by Chelle Bliss
“Cousin, she’s a person like me and you.”
Tamara raises one of her perfect, dark eyebrows. “She is not a person. She’s way more than that. I’ve been following her for years.”
“And somehow you didn’t recognize her?”
“Well, she looks different in person and without all the makeup and filters.”
“What the fuck is a filter?” I ask.
She lifts her phone and shakes it in my face. “You know, on a camera to make you look better.”
I blink, feeling stupid. “People use filters to look better?”
“Men are clueless creatures.” She shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “Where’s Jo?”
“She peeled out of here as soon as she spotted the photographer.”
“The correct term is paparazzi,” she says.
“Whatever,” I mutter.
“You’re about to become famous too.”
“Fucking fantastic,” I grumble, pacing the tile floor in front of the counter. “I have to go. Jo had to go back to my place.”
“She’s going to run.”
I stop moving, turning my eyes toward my cousin. “To where?”
She shrugs. “Anywhere she can’t be found.”
“Fuck!” I howl, hauling ass out of the office, knowing Tamara’s fucking right.
Seventeen long minutes later, I pull into an empty driveway and run inside the house, frantically searching for her. Her pink suitcase is gone, and any remnant of her being at my place has vanished except for a small white sheet of paper folded on the pillow on the couch with the word Nick scrolled in immaculate penmanship.
I grab the note, flip it open, and scan the words.
Nick,
Thank you for the escape, the safety, and the reality. I’ll cherish the short time we had together. I’m sorry for any trouble I’ve caused you.
You deserve better than to be dragged into the mess I call my life. Your generosity and warmth will never be forgotten.
Always,
Jo xoxo
The paper dangles between my fingers as I move around the house, anger welling up inside me, threatening to boil over.
Fuck.
She is gone. Vanished. Disappeared like she was never here, with only a note as a reminder and the faint smell of her still on my skin.
No matter how hard I try to shake the imprint she made on me, I find it impossible for my mind not to drift back to the moment our lips touched and so many things were spoken without words.
Jesus. I sound like a wishy-washy chick who’s fallen head over heels for someone without even really knowing them at all.
I pull out my phone, calling the one person I know can help me find someone on the run. “Dad,” I say as soon as he answers. “I need your help.”
“What’s up, Nick?” he replies without hesitation.
“You know the woman who was at my house earlier today?”
“The one your mother brought over soup to?”
“Yeah.”
“Mmm-hmm. Your mother grew rather fond of her in the short time they spent together.”
“She’s gone, and I need to find her.”
“I see someone else is as fond of her as your mother.”
“Dad.”
“Son.”
“Dad, will you help me?”
“Why did she leave?”
“She’s not who I thought.”
“Say that again,” he tells me, and I cringe because that sounded way shittier than it really is.
“Her parents are famous.”
I pause, and my father clicks his tongue.
“And, I guess, she’s famous too,” I tell him. “Someone snapped a photo of us today, and she took off.”
“She’s probably blowing off some steam, Nick. She’ll probably be back. Having your privacy invaded like that on a constant basis isn’t easy for anyone. You may need to give her space if you’re looking for her to return.”
“Dad, she took all her shit and left a note. She’s not coming back.”
“Maybe it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. I won’t accept that she’s gone and there’s nothing I can do about it. I need to know she’s okay. I need to know she’s safe. I need to…”
“Sounds like more than fondness, son. She got under your skin faster than I ever thought possible.”
Damn. She did.
She slid in there when I was looking at her sweet smiles, and then the kiss…the kiss was the end of me.
I blow out a breath, feeling winded and like someone punched me right in the gut. “She’s in deep, and I don’t think I’ll ever get her hook out of me without at least knowing she’s okay.”
“You sure she wants you coming after her?”
I glance up, closing my eyes, holding the phone to my ear. “Whatever she wants. I can’t force her to be here if she wants to run, but I need to know she isn’t driving around frantically, sleeping in another parking lot tonight. Shit ain’t safe for a woman.”
“You’re letting your sexism show, Nicholas.”
“She doesn’t have a gun. I’m pretty sure any senior citizen within a fifty-mile radius could beat her in a physical fight. So, yeah, I may sound sexist, but I’m only speaking the truth. She can’t be out there alone, sleeping in a dark parking lot.”
“There are hotels.”
“Motels,” I correct him. “She’s a Ritz kind of girl.”
“So, then head south. I’m sure you’ll find her near Clearwater.”
“Old man, you’re going to make me drive around two counties trying to track down a woman you can find with a simple phone call.”
He scoffs. “A simple phone call and a favor owed for asking for that information.”
“I’ll pay your marker. The favor will be owed by me.”
“Doesn’t work that way.”
“You going to do it or not?”
“Consider it done, because if I told you no, your mother would make me pay for the rest of my life.”
“Whatever it takes. She was my next call if you said no.”
“You don’t play fair. But then, you never did.”
“Get the info and call me back,” I tell him, ending the call and heading out of the house toward my truck.
Fuck the bike.
It isn’t practical with the dark clouds forming, the usual evening thunderstorms rolling in when the warm air meets the cooler wind from the Gulf.
Climbing into my truck, I turn the key, gun the engine, and head out toward the taco stand where I first saw her.
“Found her,” my father blurts as soon as I pick up. “Sorry it took so long.”
“It’s been an hour,” I bite out, pissed as fuck after driving around for the entire sixty minutes and coming up empty. “I’ve looked everywhere and can’t find her.”
“Relax, kid. She didn’t get too far in an hour.”
“Where is she?” I growl, unable to stop myself because he’s dragging his feet.
“She’s at the Neon Cowboy.”
“The Neon Cowboy? For fuck’s sake.” I run my hand down the front of my face, shaking my head. “What the fuck is she doing at a biker bar?”
“Probably drinking and doing her best to get lost in a crowd.”
“Dad, she wouldn’t blend in with the guys there and not even the women. She’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”
“Then you better haul ass and go rescue the girl.”
“On it. Call me if she moves.”
“Been there going on thirty-plus minutes. I don’t see her moving any time soon. Good luck.”
“Thanks,” I say, ending the call and tossing my phone on the passenger seat.
With her looks and designer clothes, the men at the Neon Cowboy would be all over her, and every woman in the place would be plotting her death. Most likely, they’d have no clue who she was, but that wouldn’t matter. She’d still be the object of their attention, and the ver
y thought of someone laying hands on her, trying to take advantage of her, makes my stomach turn.
If something happens to her, heads will roll.
13
Jo
There’s no mistaking the simple fact that I’m not in California or, for that matter, not even in Clearwater, Florida, either.
If I thought I was in the middle-of-nowhere Florida before, I was wrong. This dive bar filled with guys covered in leather and denim, sporting long beards, and covered in tattoos is beyond anything I could’ve imagined when I stepped foot inside.
Ignoring all the eyes on me, I hop up on a high-top stool in front of the bar, tossing my Louis bag next to me and resting my hand on top.
My gaze follows the bartender, a man who’s easily one of the largest guys I’ve ever laid eyes on, as he pours drinks and sweet-talks some of the female patrons down the row from me. He’s sporting a Ride or Die tank top that used to be a T-shirt before someone took a pair of scissors to the material, cutting off the sleeves.
I don’t need to look around to know most of the eyes in the place are still pointed in my direction. I’ve been the center of attention on more than one occasion, but usually surrounded by the media and Hollywood elite.
This experience is different.
I feel like an outsider in every way. Usually bartenders are an easy mark, always willing to bend over backward to serve me first. But not here. Nope. His taste is clearly more trashy than classy.
“Hey, I’d…” I say as he passes by me, holding up a hand to get his attention.
But it doesn’t work. I don’t even get a sideways glance as he stalks by, heading toward the cooler at the other end of the bar.
“Sir,” I call out, waving my hand this time, figuring maybe he can’t hear me over the classic rock playing overhead.
Again, I’m wrong as he walks back the other direction to a pair of girls whose hair is teased so high and looks so hard, they have to use an entire bottle of hair spray every time they do their hair.
“Whatcha want, sweetheart?” a man offers, sliding onto the empty stool next to me.
I stop moving, scared to glance his way until he snakes his arm around my high-top stool and his hand touches my back.
“Sir,” I reply, putting on my sweet voice as I turn to him. I suck in a breath as my belly plummets, but not in that oh-God-he’s-so-sexy kind of way. “I appreciate the offer.”
“Didn’t offer anything.” He gives me a toothy grin as he rakes his eyes over me in the greediest and thirstiest fashion. “Not yet, at least. I asked what you want, not what I want.”
“Um,” I mumble, soaking in his wild beard that hasn’t been trimmed in months. His lips are almost invisible through the strands of hair that seem to point in every direction like a scattered spider web. “Just a whiskey.”
“On the rocks?” He raises a bushy eyebrow.
I nod, swallowing down my fear. “It doesn’t matter as long as it’s liquor.”
I see his teeth again because he’s smiling. Or at least, I think he is, but it’s hard to tell other than the way his cheeks rise and the whiteness of his teeth in between the beard.
“Clay, the woman wants a whiskey on the rocks,” he calls out after snapping his fingers at the bartender, getting his attention.
Clay, the asshat who has been ignoring me, gives the burly guy next to me a quick nod and goes about his business.
“I’m going to give you a little advice,” the man next to me says, moving his arm away from my back and placing both hands on the bar top in front of him. “Take it for what it’s worth, or ignore what I’m about to tell you entirely.”
“Everyone has advice and wants to tell me how to run my life,” I mumble, closing my eyes and shaking my head. “Twenty-some years I’ve been bossed around, and now some stranger wants to sit next to me and give me advice too.”
Clay, the dickhead with the cutoff sleeves, slides the drink in front of me, giving the bearded guy to my right the side-eye.
“I see someone ruffled your feathers,” the man states, ignoring Clay, as he pushes my drink closer. “Drink up. I think you may need more than one to deal with whatever demon you have inside of you.”
“Demon?” I ask, turning my gaze toward him, staring into his eyes that are almost as dark as the blackest sky. My laugh starts small, bubbling out of me louder the more serious his face becomes.
“Lots of demons,” he mutters, studying my face as he runs his nubby fingers over his beard. “Might take at least three drinks to have those spirits start talking before giving your mind a rest.”
My laughter dies, and I stare at him in confusion. “I appreciate the drink, mister.”
“Tobias.”
“What?”
“Name’s Tobias, not mister.”
“I appreciate the drink, Tobias,” I correct my previous statement and continue on with where I was going before he felt the need to interject his name. “But I really came here to be alone and think.”
“Best thinking is done with a partner.”
I blink, wondering if he’s crazy, drunk, or a combo of the two. He’s making abso-freaking-lutely no sense at all, talking in circles about nonsense. I shake my head and turn my body toward my drink, wrapping my fingers around the cool glass. “While I agree sometimes having someone to bounce your problems off is nice, I need to be with myself tonight.”
“Steel,” he grunts.
“What?” I blink, remembering when Nick muttered the same thing about me. “I’m not steel,” I tell him, lifting my glass to my lips.
“Hard as a rock,” he adds, turning his entire body my direction until his knees touch my thighs. “Soft-looking, but beyond that, nothing but stone.”
I blink, turning my head only slightly, and stare at him out of the corner of my eyes with the glass still at my lips.
“Listen,” he continues, lifting his arm and placing his hand on the back of my stool again, but this time not touching me. “Nothing about you screams biker bar or even that you’re looking to take a ride on the wild side tonight, sweetheart.”
“Whatever gave you that impression?” I mutter into my glass, staring at the ice cubes as the liquid slowly disappears.
He chuckles, sounding sweet compared to his rough exterior. “No one looking like you strolls into a place like this. So, that means one of two things. Either some dipshit broke your heart, or you’re lost. I’m pretty sure the Yelp review doesn’t talk about the great food, the fancy drinks, and the impeccable service.”
I don’t know why, but I laugh and turn my head, placing my drink back on the bar. “Yelp? You use Yelp?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” he says, like I’m the crazy one out of the two of us.
“Tobias, what’s your endgame here?” I say with a sigh.
“No endgame. You’re lost, and this isn’t the place someone ever comes to when they want to be found. And since you look like you, I figured you needed someone to sit here by your side, so some horny dipshit doesn’t saddle up to you, trying to get into those cute little shorts you’re wearing.”
He is partially right. I don’t want to be found. I wasn’t lost, heading down the country road, making a run for the highway to get the hell out of here. But when I saw the row of bikes and the bar after miles of nothing, I stopped to take a break and gather my thoughts.
I ignore him, going back to nursing my whiskey, hoping he’ll go away.
“So, where ya from? Sounds West Coast.”
“California.”
“What part?”
“Near LA.”
“I spent a few years in San Diego. Miss the weather out there.”
“You lived in California?” I eye him again, wondering how he fit in with the bohemian lifestyle and cool coastal vibe down in SoCal.
“I was stationed there for three years.”
“Navy?” I raise an eyebrow, looking at him a bit differently.
“Yes, ma’am. Spent twenty years serving this country. Lived ev
erywhere. Been to every continent on this planet, wearing the flag, representing our great nation.”
“Thanks for your service.”
He waves his hand. “I’d like to say I did it for honorable reasons, but it was a paycheck, health insurance, and the only thing I ever knew from the time I was eighteen until almost forty.”
“And now?”
“Now, I have my freedom and the wind.”
“Freedom,” I echo. “I wish I knew what that felt like.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Babe, you’re not free?”
I shrug. “In the simplest form, I am, but the reality of my freedom and yours are two very different things.”
“Husband?”
I shake my head. “Family.”
“The worse type of captivity.” Tobias motions toward Clay and then to my glass. “Is your family the reason you’re sitting your pretty little ass next to me tonight?”
I’m partially flattered, but mostly not. Looking around the bar, the ladies are far from glamorous. Many of them haven’t stepped out of the eighties, though their wrinkles have moved forward even if their hair and makeup have not. “Kinda, but it’s mostly about a guy.”
Tobias’s dark eyes study my face for a moment as he leans back. “He break your heart?”
“No. I ran away.”
He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing. “He hurt you?”
“No,” I snap. “He’d never do that.”
“Cheat?”
“No.”
“Steal?”
“No.”
“You cheat?”
“No.”
“You hit him?”
“No.”
“Then what the fuck, sweetheart? I’m not trying to be mean, but not for nothing, I don’t see why you ran, leaving the poor sap in the dust.”
I straighten my back and curl my fingers around the new glass that’s placed in front of me by Clay. “My life is complicated, and he didn’t need the hassle.”
Tobias shakes his head, cursing under his breath. “Did you let him make that decision, or did you go off half-cocked, taking it upon yourself to decide what he wanted or didn’t in his life?”
“Well…I…” I stare into the amber liquid and blink. “I guess I made the decision for him,” I mumble.