by P. Dangelico
“Blue…” Athena calls after me as I walk away, no temptation to ever look back again. From here on out, I choose to focus on the present.
Chapter 12
At present… I can’t find the blue truck. Where the hell is the blue truck? Frantic, heart thumping a heavy beat, I search row upon row, my feet moving more and more quickly. And still, I don’t see the blue pickup. This shouldn’t be difficult. It’s pretty much the only pickup truck made in the 60s that’s still around. It’s dirty, old, and dented. Who the fuck would want to boost it?
Doubt creeps in. Did I lock it? I thought I locked it. Is Mona covered for theft? Can we afford another big expenditure right now? No. We can’t. And that truck may be a clunker, but it runs really well.
After an hour of being slow roasted, having taken a few laps around the parking lot, my frustration boils over. I sit on a bench and tears crowd my eyes. It’s all too much. I refuse to ugly cry, however, and bite my lip until the pain distracts me from the state of my life.
I dial Mona’s cell number and it goes straight to voicemail.
“Hi. It’s me––” A hiccup breaks free. I’m really not a crier. It’s that Athena has once again managed to reduce me to the lowest common denominator of myself.
“I think the pickup was stolen. I’m going to take an Uber back.” One that will cost me a fortune. “Just wanted to let you know I’ll be later than usual. You might have to feed dinner if I don’t get back in time. I’ll do night check.”
I hang up and glance around, accepting the utter disaster this day has turned into. Lunch was a total bust. I’m not even sure the damage can be fixed and now this. My phone blows-up. The ringtone is the Commodores’ Brick House which tells me Mona’s calling me back.
“Oh, sweetie. Don’t you worry about that old truck. I’m sending someone to pick you up so don’t get an Uber. Where are you?”
What would I do without Mona? Just hearing her voice makes the tears bubble up again. “Westfall Mall on a bench in front of Chico’s.”
Exactly forty minutes later, the rumble of a familiar car raises the fine hairs on the back of my neck and goosebumps cover my forearms. I glance up from the Mother Goose IG account––where I’ve spent the time being productive, answering DMs from patrons and followers––and see the Cobra slowly roll around the corner.
It’s like someone dumped a bucket of relief over my head. That’s the good part. The bad part is that seeing Shane knocks the legs out from under whatever was holding me together. Tears well up again.
He pulls up to the curb a few feet from where I’m sitting and looks at me, window down, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. “Need a ride?”
A tear sneaks down my cheek and I quickly wipe it away with my finger, pretending I got something in my eye. By the set of his mouth, I can tell he doesn’t buy it.
“Get in, Blue.”
I do just that, gather my things and walk around the front of the car to the passenger side. Then I slip into the soft leather seat and tip my head back on the headrest, hoping it keeps the rest of the tears pooling on my lids from falling.
The car smells like Shane, a subtle blend of leather, sandalwood, and pine. It makes me think of my mother’s scent. I still have a hard time walking down the body care aisle at Whole Foods because of the scent of patchouli. She’s forever ruined that aisle, and that scent, for me.
“What happened?” He’s watching me, the car still in park when all I want to do is leave this place and never come back. I want to go back home and see my animals.
“Mona’s pickup was stolen.”
“Before that.”
Another tear falls and I wipe it away with the heel of my palm. “My mother happened. Can we get out of here, please?”
He puts the car in drive and pulls away from the curb. “I’m gonna stop at the police station first and file a report. That alright?”
A police report. Of course. I nod. “Thank you,” I manage to get out without full-tilt crying. “Thank you for coming to get me and…” I suck in a breath. “Thank you for helping me clean up this mess.”
“No need to thank me, shirina.”
“What is that? Why do you keep calling me that?”
“It’s Pashto. I served two tours in Afghanistan.”
He doesn’t continue and I doubt I can get any more out of him by pushing. For a writer, he’s infuriatingly chintzy with his words.
He pulls into the police station parking lot ten minutes later and tells me to lock the doors as he gets out. Not long after that, he comes out of the building holding a stack of papers.
“Mind if we make one more stop?”
I shake my head. I don’t care if he keeps driving until we fall off the ends of the earth. I’m on shaky ground and can’t get my bearings. All that’s keeping me from losing it is his quiet company.
“Can I ask you something?” he asks. I can feel his soft rasp on the back of my neck and a shiver ripples over my skin.
“Anything.”
“Mona doesn’t drive?”
This gets a reluctant smile out of me. He makes the most innocuous questions sound sexy. “I thought you were going to ask me something personal. I’m only telling you this because she doesn’t hide it. Mona’s legally blind in one eye and her vision isn’t great in the other. It’s one of the reasons she hired me.”
“You two are close,” he says as a statement of fact.
“Very close…” I don’t know where I’d be without Mona. Rudderless. Lost for sure. “She’s more of a mother to me than mine has ever been. I would stay with her even if she wasn’t paying me.” The Cobra turns onto Pacific Coast Highway, Santa Monica Bay glistening on my left, and we head north. “Where are we going?”
“My place. I need to pick something up.”
Ten minutes later, we pull down a dirt driveway and keep going until land meets air. A silver Airstream trailer sits on a bluff overlooking the coast, next to it a couple of lawn chairs and a card table.
“This is your place? It’s beautiful.” A view worth millions, no doubt.
“I bought the land when I signed my first contract and never got around to building. I’m away too much… so this works for me.”
He parks and we both get out. The breeze blowing my hair back feels good. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, fill my lungs with sea air and push out all the residual anger at my mother. It’s my fault. My father was right. She is who she is and expecting her to change is insanity.
“What happened with your mother?”
I look over my shoulder to find Shane watching me closely, his dark brown eyes turning amber in the sunlight.
“My mother’s getting married again. She’s in town to ask my father for a divorce, and to see her new stepdaughter… she’s thirteen and goes to boarding school here.
“I guess I was hoping for her to be different. To come to her senses and turn into the mother I always wanted her to be. But people can’t change their nature, can they?”
Hands stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans, he walks up next to me and stares ahead at the sinking sun.
“No. I don’t think they can,” he murmurs in a resigned tone. I can’t help but wonder if he’s speaking about himself, or someone he loves.
“Grizzly bears like to roam,” comes out of my mouth without permission.
His brow wrinkles in confusion. “What?”
“Never mind… We should head back. I have to feed dinner.”
Looking down at me, he searches my face and nods. “Let me grab my laptop.”
While he disappears into the trailer, I glance around, drifting over to the lawn chair. I take a seat and stare at the horizon. Something about this place feels familiar to me. Homey, almost.
My gaze cuts left and I spot a paperback with the cover ripped off on the other lawn chair. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I reach for it and my suspicion is confirmed. My beloved copy of Simply freaking Sinful.
I pick it up and c
lutch it to my chest, whipping around in the chair. Shane is in the doorway of the trailer with a laptop tucked under his arm and a guilty expression on his face.
“You dirty, rotten, filthy liar!” I shout, standing. I’m not sure whether to be pissed or embarrassed, but somehow I end up laughing. I’ve been thoroughly played.
A grin splits his face. “You never asked me whether I had it.”
“You knew what I was looking for and you said nothing!” I charge up and he backpedals inside. I go to smack him with the book and he catches my arm in his free hand, the rough pads of his fingers wrapping gently against the fine skin on the inside of my wrist. My vitals spike; my pulse racing like I just ran a marathon, my breathing shallow as we stare at each other.
When I squirm to break free, he places the laptop down and grabs my other wrist. “Rule number one of hand-to-hand combat: never fight above your weight class.” His voice is low, and guttural, and dripping in sexual undertones.
I stop struggling because, let’s face it, I don’t want to break loose. I want him to pull me closer and kiss me like his life depends on it.
Shane’s gaze is molten and focused on the beauty mark at the edge of my mouth. I can practically feel his eyes on me and instinctively lick my lips. Other than in the stall, I’ve never been this close to him. Face to face. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off of him and his warm, minty breath on my skin.
Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, I silently beg.
I can’t take the anticipation anymore, my skin flashing hot and cold every few seconds. “Who said anything about hand-to-hand combat?”
I lean in just a bit and he does the rest. He drops my wrists and cradles my face in his hands, tilting my head so he can put his lips on mine at just the right angle. So that he can gently slide his tongue into my mouth and push his hips against mine.
I… am… overwhelmed, seeing stars behind my eyelids and feeling fireworks between my legs. Shane kisses like he means it, with his entire body and soul. Like he won’t stop until one of dies of old age.
Never in my tender twenty-nine-years have I ever been kissed like this before. Not by Jaime. Not by anyone. They’re gonna need the jaws of life to separate us. Or a crowbar. It’s going to take heavy-duty force for sure.
The rough brush of his erection pushing against his jeans is no match for the light cotton minidress I’m wearing. I’m close to coming when he suddenly steps away.
Panting heavily, he turns his back to me and runs his hands through his hair. Then he places his hands on his hips and his head drops. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”
From hot flashes to icy cold in seconds. I’ve never felt so cold in my life. And the man who was keeping me warm a second ago may as well be on another continent. A shiver runs up my back. To add insult to injury, I belatedly realize that my jean jacket is in the stolen truck.
“There’s nothing to apologize for… I kissed you. You shouldn’t––”
“I kissed you,” he argues, cutting me off and brooking no argument. “I wanted to kiss you, and I took advantage of the situation.”
Turning, his pointed gaze runs up and down my body methodically. Not with appreciation. Not even with lust. With apathetic scrutiny. Like a claims adjuster at the scene of an accident.
Great. Wonderful.
I smooth my skirt and wipe my mouth with my thumb. I can still taste him. I can still feel him on me. “I’m not a kid, Shane. Don’t treat me like I don’t know what I’m doing.”
He closes his eyes and breathes out tiredly. Then he says, “After you,” and motions with his hand to the exit.
We ride the entire way home in silence.
“I jumped him,” I say, after deliberating whether to tell her for all of a minute.
“Gawdammit, I’m proud of you,” Jess replies. No surprise there. Jump first and think later is Jessica’s motto.
I take a long drag of the bottleneck beer I stole from Darby’s stash in the refrigerator and continue, “I said, ‘what the hell’ and did it. Live in the present moment, right?”
“We could be dead tomorrow for all we know,” Jess grumbles. She’s in a dark place tonight. She had a bad day at work, and I’ve been in hell since Shane decided to destroy my fragile ego which is why we decided to get drunk over the phone. Jess is way ahead of me on that score. “Hit your head skiing like that actress, whatshername, and poof, gone.”
I step out of the tub and place the now-empty beer bottle down. “He hasn’t looked at me since then––bloody coward.”
“How long?”
“An eternity. Two days.”
“Men are the worst,” she grunts. “I hate them. Let’s hate them together.”
“Nah, we love them.”
“That right there, though. We do. We really do. We love men somethin’ fierce.”
“Man, you really are drunk. I’ll never catch up.” Wrapping a towel around my torso, I head for the bedroom and slip on a t-shirt. Shane’s t-shirt. Because I’m petty and will no longer be returning it.
“You got until the end of the month. Then they’re gone. What are you gonna do?”
What is there to do? Nothing. Except move on. After the initial burn wore off, I started to think… maybe it’s not about me? Maybe he’s in love with someone else? Maybe he’s pining for that woman I saw him with?
That would hurt. Not gonna lie, that would really hurt.
“I’m done with him and his hot body and his big dick energy.” I’m really not though. “I need to find a solid citizen, someone who wants the same things I do: a home filled with half a dozen kids.”
“Good Lord, do you know what that would do to your body? Vaginal reconstructive surgery coming right up.”
“I can only hope.” Crawling into bed, I pull the covers up to my nose. “I’m going to sleep now. You should, too.”
“Happy dirty dreams,” Jess shoots back. The line goes dead, and soon after, I slip into a peaceful pseudo-coma courtesy of Rolling Rock beer and Darby French.
You would think growing up in Los Angeles would prepare you to handle earthquakes. You would think that, wouldn’t you?
Well, you would be wrong.
The bed shaking wakes me, but it takes me a moment to get my bearings and figure out exactly why. I was in the middle of a hot and heavy filthy dream featuring my fantasy man, so cut me some slack.
I jump out of bed and rush down the stairs to Mona’s bedroom, forgetting all about Darby. He almost knocks me over in their mad dash out the door, Darby in his jeans with the fly hanging open and Mona trailing him in her leopard print robe.
“Oh, sweetie,” Mona yelps. “Outside quick!”
All of us head for the front door while the earth keeps trembling beneath our feet. It’s impossible to run and we have to hold on to the walls as we go. What most people who haven’t experienced an earthquake don’t understand is that the ground doesn’t only shake side to side. It also moves up and down. The sensation is like being on the sea in a violent storm, which is why it’s so hard to keep your balance.
As soon as we make it outdoors, the animals running around and screaming is the first thing that hits me. I must’ve been sleeping like the dead not to have heard them. You can often tell an earthquake is about to hit by how the animals behave.
On the porch, I grab my cowboy boots and shove them on, my ass crashing to the ground because I can’t keep my balance. Then I join Darby, Mona, and Aidan, who didn’t bother with anything other than his boxer briefs, on the gravel driveway. Shane reaches them the same time I do. He’s in shorts and sneakers and if I wasn’t in the middle of a natural disaster, I would have time to appreciate his absolutely exquisite chest. Bastard.
The tremors finally stop and all of us glance at each other, then at the animals. In the distance, I can hear all the car alarms going off in town. It wasn’t the worst earthquake I’ve lived through and it wasn’t the longest.
“4.0,” Darby is the first to predict.
Aidan shakes his head. “4.5 at least.”
Shane doesn’t say anything. Instead, he peers down at me with an eyebrow hitched up, his mouth wavering into a potential smile.
“What?” Two days he’s been pretending I don’t exist and now he wants to be chummy because of a little earthquake? Yeah, I think not.
“Nice shirt.”
Oh. I look down and realize my mistake. I’m wearing his USMC t-shirt that I refuse to return. I shrug, deciding to go for broke. Collies can be vicious if provoked. “It’s a comfortable t-shirt. Don’t read anything into it.”
His mouth twitches in amusement. I’m not amused. In fact, I’m far from amused, my temper waking from hibernation.
“I can give it back to you right now if want?” I grab the shirt at the hem. It’s so big it hits the middle of my thigh. Lifting it, I get close to my panty line and he gently takes my arm.
The pads of his fingers glide carefully over the back of my upper arm, not lingering too long lest I get the wrong impression. God forbid. Well, I am getting all the wrong impressions. Every place he touches is scorched earth, destined to never forget that Shane Hughes has been there. This guy really brings out the worst in me.
“Stop,” he says quietly––quiet enough that the rest of them (all of whom have suddenly become amateur seismologists and are still arguing the Richter scale rating of this quake) can’t hear.
After a brief but aggressive eye duel, I walk away to check on the animals. Shane isn’t far behind. “Go away,” I order without missing a step.
Naturally, he doesn’t. I turn abruptly and he stops short, only a foot separating us. “What do you want, Shane?” I take a step back, so I’m not forced to tip back my head to see his face.
“I need to check that the structure isn’t compromised,” Shane murmurs. “You’re not going in that barn before me.”
The saving grace is that none of the animals were in the barn tonight. It’s been hot at night lately, and I’ve been leaving them in their paddocks.