I didn’t know anything about Arrow, but I knew him completely.
Never in my twenty-six years did I react to someone this way. It scared me. It excited me. It brought on a tidal wave of guilt.
Before I could totally get myself together, Arrow appeared. The dark clothes he wore concealed him as he approached. One minute I was alone, and the next he was crowding all the space around me.
“Nice car,” he remarked as he passed the Audi. His knuckles rapped against the hood. “Handles well?”
“It’s a smooth ride.” I agreed, watching him.
The jeans he wore were baggy. If I had to guess, they weren’t pulled up either. Strangely, I didn’t mind that fact. It made me wonder what kind of underwear I’d see if he lifted his oversized shirt.
The shoes on his feet were high-tops, all white, and looked a little funny because his jeans were tight around his calves and ankles. He was thin, not to the point he looked skinny, but almost like he just needed to fill out so his big feet would match the rest of him.
Arrow stepped into the garage and pushed the hood off his head. Very blond strands of hair appeared, which he reached up to shove over to one side.
He almost had a baby face, with smooth skin and no trace of facial hair. What kept him from looking like jailbait was his bone structure. Sharp cheekbones, a strong jawline and brow. And his mouth… dear God, his mouth.
I want to suck on those lips.
He had a permanent pout. The perfect amount of flesh to latch onto and press against my own.
He glanced at me where I stood beside his Camaro, and I didn’t bother to hide the fact I was checking him out. He’d just done the same.
He glanced away, moving past and beneath the hood, where he picked up a tool and leaned down to do whatever it was he’d been doing before I showed up.
I didn’t jump right into business. Suddenly, business was the very last thing on my mind. I was in his space, closer than ever.
I glanced around, wandered to the tool setup, and checked it out. There were awards and car titles on the metal walls. Vintage car parts and shelves of oil.
Music played in the background, a song I had on my playlist as well.
I was nervous, an emotion I wasn’t familiar with. I felt I was seeing inside his world, a place not many people got to visit. I’d basically challenged him to let me in, and when the lock on the gate slid open, I’d found victory.
After I glanced around the tools, I turned toward where he worked. I moved up to the side of the Camaro and stared down at him.
Arrow paused for a brief second, just barely tilting his head toward me, then resumed working. I watched him; I couldn’t not.
He wasn’t my type.
Not in the least.
But I had a sinking feeling no one else would ever be again.
An image of Matt swam through my head, and I closed my eyes, clinging to it for a few seconds. A wash of calm loneliness moved over me. Once I felt slightly less rocked, I reopened my eyes.
Arrow was watching me, the tool in his hand suspended over the engine. The chocolate color of his eyes seemed bottomless.
That calm peace I’d searched for was pulled out from beneath me like a rug.
I shoved my hands deep in the pockets of my jeans.
“You okay?” Arrow asked.
The sound of his voice made my fingers curl into my palms. I answered his question with one of my own. “Is your real name Arrow?”
“Yep.” He straightened, tossed the tool down, and it made a clanging noise. On the edge of the Camaro was a rag. He snagged it up and began wiping his hands.
“Your real name Hopper?”
I met his eyes, looking away. “No.”
We were still doing it. Still circling. Still sizing each other up.
I wanted more.
The wind blew, rattling the sides of the hangar and bringing a blast of frigid air around us. I wondered where his place was, the personal space where he slept and lived.
He tossed the rag down and moved around me to hit a button so the hangar door would lower. He glanced back around and shrugged. “It will be a bitch to heat back up if I let it get too cold in here.”
I shrugged like I didn’t care. But I did. I cared so much, so fast it fucking terrified me.
“So Gamble sent you.” Arrow tilted his head to the side, exposing his neck. There was a tattoo of an arrow. The point faced down, toward the hollow behind his collarbone, that soft, vulnerable spot…
Just asking for a kiss.
I cleared my throat, told myself to get my damn head out of the gutter. “I’ve never met anyone who’s never called him back.”
Arrow shrugged. “He pissed?” He tried to sound nonchalant, but he cared; that much was obvious.
“Not yet.” I smiled.
Arrow’s lips pulled up, and we both stood there for a moment, smiling at each other.
The smile fell off Arrow’s face, the broody look he wore so well returning. “Why did Gamble send you?”
“I manage his drivers.”
“Not Joey. Not any of them in the NRR,” he pointed out.
“You saying you’re signing with the NRR?” I crossed my arms over my chest, slightly miffed. I didn’t want him to sign in the NRR. I wanted him in NASCAR. Where I was.
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what are you saying?” I challenged.
“My brother would shit a brick if he knew you were here. He hates you, you know.”
“You gonna stand in your brother’s shadow forever?”
His body went rigid. The muscles in his jaw jumped. I hit a nerve, just like I knew I would. “I’m not in his shadow.”
“I think we both know you are,” I remarked. “It’s a safe place to be. But it isn’t where you belong.”
An angry glint flashed in his eyes. “You don’t know shit about me.”
I stepped closer. His nostrils flared and the dark pools of his eyes deepened, watching me. I spoke low, like I was imparting a secret. “You know that isn’t true, and it scares the piss out of you, doesn’t it?”
“You let my sister be tortured.” He accused, as if he could turn the tables on me.
It worked, at least for a few minutes. What happened to Joey was a deep regret of mine, second on a very long list.
“Yeah, I did,” I admitted. I wasn’t going to make excuses for myself. “She’s my best friend. Well, she was. The shit she went through shouldn’t have happened. I’ll live with it forever.”
He’d expected a fight, and I didn’t step up. Arrow’s eyes softened. “She’s not mad at you, you know.”
That surprised me. “She’s not?” We’d barely spoken since the shakeup. I honestly thought ours was one more lost relationship in my life.
“Nah. I hear her and Lor sometimes. He’s still pretty pissed, and that pisses her off.” Arrow smiled ruefully, like he enjoyed watching his big brother have his ass handed to him by a girl.
I made a sound between a groan and a laugh. That was Joey; she never backed down.
I felt him watching me, studying all my movements and facial expressions.
“She likes you.”
I rubbed a hand over my face and took a breath. I didn’t realize that was something I wanted to hear until he said it.
I glanced up, and my stomach dipped. He’d somehow known, as if he felt the hurt I carried over the loss of my best friend. “I like her, too.”
He stepped away from me, went over to a space heater sitting nearby, and fidgeted with the buttons.
Arrow was very guarded, but his walls came down during a moment when he saw I was hurting. And even though he fought to protect himself, that slipped so he could give me something to ease the turmoil inside me.
It was too much. It hit me in all the softest spots I’d worked so hard to toughen. Panic punched me in the stomach. It felt as though the wind had been knocked right out of me.
“That lead outside?” I asked, gesturing
to a nearby door.
Arrow nodded.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, then fled the hangar.
Outside, the cold slapped me. I breathed it in with deep, gulping pants. It smelled like snow out here, and my breath puffed out in front of me in a giant white cloud.
I took my time grabbing the contracts out of my car, but I couldn’t linger forever. Back inside, my eyes sought him out instantly. I couldn’t decide which was more alarming: the fact I wanted to see him more than anything or the anxiety that tried to choke me when he was nowhere to be seen.
“Arrow?” I called out.
He appeared from out of the back of the hangar, stepped around the heater with two mugs in his hands.
“Coffee?” he asked, extending one.
“Thanks.” I reached for the mug, and our hands brushed as he transferred it into mine.
Our eyes locked. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and then he stepped back swiftly.
I took a drink of the brew. It was strong and hot, just the way I liked it.
“You need cream?” he asked.
“I drink it black.”
“Me, too.”
I held up the two envelopes. “Here’s the contracts.”
He didn’t move to take them.
“I need you to sign one. He’s already lined up a GearShark interview for you in two weeks. You’re supposed to announce where you’re going.”
He took the envelopes, making sure not to touch me, and set them on a nearby workbench.
“Seems like it would be a pretty easy choice.” I observed.
“Seems like,” he echoed.
“You know what you want. You’re just afraid of it.”
“What the fuck do you know about it?” Arrow swung around, angry.
“I know your entire family is with the NRR. It’s a no-brainer. So the fact you haven’t put pen to paper makes me think you’d rather sign with NASCAR. You’re just afraid of what your brother will do when you tell him.”
“I’m not scared of my brother,” he snapped.
“You’re close with him, huh?” I changed direction.
“He’s all I have.”
Ah, the honesty in that tone I recognized well. “Don’t you want more?”
His eyes flashed, swept over my entire body, and then he turned and walked away. I pursued him, not ready to let this go.
I stepped deeper into the hangar, following his steps past the heater, the work benches, and into another type of space.
There was a bed. It looked like a twin, and though he was thin, he wasn’t small. I wondered how the fuck he slept there comfortably.
He couldn’t possibly.
The blankets were twisted like someone had slept there and not bothered to make it up when they awoke. There was an oval multicolored rug in front of the bed, a pair of headphones, and a pair of high-tops beside the bed.
I glanced at the high-tops on Arrow’s feet and then back at the blue ones.
A hollow, sick feeling burst inside me.
Arrow’s back was still turned to me. The coffee he’d been holding made a low thud when he set it on a wooden dresser. There was a hoodie and a T-shirt tossed on top. Beside the bed was a metal rolling toolbox. On top was a clock with glowing red numbers.
No.
No, no. no.
Something about this setup churned up a bunch of feelings, a bunch of anger.
That predatory way I’d been feeling—you know, a shark circling—it was back. But I wasn’t going to circle anymore.
“You live here?” I snapped.
He spun. Whatever he heard in my voice surprised him. “I already told you I did.”
“You live in this garage?” I ground out. “In a fucking garage?”
Arrow’s eyes widened. “You thought I had an apartment on the airstrip?”
It was cold in here. Not just in temperature, but in every way. It was almost utilitarian. He had nothing. Why did he have nothing?
He deserves so much more.
“I thought your brother loved you,” I spat.
Lorhaven hated me, but I never hated him… until right this minute. He let his brother live like this. A guy who was clearly already broken—he let him live here.
“He does,” Arrow argued.
“Fuck he does!” I spat. “If he loved you, you wouldn’t be homeless!”
Arrow jerked. “I’m not homeless!”
I flung my arms wide, gesturing to this place. “This ain’t a home.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “It’s where I want to be.”
I laughed. It was bitter and angry. “No. You don’t want to be here. You think this is where you belong. You’re too scared to reach for anything else, just like you’re too scared to sign the contract you really want.”
Arrow lunged across the room. “Fuck you,” he growled.
“Man up,” I growled back.
With an angry yell, his hands shot out, grabbed handfuls of my shirt, and yanked me forward with some force. My muscles tensed, but I didn’t fight back. I wasn’t even threatened.
My pulse hammered against my temples; beneath my ribs, my heart beat fierce.
Arrow’s eyes burned with anger, the deep-brown shade glowing with an amber fire. His chest heaved. I felt his fingers slightly tremble where he fisted my clothes. His eyes bounced between mine with something more.
He’s attracted to me, even in anger, even in fear.
I held still but didn’t back down. I stared back, right into the amber flames, and dared him to do something about it all.
“Stop hiding.” I challenged.
With a grunt, he pulled me forward a little bit more. His head came down and those pouty, angry lips crashed over mine.
You know that expository bite I mentioned before?
He was taking it.
I was surrendering.
Hell, I was offering.
He sucked in a deep breath through his nose as our mouths latched together. My hands shot out, grabbing his elbows, and my fingertips dug into his arms.
He kissed angrily, like he didn’t want to kiss me at all, but he couldn’t help himself. I kissed him back with the same amount of ire, diving into his mouth, his emotion, and drinking it all in.
After a few strokes of his lips, something changed. It was like the angry haze that had suddenly taken over vanished and reality crashed back in.
Arrow’s grip on my shirt went lax, his lips stopped, and I felt the stare of his chocolate eyes.
I opened up to stare back. Our lips still touched even though they didn’t move. He stared at me, shock in his eyes. Shock, loneliness, and want.
Carefully, I disengaged my grip on his elbows, reached up, and cupped the sides of his face.
Arrow’s eyes flared when my palms cupped his jaws. His lips twitched.
He had his bite.
Now he was digesting. Maybe seeing if I was worth the fight.
Waiting wasn’t my strong suit. In fact, every second that went by was like a red-hot poker scalding my skin.
I moved, his hands tightening in my shirt again. I bit back a satisfied smile. He wasn’t ready to let go.
That was good. Wasn’t it?
I kept my eyes trained on his. Slowly, I licked across his lips. They were just as soft and full as they looked from across the room.
He sighed in the back of his throat, and his mouth opened, covered mine, and we sank into a long and languid kiss.
His tongue met mine halfway, and they tangled together with lazy abandon.
Alarm bells went off in my mind, but in that moment, it was just music. My stomach flipped and flopped, but all I felt were his trembling fingers in my shirt.
Too soon.
He pulled back too soon.
The second he lifted his head, his fingers peeled away from my clothes, and he all but jumped back. His face was pale, dark eyes wide.
He was shocked.
So was I.
“Get out,” he ordere
d, taking another step back.
“A—” I started.
“Leave!” he roared.
I glanced around his “home.” Some of my anger came back, but it was overshadowed with sadness.
And guilt.
I went to the door. He didn’t follow.
When I glanced back, I couldn’t see him.
“I’m staying at the DoubleTree,” I said. I knew he was listening. “I’ll be there when you’re ready to sign.”
I waited for the sound of his voice. It never came. It was better this way. We were both too broken. We’d end up cut by each other’s jagged edges.
I let myself out of his cage, but I wasn’t being set free.
My mom’s favorite movie is Beauty and the Beast.
I spent many nights watching it as a kid. As I stood in this empty, rattling hangar with the winter winds whipping around outside, I was reminded of that movie.
I felt some kind of kinship to the beast.
I was alone and miserable, most of which was my own doing.
I was angry and closed off. I blamed everything around me for all the damage inside.
There was a clock ticking; it just wasn’t in the shape of a rose.
I didn’t exactly remember what turned the man into a beast, but I knew precisely what turned me into what I was today.
He saw.
He couldn’t possibly know, but somehow, impossibly, he understood.
That kind of understanding only came from experience, from the kind of pain strong enough to bring a man to his knees.
I saw it in him, too.
What were the odds? The odds that two men so shattered would meet? The odds that all our broken pieces would somehow fit together to create something whole?
A million to one? More?
It didn’t matter. The odds weren’t in my favor; they never were.
It made me furious he would just drive right up, brandishing some contracts and a set of icy-blue eyes that saw past my exterior, past my angry wall.
He called me out.
Man up.
What was worse? He was right.
I was hiding here behind the fence around this airstrip. Licking my wounds? Maybe at first—okay, definitely at first. But those wounds weren’t open anymore.
They didn’t bleed.
What was left were scars and echoes of pain that would likely never go away. What happened to me altered everything I was and thought. There was no going back.
#Blur (The GearShark Series Book 4) Page 13