Slip Up (Taking Chances Book 3)

by TC Matson

  “You’ll find I had our legal team do some research in there.” She tips her chin to the papers. “If you need anything else, call me.”

  I don’t wait for Janet to leave the RV before scanning over the papers. Amelia’s lawyer indicates she tried contacting me, speaking with Norman on at least one occasion where she was hung up on, and every attempt after was met with no answer.

  She spoke to Norman. And that bastard didn’t let me know. Anger begins to sizzle under my skin until I flip the page. On a small bright pink sticky note is Amelia Rossi’s address.

  Jackpot!

  * * *

  I decided last night to not bring up anything to Norman…not yet anyway. I need to talk to Amelia first. Norman showed up this morning, as usual, to follow my ass around and make sure I get to all my obligations. I spent three hours with one of my sponsors, working on a commercial for this week’s race, and then we sat in an hour-long meeting with the team before heading to the garage to talk to Cale, my crew chief to discuss our strategy. As we’re leaving from there, we start to the bus.

  “I’m starving,” I say, more to myself than to Norman, but he jumps anyway.

  “Last time we were here you ordered from the steak house down the street.”

  Perplexed, I stop, swiveling his way. “How do you remember that?”

  The lines on his face crack as he grins like he just got praised. He lifts a shoulder. “Good memory, I guess.”

  Right. “That was a year ago.”

  He nods, pridefully. “Yep.” He pops the P.

  “Nice to know.” My skeptical stare lingers for a moment and then I spin around and continue walking. “You can go now. I’m going in, eating a sandwich, and then going to bed. You heard the boss. Buddy says I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.” That was the politest way to tell the asshole to get lost.

  Once in the RV and after a shower, I sit at the table and Google map her address. It’s small, a gray bungalow-style with a front porch decorated with plants and flowers and a wooden swing. There isn’t a garage, only a driveway that runs beside the house.

  I “drive” the streets, looking at where she’s from and feeling a whole hell of a lot like a stalker. She’s only twenty minutes from the university.

  Who are you, Amelia Rossi? I stare at her house waiting for the picture to tell me anything about her, but other than she keeps her yard mowed, there’s nothing. I close the browser and call Milo.

  “What’s up, man?”

  “So Norman has spoken to her.”

  “I told you he’s a snake. What the hell did he say to her?” he bites.

  “I have no clue. Janet came by. Dropped off annulment papers Amelia had drawn up. In them it states she’s made contact with Norman.”

  “Fuck, dude.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s next? Sign and send them back?”

  I exhale a breath through my nose. “No. I’m going to her house now that I have her address.”

  “Hell yes!” Milo shouts into the phone. “When?”

  “Got to get this race out of the way first.”

  “How do you feel about all this?”

  “Nervous as hell,” I admit.

  “You’ve been nervous before. Suck it up and figure this out.”

  I laugh. “Of course. I’ll call you when I find something out.”

  “Rooting for ya, man.”

  Once we hang up, I pop open a beer and stretch out on the couch, bringing the picture of her house back into view. Soon I’ll be face to face with my wife—the woman I slurred “I do” to.

  EIGHT

  Kirsten, being the amazing friend that she is, called me earlier and demanded we grab something to eat after her shift. We sat at Trolly’s, a local deli around the corner from where she works, and chatted with Gladys, the owner, while we ate. I’ve known her my whole life and am pretty sure she was there when I was born.

  When we finish, we head home and pull into the driveway, cracking up. “An entire damn pie,” Kirsten laughs as she steps out of the car. “You girls look too skinny. A man needs a woman with meat on her bones to hold onto.” She mocks Gladys’ sweet old lady voice but makes her sound like she’s a hundred years old.

  I drop my head and laugh toward the night sky. “You’re going to hell.”

  “Hey! At least I’ve got pie.” She cackles.

  My eyes land on a man sitting on the top step of my porch watching us. My feet bond to the sidewalk, and the air in my lungs rushes out like I’ve been punched. Kirsten follows my line of sight and grunts.

  “The hell are you doing here?” she snaps angrily.

  Declan stands, wiping his palms on his shorts with his gaze latched on me. “We need to talk.”

  Four words, said with a heavy dose of conviction, fill me with so much anxiety. I’ve pictured this day happening, except I was saying those words while feeling strong and confident. Instead, seeing him again, those eyes that pierce me, the carved jawline, those lips I’ve kissed, sends my mind and body into war.

  “A little too late for that. Don’t you think?” Kirsten counters.

  His lips tighten and he shakes his head, but his stare never releases me. “I didn’t know you were trying to get ahold of me.”

  I open my mouth to respond, but Kirsten beats me to it, firing off again. “You sure as shit didn’t try to get ahold of her either.”

  Have I said how much I love her?

  Something washes over his face and it hurts my heart. “Kirsten,” I break the trance and turn toward her. “He’s right. We do need to talk.”

  She studies me, silently asking if I’m sure. I give her a half-hearted smile laced with a load of nerves and nod. “I’ll call you later. Okay?”

  She hugs me. “Good luck,” she whispers.

  I take a deep breath before turning back and walking up the stairs past him. “Come inside.”

  My hands shake as I unlock the door. The trepidation travels down my legs and makes my knees feel weak. I can’t believe he’s here. He’s in my house… I thought we could do this over the phone. It would be easier that way…

  I set my purse on the kitchen counter. “Would you like something to drink?” My southern belle radiates out.

  “No thanks.”

  The tension is unbearable—or maybe that’s my anxiety. Sucking in a breath, I slap the top of my thighs. Here goes… “Well. You’re here. Did you get the papers?”

  “I did. Why’d you leave?”

  Confused, my face pinches up. “You sent your friend to pay me off and make me leave.”

  “What? No. I didn’t. I told you I was going to get breakfast and would be right back. When I got back, my manager said you left in a hurry.”

  A weight drops on my chest. “Well, your manager lied. He called me a pit lizard, tried to give me three hundred dollars to stay quiet, and told me to leave. When I spoke with him a few weeks ago, he again offered me more money.”

  Anger flares in his eyes.

  “I gave him my number, but I figured you didn’t want to be bothered since I didn’t hear from you. I don’t want any money, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “That’s not why I’m here.”

  “It’s not?”

  He takes a step closer. He may be an arm’s length away, but my body is reacting as if our skin is touching. Heat spreads and settles between my thighs. A tingle rolls down my spine. My breasts ache.

  Holy crap.

  “I’m here because you’re my wife.”

  My pulse takes a nosedive as my heart drops.

  Apprehension weaves through my laugh. “We were drunk.”

  He shifts on his feet and then reaches out and rubs a strand of my hair through his thumb and forefinger. The way he looks at me, curious with a hint of awe, gives me a strange feeling in my stomach. A sweat begins to prickle my skin.

  “There has to be something special about you to make me decide against my beliefs. I don’t believe in marriage, haven’t since I was a
teenager. To me it’s just a piece of paper. But within twenty-four hours of meeting you, I wanted to vow my life to you?”

  His words break my heart. Has he never dreamed of finding “the one” and loving her with his whole heart and soul, having her to share all his successes, failures, happy, and sad times with, and wanting a family? “You don’t believe in marriage?” I breathe, my whisper melancholy.

  “Love is love and needs nobody declaring it for me. Not the laws. Not a god. Only my heart.”

  I’m speechless.

  “I’ll admit, the situation is fucked up, but since you left, all I’ve wondered was why. And I want that answer. I’d like to have a date,” he states. “To get to know you. My wife.” A smile settles on his lips. Those lips that I know can kiss me into oblivion.

  A date…

  Defiantly, I rock back and cross my arms over my chest. “And if I don’t?”

  “Then I’ll sign your papers and walk away.” He shifts again, and his lips pull up slightly. “But to be honest here, I’m hoping like hell you won’t make me.”

  My head swirls as my heart, soul, and body rage a war on one another. “I need to sit down,” I say, passing him and sitting on the couch. I drop my head into my hands, pulling in deep breaths. This is all too much. Married in a drunken blur. Left. And now he’s back wanting to know why we’re married, wanting to try to see what’s there.

  I look up to him and find him standing at the end of the couch, keeping his distance with concern etched on his expression. “We can go as slow as you need to, but I want to get to know you, Amelia Rossi Palmer.”

  Hearing my name squeezes the air out of my lungs, and dammit, I swoon.

  “Can I think about it?” I ask.

  “I have a race this weekend and will need to leave in a few days. But I can come back right after.”

  “That’s a lot of traveling,” I say

  He smirks. “It’s worth it.” He looks around. “Where’s your phone so I can make sure you have my number?”

  I tip my chin toward the kitchen. “On the counter.”

  He heads to the kitchen and grabs it. I watch as he begins to type, his eyes on the screen as he walks back to me. “I’m sending myself a text so I’ll have your number too.” After a minute, he sets it down on the table. “Call me tomorrow and let me know if I’m staying or leaving.” His silent plea bores into my chest. “Good night, Amelia.”

  The moment the door closes behind him, I throw myself backward on the couch, tossing my arms out to the side, and stare at the ceiling.

  I can’t believe this. He came back, was in my house, and asked for a date. I’m dreaming. I’ve got to be, although the way my body reacted was anything but a dream.

  NINE

  I didn’t sleep a wink last night. I saw every hour as I tossed and turned thinking about Declan and this crazy situation we’re in. We were drunk—the lamest excuse known to man, but the truest one. There’s no denying the chemistry between us. The way my body responds to his presence is undeniable. Damn traitorous body.

  My phone vibrates against something in my purse, causing a hellacious racket. Quickly I look around the rest of the class, but either they chose to ignore it or didn’t hear it over the professor’s lecture today.

  My grin explodes when I see the name Declan saved himself in my phone as.

  Sexy Husband: Good morning. Have you ever eaten at Luciano’s? I saw it on the way to the hotel.

  Me: I’ve never been but have heard it’s excellent.

  Sexy Husband: Wanna find out with me? (Please say yes)

  Biting back a smile, I feel the giddiness threatening to rip me apart. I’m much more excited about seeing him than I’m allowing myself to believe. And because I’m just as curious about why we got married as he is, I decide to give our crazy stunt a chance.

  Me: Sure

  Sexy Husband: Be ready at 7. I’ll pick you up.

  * * *

  I can’t tell you anything the professor was teaching after getting that text from Declan. It went by in a hazy snail’s pace as I thought about a date with him. Even when I arrive for work, I’m not able to focus on anything. I’m here physically, but mentally I’m sitting across the table from him.

  “Mom made Shepard’s Pie. Will we be seeing you tonight?” Dad asks as he steps into his office.

  “I can’t tonight.”

  Any other day, my answer is yes, so when Dad pops his head out of the office with his brows disappearing into his hair, I’m not surprised. I never decline my parents’ invite for dinner.

  My mind scrambles to come up with something other than going on a date with my stranger husband. “I need to study for a test in Lit II.” The lie feels like acid in my throat. It’s one thing to tell a little white lie, but this… This is a bold-face lie. And it sucks.

  Dad blesses me with his “proud of you” smile and guilt begins to creep further in. “I’ll bring you a plate tomorrow, then.”

  I don’t look him in the eye when I shut down the computer and lock the desk. Not even when I grab my purse and stand to leave.

  “I love you, sweetheart. Study hard tonight,” he offers.

  “Love you too, Dad.” I hate myself.

  * * *

  “What do I wear?” I cry into the phone flicking through the items in my closet.

  “You need to leave him with his tongue hanging out,” Kirsten says.

  I pull out my black plaid pencil skirt and eye it. “What about my plaid skirt?”

  “Skirts always say ‘finger me under the table,’” she advises.

  I choke on a laugh. “Do you know from experience?”

  “This isn’t about me, Mel.” The insinuation in her voice gives me the answer I need to know. “Wear your ripped skinny jeans I love seeing you in. They make your ass look fantastic. And any shirt that shows off your beauties with your tan ankle boots. Don’t overdo your makeup, but make your blues pop,” she says, popping the second P. “Wear your hair down, too.”

  “Specific much?” I snort.

  “Just trying to help a girl out. Hurry up. You only have an hour to get yourself banging before he gets there. I want an update ASAP. Don’t leave me hanging.”

  “I’ll call you the moment I get home.”

  “You better be having a sexy man naked and ravishing your body tonight. Call me in the morning.”

  After we hang up, I dress and get ready with her words repeating in my head. What if he is expecting it? I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but I don’t normally sleep with someone on the first date. What the hell am I saying? I slept with him without ever going on a date…and then married him.

  I yelp at the knock on my door, dropping the brush and sending it clanking on the bathroom floor.

  Declan looks good—really, really fricking good—in a pair of dark-washed jeans and a light blue striped button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It shows off his intricate tattoos on his forearms. His grin is infectious, sucking me in, and pulling my nervous lips into a smile.

  His gaze peruses my body, down to my toes and back to my eyes, setting off a shit storm of anxiety within me. “I hope you like roses,” he stretches out a bouquet.

  I take them and pull them to my nose. The vibrant velvet petals flirt with my skin as the aromatic perfume elicits a calmness over me.

  “I do. Let me put these in water.” He watches my every move from the end of the counter as I pull the vase out from under the sink and fill it with water. “Stop staring at me like that,” I say, peeking up to him.

  He licks his lips. “You look beautiful.”

  Rolling my lips in between my teeth, I duck my head so he can’t see the stupid reaction I’m having to his words. This is going to be one hell of a night.

  He opens the door of a black GMC SUV and I slide in. Casually, he strolls around the front, his shoulders pulled back and head up. He’s definitely much less nervous than me.

  “How was your day?” he asks, pulling out onto the road.<
br />
  “Good,” I chirp with excessive zeal and then shake my head breathing a laugh. “Truth is, I’m super nervous. I’m having a first date with my husband who I barely know.” I rest my head back to the seat and close my eyes. “The irony of it doesn’t fail me.”

  “Amelia, we’re not complete strangers.”

  “I know. We had sex before we even thought of a date.” I scoff, unable to prevent my thoughts from exiting my mouth. I blink, horrified.

  Heat blazes from his light brown eyes, darkening them. “I’m positive we grabbed something to eat and had a date in a chapel before we had sex.”

  I want to crawl under his truck and beg to be run over.

  He laughs. “You blush easily.”

  “It’s just…Our situation is…” Insane. Ridiculous. Crazy.

  “Unique. One we’ll figure out,” he fills in calmly.

  The serenity in his voice pacifies my perturbation. Nodding, I take a breath and try to calm down, keeping the rest of my thoughts to myself.

  Walking into Luciano’s felt like we were walking into a speakeasy and in need of a password. From the outside it looks like a quaint little place—the gray stone fitted with wrought iron, windowsill flower boxes and a large heavy black door. But stepping inside felt like we time-traveled into the Prohibition Era. Russet and burgundy bricks line the walls with dark gray aged mortar holding them together. Burnt umber ceiling tiles hide the reddish ceiling above the dining area.

  I’ve lived in this town all my life and am blown away I’ve never eaten here.

  The hostess seats us in the back corner at a table that’s fairly secluded, and the waitress comes to take our drink order. He orders a beer, and I’m praying a Manhattan will ease my nerves.

  “Did you have school today?” Declan asks.

  My stomach dips. “You remembered that?”

  Grinning, he nods. “You’re studying to become an elementary teacher and you work at your dad’s dental office. Right?”

  My cheeks hurt. “Yeah. That’s right. I had a good day at school and work.”

  The waitress sets our drinks down and we order our food. Once she walks away, Declan asks, “What made you want to become a teacher?” He takes a pull from his beer.