Chapter Twenty-Three
Oliver
Clunk!
“What was that?” Lemon turns in her seat, eyes wide and nostrils flared. Wish I could say it wasn’t sexy as Hell, but it’s sexy as— “Hello! You act like you don’t know how to drive a manual.”
My hand curls around the gearshift, moving from fourth to third, and I swipe my eyes to Lemon’s when it feels like the bottom of the car drops out with my driving.
She is fuming.
I should have stuck to my instincts, stuck to what I know. I was attempting to be adventurous. Live free.
“I thought it would be like the one I learned on. It seems there’s a difference between a rusted old farm truck and a hundred-thousand-dollar sports car.”
“Two-hundred-twenty thousand.”
“Fudge! That much?” My hands sweat against the leather steering wheel.
“It’s a custom paint job. And I’m sorry, can we circle back to fudge? What are you, sixty?”
“I have kids. I can’t exactly walk around saying the f-word.”
“I say it around your kids all the fuckin’ time.”
I press my lips together but fail to hold back my smile. “Don’t tell me that.” The way she makes me laugh about things most people hide is just another reason to want her near.
“Jesus!” She yelps as we soar over a pothole. She’s clearly had enough when her hand covers mine on the gearshift, and while I recognize it’s usually the other way around, the man teaching the woman to drive a stick, I have no problems challenging the norm on this one.
In fact, I want her to boss more.
“Clutch and decrease speed,” she commands, moving us to second. “Guess we can add sportscars to the list of your Not Hobbies,” she teases. “So far, it’s that and porn.”
“I should have told you I’m not used to handling a stick.”
“Oh, I am very privy to how long it’s been since your stick has been handled.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s the talk of the coffee shop, if you didn’t know. You and your very large shoe size.”
“Is Lemon Perkins jealous?” A grin forces across my face, and I’m not sure how it’s possible, but I fall for her more. “Think I’ll have my nanny make my coffee from now on. She has the best tasting cream.”
She blushes, squeezing my hand with each come on, and coaxing me through until I’m transitioning smoothly.
Eventually, the practiced movements of her driving lesson click, and I can confidently switch from one gear to the next.
Her praise helps, gentle nudges and satisfied grins—things I didn’t realize felt so warm.
When did I become so used to the cold?
“You’re getting better with direction. Super coachable.” She winks. “It’s a promising indicator of good…oral skills. Good for you and me, I guess.”
I break into laughter. “Are you still playing the role of self-assured billionaire right now?”
“Guess you’ll have to find out, won’t you, Mr. Nashville?” She leans over the console, heating the skin beneath my ear. “Now, be a good boy and clutch in before you move us back to—”
Clunk!
“What the hell was that?” Lemon swats my shoulder.
“Ow!”
“You were doing so well.”
“It wasn’t me,” I say, scanning the rearview mirror. I pull to the shoulder. “We ran over something. It felt…” I blow out a breath, anxious to even say it, “big.”
“An animal?” She gasps. “Did we kill an innocent animal? Oh, my God!”
“I don’t know.” My chest tightens. “I don’t know, damn it. I don’t know. Let’s just…”
She closes her hand over mine and squeezes. “Let’s just look.”
I wipe my forehead, exiting my side of the vehicle, and Lemon does the same on hers, until we’re walking along the edge of the road.
“I see it!” She runs ahead. The sun is setting, but orange and pink still paint the sky behind her when she bends down. My breath instantly releases on an exhale, noting the heap in her arms too jagged to be a cat or dog.
Or worse.
It’s just a hunk of rubber.
We relax our shoulders at the same time. “It’s part of a tire, I think.”
We inspect it, exchanging a worried look.
“This tire has blown to pieces.”
Several feet up the road, more vehicle debris reflects beneath the glow of Lemon’s headlights. We don’t have to speak the same words to share the same fear that the person this happened to might still need help.
We hurry back to the Mustang, and Lemon clears her throat. “Not to crush the fragile shell of masculinity or anything, but are you insistent on driving?”
“Enough said.” I toss her the keys.
“I’ll just be faster.” She crosses to the driver’s side. “Probably safer if there’s debris in the road, too, and someone could need our help.”
She wears a hard shell, but deep down, she cares about people. Not just some people, but every person she meets. All bark with nothing but puppy love underneath.
“I’m man enough to admit when my woman is better at something than I am,” I say, putting my hand beneath hers on the gearshift. The whimper she lets out is damn near ecstasy.
“Teach me?”
The engine roars to life, her unnatural violet eyes following suit, flaring so brightly I could find them among the stars.
“First I’m your baby, now I’m your woman?”
We say nothing more, but the smile stretches over her pressed lips, and she turns to the road, refusing to meet my eyes as she drives forward.
Seconds go by, and with them, piece after piece of the tire, until the hazard lights of a disabled stretch limo flash in the distance, the frame of the tire flush with gravel and dirt.
Burning rubber pervades the air as we exit the car.
A scream from inside the vehicle rings through the night, and we both pause. Lemon shoots me a single glance before jetting to the driver’s side door. “Are you all right?” She bangs on the window. “Do you need help?”
“This side,” a shaky voice calls. He’s young, maybe a teenager.
My parental instincts kick in, and I rush to the passenger side on Lemon’s tail to see a scrawny boy—no older than twenty, at the wheel, drowning in what appears to be a chauffeur’s uniform, but with bright red cheeks and mussed hair, he looks like a child playing dress-up in his father’s suit.
The driver?
He sifts his fingers through his hair, pinning me with his helpless stare and immediately connecting me to his salvation. It’s unsurprising, in a way, a weight I’m used to feeling. For the girls, Lauren, the company and the bands I tour with...Lemon’s different, though.
She takes care of herself.
Of me and the kids, too.
Teaching me to drive a manual? Who the hell knew that was in my cards tonight? Things are spontaneous and new with her, every single day. Showing me how to walk and talk like a million bucks, even if that’s the kind of man she says hates.
And she takes care of things now.
I might be what this kid thinks a hero looks like, but she’s so much more than that, an everyday savior who doesn’t even bother with a cape. She just follows her heart.
The driver whispers a prayer under his breath and hangs his head. “She hit her head when the tire blew out, because I slammed on the brakes. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”
“It’s okay, Benji,” an even younger voice says over a wince of pain. This one is female, and when I see who emerges from the back, I think I may have hit my head, too.
“Shaylyn?” I stumble over the name. “I mean…Miss Tryst. Please forgive my familiarity.”
“Call me Shaylyn.” She giggles, but then sucks in on another pained wince as her hand shoots to her bleeding head.
“Talk about a coincidence,” Lemon whispers.
“No such thing,” I mumble back.
Lemon procures a first aid kit from her glove compartment. “Here, honey. Let me clean you up. I’m certified in first aid. Is that okay?”
Shaylyn nods with a relieved sigh, and it’s only then I see the fear in her eyes.
The blood beads atop her forehead, and she shivers.
“Thank you. I feel wobbly right now, and my head has been pounding for a few minutes. It didn’t happen right away, but it keeps getting worse the longer we wait here. ”
I swipe at my phone, but nothing dials out. “I’ve got no signal.”
Shaylyn nods, frustrated. “The road assistance signal is jammed or something. It isn’t sending messages from the limo’s Bluetooth, and neither my phone nor Benji’s has signal. We’ve been stuck for a bit.” Her glamor-painted lips tremble. “I’m supposed to be at an event any minute.”
Lemon smiles softly, wiping the blood away with antiseptic.
I’m captivated watching her work, the same tongue that was sliding over mine earlier is now poking from the side of her mouth as she concentrates on cleaning the wound.
She places a clear, gummy strip over it and inspects her work.
“I applied a liquid bandage. It’s like superglue.
You almost needed a stitch for that. Look to the side, up, and down while I hold this light up, all right, Shay? ”
“How did you know that was my nickname?” The popstar shoots me a quick look, but I can only shrug. I don’t get it either.
“Lemon is full of surprises.”
“My best friend goes by Shay, too.” She rolls her eyes at me. “Remember, the one watching your children?” She winks at Shaylyn then. “I can just feel the connection to the name. She’s talented like you.”
She’s not just talking, I realize when she winks at me, too. She’s distracting Shaylyn from the exam, making her concussion screening a normal conversation.
“She’s a dancer,” Lemon goes on, holding up fingers for Shaylyn’s eyes to follow. “Owns her own ballet studio, super preggers right now, and I cannot wait to meet the little lady she’s going to raise.”
“That’s so sweet. My friend is pregnant, too,” Shaylyn whispers, “but she’s a few years younger than me…” She bites her lip as she meets Lemon’s nurturing stare. “The guy who…well, the father, he’s complicated. He hasn’t helped her.”