When There Was Her (California Dreaming #3)

Chapter 1

One

Itrip over another random part Vinny left on the floor where we work at the Chevron, and I want to punch his lazy ass in the hamstring and laugh while he doubles over.

Instead, I exit the service bay and fire up a cigarette, walking outside just as Remy pulls up.

Late, of course. Randolph Remington is the luckiest motherfucker alive, getting away with anything he wants, just like the classic rich kid.

My copper-haired best friend struts my direction with his typical, best-day-of-his-life bounce, his vivid blue eyes equally carefree. He’s always viewed the glass as half full—I’ll give him that.

The bright sunlight forces me to squint. “Nice of you to show up, dickhead. Were you out scoring your annual bikini wax?”

“You know it, sweetheart. Want a close-up? Double check that they did a good job?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

A slow smile spreads across his lips. “If I could, I would.”

“Bet you’d be sorely disappointed too.”

My gaze swings to a figure at the Self-Serve gas station next door, also owned by Leo, our boss.

Who is that? A chick stands by the hedge separating us.

The sun reflects off her billowing blond hair, and I swear it lights her up like an angel.

Is that the new cashier? My eyes connect with hers, and I lift my chin in acknowledgment.

She startles, bolting before I can really check her out.

Remy’s head whips around, following my line of sight. “What are you staring at?”

I shrug. “Might be the new hire.”

“Female?”

Very fucking female. I nod, realizing Remy will try hitting that, as per usual.

I stow my disgust at yet another thing he does and gets away with…

cheating on his girlfriend Karin. Why he hasn’t broken up with her stymies me, aside from securing him a steady piece of ass.

Still, Karin’s a total grind. I wonder if it’s worth the payoff, especially since he gets laid plenty with all his philandering.

“Cute?” he prods.

“Didn’t get a long look,” I answer, taking a hard pull, the nicotine hit spreading through my lungs. It’s not the full truth, but not a blatant lie either. Not sure why, but I’m not fueling his fire. He can find out on his own, maybe spare mystery girl from his advances for another day.

“New girl,” he says under his breath. “Sweet.”

I half-listen as he prattles on about planning to ditch Karin and come to Terry’s, where a handful of us are hanging out tonight. When my cigarette burns to the filter, I drop it to the pavement and grind the embers out with my boot. Time to get back to work.

At quitting time, I’m more than ready to leave the Chevron—and the gray Ford Pinto I’m slaving over. I like solving mechanical problems, but this one turned into a tedious headache. I fire up my pride and joy—my 1965 Mustang fastback—roll down the window, light up a Marlboro, and gun it for home.

After a cool shower and quick dinner, I drive into the Oakland hills to Terry’s house. The balmy air cascades pleasantly across my skin and coasts through my hair. It’s long right now, but I’m not a fan of it short, so the nuisance of it blowing in my face is worth it.

When I push through the door with a six-pack in tow, most of the gang’s here: Terry and his girlfriend Kendra, Jeremy, and Vinny.

I’ve known this group of guys for over a decade when we met playing baseball, and we’ve stayed tight ever since.

Remy’s the only one MIA, unless he decided to keep his date with Karin after all.

“’Sup Triple Threat,” I say, sliding palms with Terry.

He flashes me his signature grin, his bank of white teeth flashing against his mocha skin.

His Cal Berkeley Baseball shirt broadcasts he’s the only one of us to play ball at the collegiate level.

He even has a shot of making it to the MLB if he keeps killing it.

I kid him about being a triple threat because the dude’s a freak of nature.

In high school, he lettered in baseball, football, and track.

“Hi, Mick,” Kendra says, offering up one of her pretty smiles that always touch her big brown eyes.

“You still hanging around this bum?” I tease. Kendra is whip smart and gorgeous.

Terry pulls his girlfriend close. “Why you gotta do me like that? You’re supposed to be my homie.”

“Just trying to keep your ego in check.”

He flashes that grin again, and I give him one right back.

Vinny’s setting up a Quarters game and gives me a nod.

My irritation with him is long gone, and I’d never let being coworkers interfere with our friendship anyway.

Murano’s a decent guy, a softie really—despite his rather foreboding presence.

He’s got more muscles than any of us packed in his short, stocky frame.

I clap Jeremy on the shoulder and have to reach up to do it.

“My man,” he says, and we do a classic hook greeting, curling our fingers together. “What’s good?”

“Same ol’, same ol’, brother.”

We shoot the shit for a while before Terry and Kendra peel off into the living room to suck each other’s tonsils out.

Vinny waves us over. “Gentlemen? You just going to stand there or are you ready to get your asses whooped? Let’s play.”

I shake my head. Cocky sonofabitch.

Jeremy goes first, sinking the coin. He flips his bleached hair, the feathers falling back into place, then raises his brows over those mischievous blue eyes. “Drink up, Callahan.”

Like I don’t know. “Hold on to your panties, Hardy.”

Jeremy peers down the front of his jeans. “I think you have me confused with Vin.”

Vinny lunges at him, attempting to administer a wedgie, but Jeremy easily dodges it in time. “Don’t be touching this fine ass. I know how you Italians are.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, dude. You’ve got the wrong equipment…even if you are kind of pretty.”

I sidestep the grab-assing, light up a smoke, and take a few swigs of beer. It tastes damn good going down—chilled and slightly bitter.

The game resumes, and I’ve just finished sinking my own quarter when Remy arrives.

I hear him talking to Terry and Kendra before he strolls into the dining room where we’re set up.

I’m startled to see the girl I spotted earlier at his side, and fuck if I can’t look away now that she’s right in my line of sight.

I study her as Remy makes introductions. Jacqui. The new cashier indeed.

Damn, that hair is something else. Voluminous and a shade of light honey, it frames her oval face in layers and hangs well past her shoulders.

I’m jonesing to see just how long it is.

Her eyes are golden too, I think. Hard to tell from here.

And Jesus…that body. She’s built. Big tits, small waist, curvy hips, legs for days.

She’s on the taller side, and seems unfussy, natural.

I’m not even sure she’s wearing makeup. Fucking beautiful, like summer in human form.

Remy looks smug, and I want to rip his throat out. He’s such a greedy, predatory asshole.

When it’s my turn, I step forward to introduce myself and our eyes meet. Her hand is soft and smooth, a jarring contrast to mine. We stare at each other a few heartbeats, giving me a better view of her face, and I’m not sorry in the slightest.

Jacqui’s goaded into the game, and I try—and mostly fail—not to admire her ass as she positions herself in front of me, but it’s perfectly shaped, just like the rest of her, and those tight cutoffs outline every inch.

Upon confirming that hair stretches down her back, I suddenly envision it draped over the cock twitching behind my button fly.

I avert my gaze, take a hit off the joint Vinny passes me, and remind myself of all the reasons I’m not interested. I’m getting the hell out of dodge. I’m tired of Oakland. Bored with fixing uninspired cars at the Chevron. The partying’s become routine. Each day turns into another one just like it.

It’s all closing in on me. I’m twenty-two years old and want more than this. I certainly don’t want a girlfriend, and most women don’t interest me anyway.

As tempting as Jacqui is, she’s just another item to add to the avoid list. I need to stay focused.

She bounces the quarter into the glass, and when she moves into my periphery, relief coats her features.

Jeremy chugs the beer and retrieves the coin, wiping it off on his shirt. Without breaking eye contact with her, he unleashes a roguish grin. “I think you’re going to fit in nicely around here.”

Remy nods with approval as he offers her a Budweiser. “That’s the way you do it, New Girl.”

He takes his turn, missing the shot. Before he’s raised the glass to his mouth, the front door bangs open and a familiar voice shouts, “Where is that motherfucker?”

Karin. Here we go.

Remy springs away from Jacqui. A second later, his girlfriend enters.

Karin’s tiny in stature with teased strawberry-blond hair—a she-devil in every sense.

Her eyes fasten on Remy, shooting daggers.

She scans the crowd, pausing on the prettiest woman in the room.

“Who the fuck is this?” she demands. “Is she the reason you stood me up tonight with your bullshit excuse?”

Yup. I settle in, waiting for this to play out.

“No, babe,” Remy croons like the skilled liar he is. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

Fists planting on her hips, Karin purses her lips like she doesn’t believe him at all. She’s honestly terrifying for someone only five feet tall. “If you’re stepping out on me, we’re going the rounds right here, asshole.”

Remy glides toward her, palms up. “Come here, sweetheart. Don’t be like that.”

She bats his hands away. “Don’t sweetheart me. Who the fuck is she?” Karin scowls at Jacqui, and it raises my hackles.

“She works next door to us,” Vinny interjects, sliding an arm around Jacqui’s shoulders in a casually protective way. “Just started. Put your claws away and say hello to Jacqui.”

Jacqui meets Karin’s harsh stare. Impressive. “Hi,” she says.