Chapter Seven
Maddie
“Follow me,” I command the intricately tatted and beautifully muscled man behind me with a quick smile, leading him through the underground parking lot that houses two of my cars.
Baxter doesn’t say anything, dutifully trailing my steps as we reach my pride and joy: my matte-black Jeep with matching rims, dark-tinted windows, and a funky blue dice keychain hanging on the rearview mirror.
It’s parked in the shadows like the car version of Batman, tucked away from the other cars, mainly because I have very little trust in other drivers.
Even parked cars are a hazard. You never know when one might turn into a sentient alien robot and crush my baby like they so carelessly do in all of the movies.
When we reach my baby, I check my pockets for the key fob, coming up empty.
I frown, tapping my boobs just in case I decided to stash it in my bra like I’ve been known to do, only to find nothing but my respectable handful of boobs and nothing more.
I know I picked them up before I left my apartment.
Pretty sure I had them before leaving Baxter’s, too.
I’m still holding my plentifully sized funbags when I turn and ask Baxter, “Did you see me with my keys? I could have sworn I grabbed them on the way out.”
Bax’s eyebrow rises as his gaze darts to my hands before coming back to my face. When his eyes return to mine, I catch a flash of something intoxicating in his darkened gaze before it disappears, more amusement flooding their depths the longer he looks at me.
“Have you checked your pockets?” he asks mockingly.
Rolling my eyes at the beautiful man, I drop my tits and make a show of tapping my pockets, giving him an obviously I have, you ridiculously fine specimen look before dropping my hands.
The amusement doesn’t fade from his eyes, though. Oh, no. It looks to have doubled now, though I can’t fathom why it would. Unless he finds walking funny, in which case I need to reconsider the idea that this handsome man could be completely crazy.
“You’re something else,” Bax snickers before taking a sudden step forward, one hand reaching out and landing on my exposed waist while the other boldly reaches for the globe of my ass.
His touch is confident, certain, and warm, and I forget to even attempt to suppress the shiver that rattles my body like a bone maraca.
My breath catches on a gasp, and my heart stops for all of two seconds before beating faster than it had prior to his touch.
Wide-eyed, I watch him watch me, a heart-palpitating grin growing the longer I stare at him with my mouth agape and my mind blanking on anything but the man touching me.
Touching me a little inappropriately for a stranger, mind you, but I don’t seem to harbor any complaints.
Not for the unexpected touch, the daring move, or the fact that I’m pretty sure I’ll legitimately faint if I keep holding my breath.
Thankfully, the guy who embodies entirely too much sex appeal and all the good stuff that makes my pussy purr takes pity on me.
I can’t even tell if he knows what he’s doing with that amusement plastered so thickly over his face, so much of it, in fact, that there are no traces of anything else that I can pick out.
But his hand sneaks into the back pocket of my sweats, one I’d admittedly forgotten I had until this very moment, and pulls out a rattling collection of keys and keyrings.
The moment he frees them from their prison, he takes a step back, and I can suddenly breathe again. I accept the keys, nodding like I’m impressed at having forgotten about my own pocket and him finding it for me. “Oh. Who knew?”
“Would have thought you would,” he comments, just before biting his lip in that way those sexy stars in movies do. You know the move. That subtle but spank-bank-material-worthy lip bite that looks equal parts playful and hot.
Distracted now, my vagina perking up with a cautious amount of interest, I mutter some mumbled form of gratitude while I do my best to get my heart back under control and contemplate the dangers of breath-stealing men who look as gorgeous as this one.
And the three others in his apartment. It only serves to send my heart into another tizzy, its beats palpitating in ways no organ should.
Wow. I might actually die before I see my next birthday. That’s an actual shame, since that only gives me three months to truly appreciate my life and the handsomeness it’s very recently been blessed with.
Without a backward glance at a very amused Baxter, who is making a very poor attempt at restraining his beautiful grin, I climb inside my car with expert movements, almost positive I hear a rumbled laugh just as I shut the door on myself.
Baxter joins me a moment later, and I don’t dare look over at him for fear I might swoon some more.
The first few minutes of the drive go by in comfortable silence despite my body being all too aware of the one parked in the passenger seat, Baxter lounging in his seat like he’s completely relaxed where he is.
Music filters through the speaker, a crooning country song that I know all the words to, and the windows are rolled down, letting in a cool breeze to counter the early-morning warmth of summer.
“So, you skate?” Baxter wonders suddenly, luring my eyes over to him before I snap them back to the road and nod with a fond smile.
“Sure do. My parents got me into it when I was three. I think Mom was hoping she’d end up with a pro figure skater, one who would end up in the Olympics.
Sadly for everyone involved, I didn’t have the drive to compete.
I’m not a competitive person by nature, and we learned that pretty early on when I’d steal any hockey stick I could get my hands on and end up playing ice hockey with the boys in the rink over from where we figure skaters were training.
So, I skate recreationally and have since my last failed attempt to compete at the ripe old age of seven,” I explain, shrugging a shoulder while I round a corner.
Baxter flashes a grin. “You played ice hockey?”
“Nope. Not at all. I’d chase the boys and knock them over with the hockey stick.
Used to hook their skates and send them skidding across the ice.
Made getting the puck and scoring easier,” I explain with another shrug and a grin firmly in place when I hear the tatted Adonis beside me laugh.
“After the last time it happened, since apparently I was such a write-off to my coaches that they paid me no attention until the boys started snitching, Mom offered to let me try one more competition, and if I didn’t place, then she would give up the dream and let me skate as a hobby instead.
We soon realized that I paid attention when I wasn’t forced into it, learned that I actually loved skating, and kept it up on the weekends and days off. ”
“Wow. I can only imagine what kind of kid you were,” Baxter replies, shaking his head with a smirk.
“Depends on who you ask, really. Mom would consider me a nightmare she loves like a dream, Dad would call me an angel despite knowing about the horns under the halo, and my friends are all just as bad as me and will lie if you ask them otherwise,” I inform him dutifully.
“It takes a lot to embarrass me, so that made for a very interesting childhood.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Baxter comments, flashing that grin again and sending my heart into another flurry, settling deeper into his seat with his legs parted in a lazy way that appears much too attractive.
Risking a glance over at the burly guy, I ask, “How about you? What was your childhood like?”
Baxter shrugs, a nostalgic smile tugging at those sinful lips, and he says, “Just your average childhood, I suppose. Spent most of my time in the garage with my dad and brother, always under the hood of whatever car we were working on at the time. My mom died when I was young, so Dad did what he could and had me spending every spare moment with him and my older brother, teaching me all the ways to fix up beaten and worn-down cars. They helped build my company. My brother, Benji, actually manages my shop in Texas.”
“I’m sorry about your mom. But your dad sounds pretty cool,” I tell him honestly, flashing him a gentle smile.
“He’s the best, for sure,” he answers fondly, smiling back.
“So, you have a shop in Texas. What brought you to New York?” I wonder, hoping I’m not being too invasive.
Personal boundaries are a challenge for me, especially after being raised by two celebs who don’t know the concept of such things.
My parents are invasive as fuck, and though I try not to be, it sneaks out more than I care to acknowledge.
Baxter clears his throat, a blush tinting his cheeks that intrigues me to no end, and he answers bashfully. “I, uh, I actually have a few shops all throughout the country. Pretty well-known, too. You ever heard of Zone Out?”
My mouth falls open in shock, my focus turning to him just as we reach a red light.
“Have I heard— Oh, my God, Dad took my baby to Zone Out because he didn’t trust anyone else to fix her up.
Had to drive her to Ohio, but it was so worth the drive.
You own, what, the whole franchise? Wait, Baxter Marshall?
Didn’t they make a whole show about your shop? You weren’t in it, though, right?”
Baxter nods, the blush deepening while he cringes.
“One and the same. Benji took the reins on that whole shitshow, because I wasn’t about to have a camera shoved in my face at every turn.
I wanted the company to do well, though, and what better way than to have a show about it?
Started Zone Out from the ground up with Dad and Benji before expanding to several different states, before the show was picked up by a production company.
We’re opening a shop here in New York in the next few months. ”