Chapter 3
THREE
SIERRA
I walk up to the tire shop and I hear the strum of a guitar.
The beat of a drum.
The familiar high pitched voice that has made my life hell these last months.
She’s a sneaky bitch.
She’s an awful witch.
She’s worse than the sun on a blazing hot day.
She doesn’t deserve to have any say.
She’s a snake, maybe.
She’ll turn on you in a flash.
She’s a viper, baby.
She’ll sink those teeth into your flesh—
“Can I help you?”
The words make me jump, the hypnotic pain of the song disappearing in a flash, leaving me standing in front of an older man who’s smile is bemused as he walks toward me, wiping his hands on a stained blue towel.
“I…um…” I clear my throat, ignore the words, the memories of the man, and force a smile. “Hi.” I stick out my hand. “I’m Sierra. You called and said my tire is ready?”
His brows had dragged together.
My last words have them relaxing.
He nods, taps his temple. “Bear’s girl.”
“I’m not—”
But he’s already turning away, calling over his shoulder. “Let me see which bay is open and then you can pull in—”
“I’ll get it.”
I jump again, but my body is already calming.
Because I recognize the voice.
Bear.
I turn and see that he’s even more beautiful in the morning sunlight as he walks toward me, muscled frame clad in a plain gray tee, strong legs in dark wash jeans. Boots and a beard, a flannel unbuttoned and straining over broad shoulders.
“Hey, little fox,” he murmurs, stopping close and stroking a gentle finger down my cheek.
I inhale, but I don’t retreat.
Even though I should, even though I would normally never allow a strange man to touch me.
But there’s something about his scent, his expression, the way his eyes have locked onto mine and seem to see right into my soul that has me freezing, has me allowing the contact.
Has me leaning into it.
“You didn’t sleep last night,” he murmurs.
I didn’t.
But then again, I don’t sleep much these days.
Not that I’m going to tell him that.
“I should move my car inside.”
“I’ve got it,” he says.
“I—”
But the pushy man just snags the keys out of my hand and starts walking down the driveway to my car.
And then he’s driving it up and through the open door.
And…okay, not having to navigate up the narrow drive and through the clogged parking lot and onto those metal runners isn’t the worst thing in the world.
He’s walking out a moment later, tall and strong and confident as he stops in front of me. “Let’s grab a cup of coffee while we wait—”
She’s a sneaky bitch.
She’s an awful witch.
She’s worse than the sun on a blazing hot day.
She doesn’t deserve to have any say.
I wince, and he freezes, gaze turning from side to side, as though he’s searching the crowded parking lot for a threat.
She’s a snake, maybe.
She’ll turn on you in a flash.
She’s a viper, baby.
She’ll sink those teeth into your flesh.
But then his eyes go wide.
“Sierra,” he murmurs, mouth dropping open. “You’re the Sierra.”
It’s a miracle it took him this long to recognize me, considering that my face has been plastered everywhere.
His tone is…
Well, it leaves a lot to be desired, especially paired with the ice that’s crawled into his expression.
I clear my throat. “Yeah,” I say. “I’m Sierra.
” A deep, fortifying breath. “So, while I appreciate your kindness, I’m thinking that you won’t want to get that cup of coffee.
” I reach into my purse, pull out my wallet and my last twenty from inside, passing it over to him.
“For your trouble,” I say softly. “Sorry it’s not more. ”
And then I turn away, start walking down that narrow driveway in the middle of the crowded parking lot and—
“Hey.”
He’s suddenly in front of me, eyes blazing with frustration now as he holds up a hand and passes my money back to me.
Right.
He probably doesn’t want money from Sierra.
I take it, shove it into my purse, secretly relieved.
It’s my last twenty, and my bank account is in dire straits.
I can do a lot with twenty bucks.
“Right,” I whisper. “Thanks.”
And then I turn away again.
And then he says “Hey” again.
And then he’s in front of me, big body blocking my frame.
“I don’t want any trouble,” I whisper. “I’m only in town until my car gets fixed and then I’ll be out of here and out of your hair.”
His brows drag together. “Why would I want you out of my hair?”
Now my brow furrows. “Why wouldn’t you?” I ask quietly.
“I—”
A car pulls into the lot, and his scowl deepens. His fingers wrap around my arm and he draws me to the side. The car rumbles by, but Bear doesn’t release me. “That was a dick move.”
I still, something cutting through me at the words.
It’s hardly an insult, definitely not the worst thing I’ve heard over the last few months.
But…it still stings.
I open my mouth to explain, even though it won’t do any good.
Even though it won’t change anything.
But he keeps talking.
“To write a song like that.” He shakes his head.
“Fine. Whatever. People write breakup songs all the time. I’ll never understand the motivation to splatter their personal business everywhere, but that’s their choice.
It’s all the shit he did afterward—trolling you on social media, the red carpet”—another sharp shake—“hell, didn’t I see there were dart boards with your face on them at the release party? ”
Dart boards. Yup.
And those big, wooden targets that people throw axes at painted with my face.
Fun times.
“That’s the shit I don’t get.”
I shrug. “The bigger the drama, the more records that are sold, the more times the song is streamed.”
“So, money is more important than anything else.”
Definitely more important than me.
Along with the need for fame, the desperation for the adoration of his fans.
But, then again, I knew that going in.
“I should go,” I murmur. “Thanks for your help with my tire.” I clear my throat. “And the drink.”
Which reminds me.
I hold up the twenty again. “Are you sure I can’t pay for cleaning your sweatshirt?”
His head tilts to the side, those blue eyes boring into mine.
But I don’t get to ask about the flash of anger dashing across his face.
Because his grip on my arm tightens.
And then he drags me out of the parking lot.