Chapter 9
Nine
Lane
What the fuck just happened?
I stare wide-eyed at Jameson pinning Luke against the wall, effortlessly. The bar is dead quiet, except the Alan Jackson song crooning out from the jukebox. Every set of eyes on them.
Jameson leans in, voice low and menacing. “I told you, you didn’t want to do that.”
Luke struggles against his hold, red-faced, veins popping, chest heaving, not knowing when to just give up. “Don’t just stand there, you idiot!” he screams at Billy, his words raw with panic and rage.
Billy’s eyes bounce between Jameson pinning his friend to the wall and the door. His boots scuff across the carpet as he bolts, the door slamming behind him with a satisfying bang.
Jameson jerks Luke off the wall by the back of his collar, his movement fluid, almost lazy. Then he shoves him toward the exit. “I suggest you join your friend.”
Luke stumbles backward, eyes trained on Jameson. “This isn’t over,” he shouts, voice cracking, before the door crashes shut behind him, rattling the frame.
The chatter picks up again, everyone going back to their previous conversations, unfazed. Bar fights are nothing new here. Customers like Luke are why we keep cards on file.
My eyes follow Jameson’s movements, as he sits back in his seat, calm as can be, and takes a sip of his whiskey. As if pinning some drunk asshole against the wall is a typical Tuesday night.
Okay, I’ll admit, that was hot as fuck. But I’m not about to let him or anyone else think I’m some damsel in distress in need of saving.
“I could have handled him,” I huff, as I stride toward him, both annoyance and embarrassment reddening my cheeks.
Jameson looks at me, his eyes hard but not unkind. “I’m sorry. I’m not the type of man who sits by and watches a woman being disrespected.”
I brace my hands on the bar in front of him and lean in slightly, offering a flirtatious tilt of my lips. “And what kind of man are you, Jameson?”
His scent hits me first, leather and a hint of crisp mountain lake, and my core tightens without permission. That smirk, slow and deliberate, curls across his lips. “You’ll have to wait and see, Wildflower.”
His gaze holds mine just long enough for me to burn it in before he stands, and tosses some bills on the bar. His boots thudding softly against the floor as he crosses to the door. “Have a good night,” he calls over his shoulder, voice low, leaving me swaying.
I’m so fucked.
By the time I’m locking the deadbolt after my shift, exhaustion seeps into my bones. I want a hot shower, a glass of wine, and my bed. Dealing with Luke’s entitled, Coors-chugging, asshole behavior is getting old. He knew it was just sex, and now he won’t leave me alone.
Gravel crunches under my shoes as I cross the dimly lit parking lot, the fluorescent lights casting pale yellow pools of shadow. My stomach drops when I reach my car: the front driver’s side tire is completely flat.
He wouldn't, would he?
I check the passenger side. Flat.
I frantically walk to the back of the car. Both tires are flat.
That old feeling creeps up my spine. An overwhelming mix of sadness and rage seeps through my veins. I’m being punished for not bending to his will.
Fucking asshole.
Did he really have to slice all four tires?
Groaning, I slump against the trunk, the rough metal scraping through my top. This is just fucking great. I hope I’m able to wake Kam out of her nightly coma to give me a ride home.
A deep voice cuts through the night. “Do you need a ride, Wildflower?”
I whip around, my heart lodging itself in my throat. Jameson stands there, the light from the streetlamps casting a glow around him like some kind of dark angel.
He takes a cautious step forward, hands raised in front of him. “It’s just me.”
My eyes cautiously rake over the dimly lit parking lot. It’s completely empty except for my car.
My eyes narrow slightly. “Why are you waiting out here in the dark?”
Then I see it, his green Bronco, parked down the block, in the shadows. Giving him the perfect view of the door.
Has he been out here waiting for me all this time?
I take a subtle step back.
He doesn’t move, arms loose at his sides. “I just pulled in a few minutes ago. I wanted to make sure Luke didn’t harass you after work.” He nods towards my now flat tires. “Looks like it’s a good thing I did. Can I give you a ride home?”
I chew my bottom lip nervously, weighing my options. It’s weird that he came back, that he was waiting for me, right?
The smart thing to do would be to call Kam and pray she wakes up. Taking a ride from a man I barely know, at three in the morning, is how women end up on murder mystery podcasts.
I shift nervously on my feet. Jameson doesn’t exude serial killer energy, though. Then again, people said the same thing about Ted Bundy.
“You can take a picture of my ID and license plate and send them to Kam.” he adds softly.
My eyes flick between my car and him. Finally, my shoulders drop and I relent. Kam sleeps like the dead and it would probably take multiple calls to wake her.
“That would be great. Thank you,” I say, offering a grateful smile.
We stride across the pothole-filled parking lot, and across the street, him keeping a few steps behind. I reach for the handle, but his hand beats mine. His fingers brush against mine as he opens the door, sending zaps of electricity up my arm.
I slid in, the door closing with a soft thud, before he rounds the hood, slipping behind the wheel. When he turns the key, Voices by Disturbed fills the cab, the bass vibrating through me.
His overwhelming scent and the music, intoxicating and grounding all at once, fill the space as he drives along the dimly lit street, following the directions I spouted off.
Despite the effortless ease radiating from him, I hug the edge of the seat, hand hovering over the door handle, just in case.
After a few minutes he breaks the silence. “So what’s the story with that guy?” He glances at me; one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually against the open window, the cool evening wind ruffling his dark locks.
I let out a breath, I hadn’t realized I was holding. “We hooked up for a while. He wanted more, and I didn’t. So I ended it, and he’s pissed.”
His hand tightens on the wheel, voice dropping lower. “Has he done anything like slashing your tires before?”
“No. That was a first. He’s just pissed and embarrassed. It’s a small town. He knows by lunch time tomorrow, everyone will know he got told off by me and thrown out of the bar by you.”
He winces and gives me an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about that. But there was no way I was letting him get away with how he spoke to you.”
“He probably would have slashed them anyway because I threatened to have him banned.”
My house comes into view, and a pang of disappointment hits me. “Thank you for the ride, and for kicking Luke out,” I murmur, reaching for the door handle.
“Lane.” His voice stops me. When I look back he's holding a small white rectangle between his fingers. “Take this in case Luke bothers you again.”
I look down. It’s a business card for the motel with his phone number scrawled across the bottom.
I look back up at him, hesitating. “The owner will take care of him. Honestly, I think he will leave me alone after this.”
He doesn’t budge. “Take it anyway. Just in case.”
My lips tilt up as I take the card, and our fingers brush just enough to send a shock of warmth rippling through me. The look in his eyes tells me I’m not the only one who felt it.
I reach for the door handle again, but pause glancing back. “Thank you. Goodnight, Jameson.”
“Goodnight, Wildflower.” His voice is low and rough.
His eyes stay on me, heavy and unyielding as I walk to my door.
Once inside, I lean against the door, replaying the night. The bar, Luke’s smug face, Jameson’s effortless dominance.
Luke is a fucking asshole.
And Jameson…
I don’t know what to think about him. He’s intense, and I feel like he can see right through me. Something about him flares a warning inside me. I just don’t know if it’s danger or lust.
My eyes trace over the card still clenched in my hands. The strong, independent woman and the one who wants to be treated like a princess are warring inside me.
I roll my lip between my teeth, thinking about how he handled Luke. His effortless strength, his smirk, that near-murderous calm…it’s in the top five hottest things I’ve ever witnessed.
As if I need another reason to be attracted to him.
I hate the reaction I had when I thought he had left town. The ridiculous ache I felt in my chest. The way I looked up every time the door opened, hoping I would be met with his steely gray eyes.
And that might be the most dangerous thing of all. Because every time he looks at me, I forget why I promised myself never to fall again.