deep into my lungs. I want to close my eyes and lean into him. But I keep them open and focus on the golden skin of his throat.
I love that part of his body, the vulnerability of his sensitive skin. I love the little hollows just above his collarbones where his neck dips down to meet his shoulders, and I know that if I press my mouth to that tender spot and suckle it, he’ll give me a helpless, near whimper of sound that he always does when I kiss him there. I almost whimper myself.
Did I miss him?
“Yes.”
I can feel him smile against my cheek. “Good.” The tips of his fingers graze under my jaw, just over my racing pulse.
“Is this your car?” I blurt out. Smooth. Either Drew likes to lean on strangers’ cars or I’m Captain Obvious.
Drew draws back a little and glances at it. “Yep.”
“It’s gorgeous.” I’m a wimp. Taking the coward’s way out of Dodge.
His tilted smile is wry. He knows I’m trying to distract him, and it clearly amuses him. But he plays along. Drew turns and lovingly runs his palm over the glossy hood of the car. “This here is Little Red.”
“Little Red,” I repeat. It makes me think of what he called me the first time we talked: Big Red. The moment I decided to hate him. And I wonder how it is that I’m here now. How has this happened? Me wanting him more than my next breath. Me needing him more than I’ve ever needed anyone.
Perhaps he feels my tension, because he eyes me carefully. “It’s a term of affection, you know,” he says in a low voice. “Anyway, I didn’t name her.”
“Her?”
“All cars are ladies, Jones.” He winks.
It should be cheesy, winking like that, but it’s not. It makes me want to kiss his cheek. He’s not only sexy, he’s fucking adorable. And he’s completely ignorant of my moony expression because he’s back to stroking his car.
“She’s a 1971 Chevy Camaro Z28.” His expression dims a little, becoming almost bittersweet. “She was my dad’s. He got her at a junkyard and restored her from the frame out.”
His pride rings clear, and he gives the car another pat. “It drove my mom nuts when he spent his weekends tinkering with Little Red, but she knew how much he loved it so...” He shrugs.
“Did you ever work on it?”
“Mostly it’s only tune-ups and belt changes now, but, yeah, I know how to fix a car, if that’s what you’re asking.” A little mischief brews in his dark eyes. “Want to go for a ride?”
“Now?”
“No. Three hours from now,” he deadpans. “I figure you can get in your pj’s, maybe sleep for a while, then we’ll go out.”
“Smart-ass.”
He’s already opening the passenger door. “Come on, Jones, ride with me.”
I hesitate.
“It’ll be nice and warm with the heat on,” he adds.
The Camaro’s dark interior gleams in the yellow glow of the parking lot light.
Drew is waiting. He wants to kiss me. He wants everything.
I take a little breath. “Okay, but this thing had better go fast.”
“She’ll set your hair straight.” He gives one of my curls a playful tug before closing the door behind me.
Inside, the car smells of old leather and a bit of Drew’s shaving cream. It’s that subtle scent of Drew that makes me sink into my seat and inhale deeply. Then he’s getting into the car. His grin is like a kid’s when he turns the key and the car rumbles to life with a growl.
“Oh, yeah, baby,” he says to her, “purr for me.”
“Would you like a little time alone?” I ask, but I love the way he appreciates his car.
His dimple deepens. “This is a shared experience, Jones. Get with the program. Now buckle up.”
I do as ordered, and happily sit back as he pulls out of the lot. He goes slow through the campus, turning on the heat and fiddling with the radio. Soon I’m warm enough to pull off my coat, and Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” fills the silence.
“You weren’t kidding about the classic rock,” I say, taking a look around the dash. “I’m surprised there isn’t an 8-track in here.”
“I’m surprised you know what an 8-track is.”
“Likewise.”
He laughs. “Dad put in a new stereo the year before he—”
He stops talking and turns out onto the main road. The car springs forward with a throaty little rumble.
“It’s a beautiful car,” I say to fill the pained silence. I hate that he hurts, that he misses his parents. “I’m glad you have it.”
“I am too.” He’s quiet for a moment, then smiles softly. “When I finally made straight A’s, he let me use it on dates. It became my personal quest to get laid in here.”
“Nice.” I wrinkle my nose. “And you’ve just put the kibosh on getting any from me in here.”
“Damn, there goes my plan.” He sighs in exaggerated disappointment. “Actually, the back seat is ridiculously small for a muscle car. Can’t do anything back there but get a leg cramp.”
Much to his amusement, I glance over my shoulder. The seat is small. Annoyed that I fell for his trick, and at Drew’s smug chuckle, I pull out my phone. We’re heading for a large stretch of empty road now, and I know he’ll let the car go then. “This radio work with my phone?” I ask.
“I like old cars, but I have my standards.” He reaches down and hands me an input wire as I download a song.
It’s my turn to smile. “I think you’ll like this one.” I hit Play.
His expression is priceless, his nose wrinkled in confusion at the twangy plucking of a guitar and two guys conversing in a beatnik style. “What the hell?”
“Just listen.”
He does and his mouth twitches. The guys are making fun of The Doors now, and Drew snorts in amusement.
“It’s the Dead Milkmen,” I say.
One guy asks the other what car dude’s dad got him. My gaze catches Drew’s and we’re both grinning.
“Don’t tell me,” Drew says.
Just as the band launches into a hard and fast punk rock riff about a Camaro. It’s chaotic, all drums and guitars and screaming singers.
“‘Bitchin’ Camaro,’ man,” I say with a laugh.
And Drew takes off. We’re flying, my back presses against the seat, and I’m laughing so hard my sides hurt. Drew’s laughing with me. We’re mad on speed and ridiculous lyrics. And I don’t want it to end. Little Red eats up the road, gray asphalt is a blur. I ought to be afraid, but I feel alive.
We race along until the song ends and then Drew slows. “That was excellent.”
“So’s the car.” I rest my head on the seat and smile at him. I’m sore from laughter, little aftershocks of giddiness quake though my belly.
Everything is quiet except the steady hum of the engine, and that’s okay. The realization steals over me. We can sit together in silence and feel comfortable. When had it happened? Before I can wonder any longer, Drew’s stomach growls. With insistence.
“Why do I get the feeling that your stomach likes talking to me?” I ask him.
The corner of his mouth quirks. “Kind of your fault.”
“Oh, really?”
“You fed it once. Naturally it’s going to come asking for more.”
“Naturally.” I grab my bag. “I don’t know if I should be enabling this development, but I happen to have a sub—”
“Hand it over, Jones.”
“You sure? You’d let us eat in Little Red? I mean this interior is pretty pristine.”
Drew looks at me sidelong. He’s fighting a grin, but he manages to look pseudo threatening. “Hand over the food and no one gets hurt.”
I pull out a twelve-inch-long section of the party sub I’d taken from the catering kitchen, and he makes an exaggerated groan. “Oh, baby, it’s so big.”
“That’s my line.”
“Yes, it is.”
Smiling, I help myself to a small section of sandwich then hand him the rest.
His groan is real and appreciative as he starts to devour the sub, one hand on the wheel the other lovingly holding his food. “Italian,” he says between bites. “Bless you.”
“You must be really hungry because this sub is mediocre at best.” The sandwich is soggy on the bottom and overly salty.
“I’m starved. I haven’t eaten since before the game.” Drew gives me a quick, guilty look.
It’s harder to swallow my bite. “Thanks for taking me for a ride.” My words are soft in the dark car, and when silence falls, it’s less easy now.
Drew shrugs and finishes off his last bite. “Wasn’t anywhere else I wanted to be.”
Which makes the ache inside of me stronger.
He peers down at my bag. “I don’t suppose you have any—”
I have my water bottle out and to him before he can finish, and I am rewarded with another one of his grins.
“You’re a goddess, Anna Jones.”
I affect a casual tone, as if my heart isn’t bruised and bewildered. “Well, since you’re feeling nice and indebted. Can I drive Little Red?” I need something to do, something to calm me before I fling myself at him and offer my undying adoration.
And I have to admire the way he struggles not to react with the horror that’s so clearly stealing over him. I figure no one except Drew drives this car. It must be the case, because he’s almost squirming in his seat. I’m about to let him off the hook, tell him it’s okay, I get it, I understand it’s a guy thing, when he suddenly pulls over to the side of the road.
“Okay, but—”
“If you make some lame crack about my ability to handle a stick, I will end you,” I quip, just to break his tension.
“I want to live,” he teases. Then looks at me hard, but there’s a gleam in his eyes beneath the scowl. “Seriously, I want to live so...”
“Ass.” I give his pec a light punch before I wrench open the heavy car door and get out. We meet in the middle, the car’s headlights illuminating us. Or rather, I run by him and jump into the driver’s seat, slamming the door behind me. “It’s freaking freezing out there now,” I tell him as he gets into the passenger seat.
My legs hover somewhere in no-man’s land. He’s so tall; the pedals are at least a foot away from me. Muttering about giants, I roll the seat forward.
And he shakes his head. “More like redheaded pixies who need to pull the seat up to the steering wheel.”
“I do not, in any way, resemble a pixie.” The very idea is laughable.
His fleeting gaze travels over my breasts and hips, and it’s hot. “You might be right.”
I’m only a little flustered when I start the car.
I don’t punch it. I drive fast and smooth, learning the feel of the car and its tics.
Drew studies me, his body angled in the seat a little. “I thought you’d floor it.”
I shrug as we glide around a soft curve. “I’m getting to know her first.”
The way he looks at me, as if I’ve said something special. I don’t understand that look, it makes me twitchy deep in my belly, so I ignore it and drive.
We’re quiet, lulled by the gentle purr of the motor. And it’s nice. The old car, with its soft leather and warm heat, is cozy.
The road is really a big loop, bringing us back into town. I can see the lights of the campus coming up upon us in the distance.
A mile later, I spot an abandoned lot, and put on my blinker. Which is ridiculous considering we’re the only ones out here, but habit is habit.
When Drew speaks, his steady voice is so deep it’s soothing. “You can drive us back. It’s up to you.”
I don’t think I can take the feel of his gaze on me any longer. It’s doing strange things to my heart, speeding it up, slowing it down. I’m beginning to think he knows exactly how much he affects me.
“It’s okay,” I say as I pull in. The tires crunch over gravel and the car rocks over a small bump. I ease it to a stop, turn the engine off, and promptly realize the error of my plan. We’re alone in the dark, warm cocoon of the car. And while I’ve never shirked from the chance to jump on Drew, everything feels different now. Somehow, without my permission, we’ve grown closer, and I know a decision must be made.
Drew seems twitchy as well, his biceps bunching beneath his shirt as he taps on his knee.
“Let’s change seats then,” I say, not quite looking him in the eye.
It’s clear that neither of us wants to go outside, which means only one option. We’ve got to climb over each other. Or maybe it’s the excuse we both need to touch.
As soon as we spring into action, the reality of it isn’t the sexy situation I’d envisioned. Not when our knees bash into each other at the same time as my chin collides with Drew’s massive shoulder.
“Ow!”
“Oof!”
I rear back, hitting my head on the roof as Drew awkwardly falls to the side, his ass connecting with the steering wheel. The Camaro’s horn is a bellow in the dark night. Muttering a curse, Drew tries to get his leg over the console the same time as I do, and we tangle again.
“Move your butt, you big mountain,” I grumble.
He starts to snicker, which sets me off. We both laugh and curse as Drew slides by me and I half crawl to the passenger seat, only to feel a tug on my skirt.
“Shit! I’m stuck on the stick.”
Drew laughs harder.
“Don’t you dare make stick jokes,” I warn through a laugh.
“I’m too busy trying to get my ass out of the steering wheel.” His shoulder crushes my chest as he wiggles, laughing so hard—he’s as clumsy as I am. “Fuck, did you not put the seat back?”
“No. Ow. Would you move?” I yank at my skirt but his thigh is pinning my calf to the driver’s seat. “I wasn’t thinking that far ahead.”
“Obviously. Hold up.” His ribs shove in my face as he bends over the driver’s seat. There’s a loud click and then we’re falling as the seat zips back. Drew twists, landing on the seat, his arm wrapping about my waist and pulling me with him.
I end up on his lap with a thud, and Drew’s pained grunt. My bent leg is awkwardly braced on his chest and putting me off balance.
“Seriously, Jones,” he says, still a bit breathless from our laughing fit. “If you wanted to get in my lap, you only had to ask.”
He puts a hand to my back, keeping the steering wheel from digging into my spine.
My cheeks hurt from grinning. “You caught me. It was all part of an evil plan to turn us into a human pretzel. Watch your head. Leg incoming.”
He ducks his chin, as I lift my leg up and over his head, effectively straddling his lap with my knees tucked under his arms in the tight space. Not very comfortable, but who am I kidding? I like where I am.
The position, however, bunches my skirt around my hips. Instantly, his free hand lands on my exposed thigh.
“You cold?” he asks quietly, as he begins to rub it to keep me warm.
I shake my head, my voice having fled. How can I be cold with his firm, heated torso this close to mine? His heartbeat is steady and hard beneath my palm.
“Did I hurt you anywhere?” He eases me closer still, until my breasts pillow his chest.
“No.”
Face-to-face, all I can see is Drew colored pale blue by moonlight, his eyes gleaming and dark as they study me. His gaze lowers to my lips and stays there, as his grip becomes firmer, laden with intent. Heat invades me swift and strong.
His mouth. So close. Close enough that our breath mingles. I love his mouth, the lush shape of it, and I don’t even know what it tastes like, how it feels. His fingers press into the flesh of my thigh, as though he needs to hold on to something, and my gaze flicks up to meet his.
A pained expression there, and a plea.
Drew will never take from me. Not unless he knows I want it too. Tenderness mixes with the pervasive heat inside of me, a heady stew that has me sinking further into his embrace. Carefully, I trace his jaw, the texture like fine sandpaper against my fingertips.
“Anna.” It’s a whisper of sound.
Holding his gaze, I lean in. My lips brush his. So gently it’s barely a touch. But it’s everything. I feel it down to my toes. Drew sucks in a sharp breath, his body going tight. So I do it again. Stronger. More sure. Clinging just a bit to his lower lip.
And then he groans. His fingers thread into my hair, clutching tight as he tilts his head and kisses me back. It isn’t hard or frantic. It’s a warm, melting exploration, as if we’ve fallen into the middle of a kiss, tongues sliding, lips melding and parting in a slow rhythm. And I ignite, burning brighter than the sun. Sensation, want, need, surge through me on a moan that’s lost in his mouth.
Drew shivers. His fingertips run along my neck, my cheek, and back down again, as his lips nuzzle and suck on mine. Going deeper, having more of me every time. And every time my heart clenches just a bit harder within my chest.
Dizziness swamps me. There is no up or down, just Drew. Drew’s mouth. His taste and his heat. I want to sink into him, drown in his touch. I tremble, whimpering in frustration as I rock against his erection and open my mouth wider for his kiss. He holds me tighter. Grounding me.
“It’s better,” he says inside a kiss.
“Better?” My hands roam the plains of his chest, the rounded swells of his shoulders. I’ve missed the feel of him against me.
“Kissing you. It’s better than I imagined.”
I hadn’t let myself imagine. I touch his cheek, and our gazes collide. My breath grows short. My heart actually hurts. “Drew.” I don’t know what else to say. But it seems enough for him right now.
He holds me like I’m precious to him, like he wants to fuse us together.
“Come home with me,” he whispers between kisses that are growing more urgent, fierce. His skin is damp, his body shaking as hard as mine. “I need you, Anna. I need you in my bed.”
I can barely keep my eyes open. My clothes smother me. Sweat trickles down my back, and my thighs tremble with need. And I can’t stop kissing him. Deep, light, hard, soft. It’s too much. I knew it would be. I am lost in him.
“Anna...” His voice is weak now, and rough as his breathing.
“Yes,” I manage. “Yes.”
Pressing his forehead to mine, he nods once, his fingertips still roaming over my face as if he needs to memorize it by touch. “Okay.” Another seeking kiss. “Okay.”