Embracing Reckless

by Melanie Shawn

  The way the golden orange light of the sunset threaded through her shining blonde hair was kind of hypnotizing. In fact, I wondered if it had hypnotized me. Because, shit, when I tried to think back on anything I said in our conversation, all that came up in my brain was a big, fat blank. Literally. Like, a blank piece of paper was all I could see.

  Her, on the other hand, well that was different. Every word she said, every gesture, every smile and crinkle around her eyes was burned into my memory. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her. Like I was trying to solve the mystery, and her facial expressions and movements contained all the clues.

  I’d been attracted to girls before. Seen them in the bars where I was slinging drinks and recognized that they were hot. Hell, a lot of them, I’d even put in some effort to take them home.

  But none of them were like this. None of them had hit me like a bolt of lightning that just kept striking.

  I didn’t believe in God. I didn’t know what I believed in. But I sent a quick prayer of thanks to whatever or whoever might be up there for putting this girl in my path—and setting up a situation where I could be a hero right off the bat. That wasn’t bad, either.

  I walked back over to her, holding the sat phone up in triumph. “They’ll be here as soon as they can.”

  She closed her eyes as visible relief washed over her, and exhaled a small puff of air. “Oh, thank God,” she breathed.

  Oh, damn. I was instantly hard. Leave the “thank” part out of it, and change the surroundings to a bed instead of the side of the road, and what she just did could easily have been read as an expression of sexual pleasure.

  I fought to keep my dick under control. Hell, I wasn’t eighteen anymore. At twenty-four, I’d been a grown-ass man for six full years now. This was the first time in a long time I’d gotten so uncontrollably turned on that there was a real possibility of public indecency if I couldn’t get my shit together, and quick.

  She strode over to me and placed her hands on my chest, standing on tiptoe to give me a quick peck on the cheek before leaning back against the car again. “Thank you so much,” she exclaimed, her voice a little rough around the edges.

  Fuck!

  That hadn’t helped my dick-taming campaign in the least. The whole thing had only taken a few seconds, start to finish, but I could still feel her soft lips on my skin. They lingered there as if she’d never stepped away.

  The skin on my chest burned where her palms had pressed against it, even through my T-shirt. I was pretty sure if somebody looked at me through a set of those Predator heat-vision goggles, there’d be giant red imprints of Brandy’s hands across my pecs.

  But the thing that got me most was her smell. I don’t know if it was her shampoo, or her lotion, or, hell, just her natural aroma. But it was like citrus and strawberries decided to have a party, and it spun my head so far around I didn’t know if it would ever stop.

  Then, there was the raspy sound of her voice. Awww, damn. I didn’t know if it was the force of her relief and gratitude that had caused the sandpaper effect on her vocal chords or if she felt the same way I did.

  After all, the energy passing between us was intense as hell. There was no way she was oblivious to it.

  I hoped, anyway.

  I decided I wasn’t going to leave that up to chance. After all, how often did something like this happen? A beautiful girl with shining blonde hair and smooth, tanned legs that her shorts showed off to fucking perfection just sitting on the side of the road in a busted car? And I happen to be the first one to offer help?

  Hell, no. This was a once in a lifetime chance, and I wasn’t just going to sit back and hope that she felt the sparks, too. I was going to get out my flint striker and fucking make those sparks appear.

  I suddenly remembered that she’d thanked me, and by getting lost in all of my thoughts about how amazing she was, I was being kind of a dick by not responding.

  I gave her my most charming smile and sauntered over to lean against the car next to her. We weren’t quite touching, but close. I gave her a nudge with my shoulder, and when she looked up into my face, I held her gaze for a long moment. It wasn’t hard. God, her eyes were mesmerizing. Then, in a suave tone of voice that I’d perfected over hundreds of hours behind a bar, I leaned in close and said, “You’re very welcome.”

  She blushed and smiled a smile that had my heart hammering as she ran her fingers through her hair, then twisted her hands together like she wasn’t sure what to do with them.

  That was good. Very good, in fact. When a girl got flustered when she was near you but didn’t move away…when, in fact, she moved in closer…that was pretty much the best sign you could hope for.

  Maybe I wasn’t going to have to work as hard as I’d thought to ignite those flames.

  Damn. I couldn’t help but smile like a damn fool. Brandy was like the first day of summer and Christmas morning all rolled into one.

  I’d spent years on the road on my bike, but for a while now, every road had started to look the same, stretching out in front of me to the horizon. Pleasant enough, but no surprises. Now, for the first time in a long time, I saw a beautiful bend up ahead and couldn’t wait to see what was on the other side.

  Chapter 7

  Brandy

  Now that the tow truck operator had finally arrived, I had mixed feelings. Obviously, I was filled with gratitude. My situation, which had been so precarious before Clay showed up, was actually getting better. I couldn’t help but be thankful.

  On the other hand, there’d been a sort of magical romance when it was just Clay and me, standing on the side of the road surrounded by nothing but trees, no sound but our voices and the occasional bird’s chirping.

  I was a real dork, I knew. But I couldn’t help mentally comparing it to a fairy tale. He was the knight in shining armor, riding in to rescue me on his noble steed…well, his noble Harley, anyway.

  My imagination was running away with me like it always did. If I’d glanced down, I wouldn’t have been totally surprised to see myself wearing a silky medieval princess ball gown, then when my eyes traveled over to Clay, to see him outfitted like a conquering warrior, there to save me damsel-in-distress style.

  My fantasies had always been rich and detailed. They were how I lived a full life. In the real world, I was so buttoned up. In my mind was where I could let every possibility play out. Nothing was impossible there.

  The only downside? Sometimes I had to get that shit in check before it ran rampant. Like now. Like imagining Clay as my knight, in full regalia. It could get out of hand.

  I let the arrival of the tow truck serve as a natural breaking point for my fantasy life and whipped myself back to reality.

  A broad, burly man wearing oil-stained blue coveralls stepped down from the truck’s cab and walked over to us. The patch sewn to his chest had seen better days, but the script embroidery reading “Bud” was still completely legible.

  He looked at my AAA card and then got to work hooking my car up to the tow truck. I couldn’t help but notice that Clay made it a point to position himself subtly in between us, no matter where I moved, or where Bud did. It took me a moment to catch on because it wasn’t obvious, but once I noticed and started watching for it, I saw that it was true one hundred percent of the time.

  My heart fluttered in my chest and I had to fight to keep a smile off my face.

  Damn. This did nothing to discourage my “white knight” fantasies.

  I had lots of experience looking out for other people. Being on the other side of that equation felt even better than my wildest fantasy.

  When Bud made the last connection that fastened my car to his truck, he turned to Clay and me and said, “Welp, let’s get ’er on in to the shop. Don’t know if they’ll still be open at this time of night, but we can at least drop ’er off. I can take one of you in the cab. Both would be a tight squeeze.”

  Clay moved nearer to me and I instinctively took a step toward him, as well, when I sensed
the confidence in his energy. “We’ll follow you,” he said, his voice firm and decisive.

  I wouldn’t have had a problem with that plan anyway, but even if I did, that calm sureness in his voice would’ve definitely quelled any lingering doubts I had.

  Bud nodded and climbed in his truck. He seemed like he couldn’t care less what we did, which gave me the strangest feeling. In my mind, every word that Clay said, every movement, every facial expression—was all imbued with so much meaning. Even the smallest gesture made me jump and tingle. I felt it all over my body.

  To have someone else right there in the conversation with us, acting like it was the most run of the mill, boring, everyday thing that’d ever happened was a little unsettling. In my mind, obviously I understood why the crackling energy passing back and forth between Clay and me would have zero interest for Bud. I wasn’t an idiot. It was just on an emotional level it felt strange.

  It was like when you’ve suffered a loss and it’s hard to believe that the world keeps on turning and people keep going about their business as if nothing’s happened—which, of course, for them it hasn’t. You understand in your mind why it is, but on a gut level, it still feels wrong.

  This was like the polar opposite of that phenomenon. In this instance, I couldn’t believe that the world wasn’t screeching to a halt because something has been added to my life, not lost. But it felt every bit as significant.

  Clay handed me his helmet. “Here. You’re not riding without this.”

  I took it from him but looked at it for a moment before putting it on. “What about you? What are you going to wear?”

  A small smile appeared on his lips. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

  I fitted it over my head and laughed a little as I fastened the chin strap. “Worrying about other people is kind of what I do. It’s sort of my thing.”

  He stepped close to me and said, his voice low and intense, “Well, when we’re together, it’s sort of my thing.”

  I couldn’t catch my breath. My knees turned to jelly, and so did my muscles. Probably not the best thing for when you ride on the back of someone’s motorcycle. Hanging on is kind of the key component in that scenario, and wobbly muscles aren’t ideal.

  I pulled myself together quickly as he climbed onto the bike, and then I swung my own leg over after him. It wasn’t easy. When I leaned forward and pressed my chest to his back, then wrapped my arms tightly around his chiseled torso, I thought I was going to go all googly again. But I managed to maintain.

  Dang…who would’ve thought that when lightning finally struck me with a guy, the quality that would rev my engine most of all would be him wanting to take care of me? But, oh holy mama cow, it sure as hell was!

  Chapter 8

  Brandy

  “Yep, I figured they’d be closed. Well. You can leave your car here in front ’til the morning. Just call the shop’s voicemail and let them know the situation. That’s how Jensen likes to handle things. There’s a drop box for your keys by the office door.”

  I nodded, my stomach sinking. It wasn’t like I thought my mom’s car was going to be magically fixed tonight, and that I’d be back on the open road by sunset or anything. But just knowing that it would be tomorrow morning before anyone would even look at the car – that was going to make for a very stressful night indeed.

  Not to mention, this was the first time I started to think about a very glaring fact that should’ve, honestly, been the first thing that occurred to me.

  I was stuck here for the night. In this tiny town. With nowhere to stay.

  I wonder if I’d be able to squeeze myself through the key drop box?

  “Thank you, Bud. I appreciate all your help. And thanks for filling me in on the overnight system.”

  “Welcome, ma’am. I’ll be on my way, then, if you’re all squared away.”

  I laughed inwardly, thinking of the irony. I was the least amount of “squared away” I’d ever been in my entire life, but there was nothing Bud could do to help with that situation.

  I assured him I was fine and waved as he drove away. What else could I do?

  Pulling my phone out of my bag, I pressed the home key and prayed for bars.

  “Who are you calling?” Clay asked.

  “I’m hoping I can get a wireless signal so I can use the internet and find a hotel room.”

  Clay laughed. A deep laugh. I’d even call it a belly laugh.

  My stomach dropped. Shit. That didn’t bode well.

  My eyes widened and he hurried to reassure me. “Sorry, sorry. It’s not even that funny. It’s just that there’s one tiny motel here, and trust me. It’s not a place you’ll find on any travel websites.”

  “Do you live here…or…?” I realized I had no idea if he was a local or not. I knew virtually nothing about Clay.

  “Passing through. I’d actually just checked in to that tiny motel and was doing a little backroads exploring when I ran across you.”

  I nodded. “One more question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Where exactly is ‘here’ anyway?”

  “It doesn’t even have a name. It’s unincorporated county land. There’s the garage, a small convenience store and gas station, the motel, and a diner. That’s it.”

  “Well, crap. I guess there are worse places I could’ve broken down. But there are damn sure better ones, too.” I chuckled at my own joke. God. That was a habit that hadn’t popped up since childhood. I’d forgotten that I even used to do that, laugh at my own jokes.

  I’d made myself stop because of one too many derisive comments from my mother. No one thinks Brandy’s quite as funny as she does. It’d made me feel shitty about myself.

  But now, with Clay, I felt relaxed and confident enough to giggle at my own witty comments, and far from making me feel shitty about myself, it felt great.

  He smiled at me, his eyes going soft around the edges as they crinkled. Whether it was the joke itself or the situationally inappropriate laughter that made him smile, I didn’t know, but I was going to choose to believe that it was the joke.

  “Come on. Let’s get some food in you, and then we’ll get you checked into the motel.”

  There he was, taking care of me again. I could really get used to this whole “being pampered” thing. Not having to worry about taking charge of finding food. Not having to worry about getting myself checked into the motel. Not having to worry about anything. Letting Clay take care of all the details while I just sat back and relaxed while he did it.

  Yep. It wouldn’t take long to get used to that kind of set up at all.

  At the thought of food, my stomach exploded in an audible growl.

  He threw his head back and laughed. “I’ll take that as agreement.”

  Oh, God. Can the earth just open up and swallow me now?

  I nodded, trying to keep my facial expression neutral. Kind of like how a person would look if they hadn’t just busted out a very loud bodily function. Like that.

  Despite my best efforts, the heat crawling up my cheeks told me that I wasn’t very successful.

  “Come on,” he soothed, “hop back on the bike. It’s less than a quarter mile down the road.”

  We set off down the deserted road of the small town…scratch that, the deserted “unincorporated county land speck on a map.” In less than a minute, we’d pulled into the shared parking lot of the diner and motel and were headed to the diner entrance. Clay took my hand as we strolled.

  He did it casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be holding hands, instead of the very definition of a Big Fucking Deal.

  Again, I tried to control my facial features, browbeating them into a mask of perfect blasé-ness. Again, I was utterly un-freaking-successful.

  As we approached the door to the diner, Clay rushed ahead of me and held the door. Wow. A knight in shining armor and a gentleman.

  I slid into the booth and took out my menu and breathed a huge sigh of relief. I felt
safer and more secure in that moment than I could remember feeling in a long time. Maybe since I could remember feeling ever.

  I didn’t quite understand it. I didn’t get the why behind the feeling. After all, circumstances didn’t support it—here I was, hundreds of miles from home, stranded with no transportation because my car was out of commission. Scary stuff by any measure.

  And yet, here I also was, feeling as content and secure as a kitten taking a nap in a beam of sunlight.

  I perused the menu and decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I felt good. Period. I could only wreck that by examining that feeling to death, overanalyzing it until I choked the life out of it. I wasn’t going to fall into that trap. Not tonight.

  Nope. Tonight, I was going to leave myself in the hands of fate. And Clay, of course.

  Well, maybe I’d concentrate a little bit more on the “Clay” part than the “fate” part. If history was any indication, fate didn’t have a great ability to make sure things turned out all right. Even though I’d only known him for a short amount of time, it seemed like Clay’s track record was significantly better.

  After we gave our orders to the waitress, I decided to dig for a little background info. “So, what’s your story, Clay? Are you just a wanderer, going from small town to small town on your motorcycle, helping people solve their problems? Or mysteries, or something? Like a TV show?”

  He laughed. “That’s closer than you might think. Except instead of solving mysteries, I serve drinks.”

  “You’re a traveling bartender?”

  “The other way around. I travel, and I’m a bartender. Basically, I travel around until I get low on cash and then I settle somewhere touristy and tend bar until I can save up enough to get on the road again.”

  “Wow. That sounds amazing!”

  “It has its benefits. Drawbacks, too. How about you? What’s your story? Just breaking down on roads across America? Are you like, a roadside assistance mystery shopper?”

  I groaned and dropped my head into my hands. When I lifted my face back up, I sighed, the weight of my situation crashing back down. Dammit, denial! Why are you always so short lived? “I wish that were the case. No, I’m just on a spring break road trip. The breakdown was real, not part of any consumer watchdog sting operation.”