Chasing Summer
A Short, Steamy Contemporary Romance
By Marissa Stefson
This one’s for my endless summer love.
One
Aria
"That'll be $3.73," the cashier says. Her tone is laced with the boredom that comes with being stuck inside on a beautiful day like this. The midday sun's rays are flickering through the windows of the market, calling to all the shoppers like a beacon.
I hand over my card with an equally unamused expression, eager to get back out the door. She eyes my Black AmEx with disgust, before flicking her blue eyes over my outfit that probably cost more than her car.
I've waited too long to eat and my hands are already trembling. The last thing I need is attitude from a bitchy cashier. My arms fold across my chest to disguise the shaking of my hands and straighten my spine. She hisses and shakes her head as she swipes my card through the ancient machine, which takes far too long to work.
I don't want to add to the situation, but it's not like I have a choice. If I don't eat something in the next two minutes, there is a good chance I'll pass out in the middle of this filthy convenience store. "I don't have all day," I snap. She hands me back my card without meeting my eyes, and rips off the receipt before tucking it into my bag.
She rolls her eyes as I grab it from her hand with a snarl and storm out the door. I'm barely on the sidewalk before I'm tearing into the bag, unwrapping the Snickers bar like a feral dog. I finish it in two very unladylike bites, and find myself more thankful than ever that my father's not around. I can already feel my blood sugar rising and my hands have finally stopped shaking.
I take a deep breath and turn towards the parking lot where I've left my little white BMW convertible. I knew I was taking a chance parking it in this little Podunk town, but thanks to my lifelong pal Diabetes, I had no choice. It was either leave it there and run, or pass out and possibly crash it.
Unfortunately, in the time it took me to grab a candy bar and a bottle of water at Millie's Market, some delinquent broke into my brand-new car. The trunk is wide open, my Louis Vuitton luggage filled with thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes and shoes long gone.
But that's not even the worst part.
The front windshield and the driver's side window are smashed in, glass littering the asphalt beside it. They've also keyed the words 'RICH BITCH' into the door and slashed my back tires.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I screech in a voice so unlike me I barely recognize the sound. My Jimmy Choo wedges click against the cement sidewalk as I move in closer to inspect the damage, but a sudden hand against my back has me frozen mid-step.
"Wait," someone grunts from behind me. "Let me make sure those delinquents are gone first."
I shiver at the stranger's proximity to my body, and it takes all my energy to even nod in agreement.
Heavy footsteps sound beside me. A tall, lean man moves around me towards my once pristine vehicle. He glowers and shakes his head as he crouches down to read the crudely scrawled insult. "Assholes," he mutters.
My eyebrows knit together as I watch him inspect the damage with a frown. He runs a hand over the trunk and throws me a backwards glance. "I take it this wasn't empty?"
I shake my head. "Nope. Very full." A brand-new, never-worn pair of black lace Valentino heels flashes through my head and a whine slips from my lips. "They sure knew what they were doing."
His green eyes flick over to meet mine. "And you sure didn't, did you?" A condescending smile curls his lips and I'm suddenly unsure if I should even be speaking to this stranger. He's well-dressed, his suit impressive and creases sharp, but some of the smartest criminals are downright dapper in appearance.
I take a step backwards and he chuckles softly. "I'm sorry. Let me start over. Nate Daniels, Mayor of Rustic Ridge." He holds out his hand for me to shake, and I reluctantly slip my hand into his.
"Aria Beaumont. It's nice to meet you, Mayor Daniels."
He turns his attention back to the car. I notice his chestnut hair is cut short on the sides, the top long enough to be windblown. A light smattering of stubble lines a jaw sharp enough to cut glass, and his eyes are a beautiful shade of whiskey brown.
I eye him with suspicion.
This town is definitely on the rough side—shouldn't the mayor be a little less... pretty?
When he catches my expression, he smiles and drops his eyes. "Please, call me Nate. I know what you're thinking, and you're not wrong. I don't usually dress like this—I've just come from a photo shoot for a local magazine. But I can assure you, my background is just as blue collar as any one here."
My shoulders roll forward in relief. At least I know this isn't the person who robbed me. But a quick glimpse of my defiled car has my heart racing again. "What do I do now, Nate? I'm supposed to be at my Aunt Bev's for a special dinner tonight."
"Where does your aunt live? Perhaps I can give you a lift."
Though it's a kind-hearted offer, I deflate even further. "Carson Cove," I sigh.
His eyes widen when he calculates that it's a three-hour drive. "I see. Well, the good news is, we have a fantastic Auto Body shop nearby." He shoots me a rueful smile. "Max is the best mechanics there is. I don't think you'll be able to get to Carson Cove for your dinner, though."
"Yeah, I figured." I already knew there were no nearby trains or buses, and an Uber in this town was definitely too risky. An exasperated huff leaves my chest and my eyes flutter shut.
On the bright side, I carry my insulin in my purse, along with all my cash and credit cards. Though it will suck to stay in this town overnight, it could have been far worse.
"So, where is this Max?" I say, pressing my hand to my forehead and resigning myself to my fate. The sooner I get to the shop, the sooner my car can be fixed and I can be on my way.
"His place is actually right across the street. He specializes in motorcycles and clunkers, but I have no doubt the guy could fix a friggin' spaceship. Come on, I'll introduce you."
I follow Nate over to a little white building next door to the market. It's set back from the street and so run-down that I would have never even noticed it otherwise. I am one hundred percent certain this Max guy has never worked on a car like mine before, but I have absolutely no choice in the matter.
Nate pulls the door open wide for me and offers me a sympathetic smile. Just as I step past him, I hear his phone ring to the tune of Old Town Road. A groan escapes my lips before I can clamp them shut, and his cheeks flush with embarrassment.
"Excuse me a second, would you?"
I nod and step inside the building. The overwhelming stench of oil and exhaust fills my nose, causing me to gag. I've never set foot in a place like this before; my father has always had someone take care of my car for me.
But this is just another step on my journey to becoming more independent. I snicker when I picture my father, Gabriel Beaumont, having to go to a greasy place like this, dressed in his Hugo Boss suits and his Gucci loafers.
I'm still laughing to myself a moment later when I hear a clank and a loud hiss ring out from the back. "Shit!"
Without thinking, I rush back to check on whomever it was that made that noise. It sounded like he may have gotten hurt, and my instincts are telling me to help him.
There's a thick cloud of smoke now rolling through the small shop, and I cough loudly as I search for another person inside. "Hello? Max? Are you okay?"
A man's deep cough echoes through the room and I head over in that direction. All I can see is smoke, but I hear a click and a fan comes on, and suddenly it's clearing out. "Max?" I peer through the haze to find a man so tall I need to crane my neck to see his head.
His back is to me, but I can tell by his posture that he
's having trouble with something. I don't want to be in the way, but I need to make sure this guy isn't hurt. "Hello?" I call again.
The tall stranger spins around quickly, banging his hand on something as he turns. "Ah, fuck!"
His good looks take me by surprise. He's super tall—easily six and a half feet, if not taller. Raven black hair falls into his eyes in that sexy, tousled way that screams sex, and his beard is so thick and soft I want to reach out and touch it.
But then I see the blood.
"Oh, my god!" I hurry over to him, no longer caring about anything but the rush of blood now splattered over the cement floors. "Are you okay?"
He grabs a filthy rag from beside him and wraps it around his wound. Thanks to hundreds of hospital visits, germs and infections immediately come to my mind, and it takes all my willpower not to yank the rag away. I have to remind myself that I don't even know this guy as my hands ball into fists at my side.
"Who are you?" His dark eyes skim over me disinterestedly, and I frown. That's not usually the reaction I get from men, and definitely not the reaction I was hoping for.
If I said it didn't sting, I'd be lying.
"Um. Sorry. I'm Aria Beaumont. My car was vandalized and Mayor Daniels said you could possibly help me fix it?" I shoot him a hopeful grin, which he doesn't return.
His dark eyes are transfixed on my shoes. I look down at my wedge sandals before lifting my eyes to meet his. He's so quiet that for a moment I wonder if I've even got the right guy. "Wait. You are Max, right?"
He nods, wrapping the rag tighter on his hand, and I drop my gaze to the crimson rapidly spreading across the fabric. "Holy shit. That's a lot of blood," I mumble.
I fish a pair of latex gloves from my bag and put them on quickly, before grabbing the bloody rag from his hands. He looks pale, and I know he's going to need a doctor. "Max, this is bad. Let's get you some help, okay?"
My fingers wrap around his arm and I guide him over to the door, my own drama now forgotten. We pass by Nate who's still on his phone just outside the building.
"Oh, shit! Let me call you back," he snaps, before rushing to my side. "What the hell happened?"
"No idea. He's sort of dazed, and I'm worried he's losing too much blood. Where's the nearest hospital?"
"No hospital," Max growls from beside me. I stiffen at his tone, his voice husky and firm. "Tell her I won't go to the hospital."
Nate nods. "It's okay. I know someone who can help him."
As I climb into the backseat of Nate's beat-up black SUV, settling down beside a man whose head skims the roof of the car and whose blood is dripping onto my four-hundred-dollar silk skirt, I wonder what the hell I'm going to tell Aunt Bev about dinner.
Two
Max
The room is way too crowded.
I'm trying not to focus on any one thing, but there is a lot wrong with this picture. Four of us are shoved into a room the size of a walnut: me, Nate, his nurse friend, and her.
My hand has gone completely numb and the floor is so saturated with blood it looks like a vampire's wet dream in here. The mayor is hovering over my body alongside some big-breasted nurse he's been in love with since the '90s, her eyes squinting as she stitches up my fingers with careful precision.
"Alright, that should do it," the nurse says breathily. She's leaning in closer than necessary, shoving her tits into my line of vision every chance she gets, and I fight the urge to yawn. The way she's looking at me tells me she wants me to bend her over the coffee table, but desperate has never been my type.
I avoid the nurse’s wanton gaze, instead staring off at nothing so I don't accidentally meet her concerned eyes.
That girl in the corner.
Trouble with a capital T.
I've seen girls like her before. Rich, beautiful, entitled. Always looking for some way to piss off their wealthy parents while driving cars that cost more than the biggest homes in Rustic Ridge.
She's sitting in a blue armchair, wrapping a strand of her long, coffee colored hair around her finger while staring off into space. Her olive skin, which had been downright chalky at the sight of my wound, has a little more color to it now, her cheeks pinkening every time we inadvertently lock eyes.
Don't get me wrong: I'd love nothing more than to have those full, rosy lips wrapped around my cock, her topaz eyes glistening with tears as she swallows down my enormous dick.
But I know better.
Girls like her don't want guys like me for anything other than attention, and I refuse to pay her any at all.
No matter how beautiful she may be.
I vaguely recall her saying something about her car needing work just before I cut open my entire hand on Mrs. Miller's beat up old Volvo, but I can't imagine why little prissy panties would want to come over to Nate's friend's house to watch some dirty mechanic get stitched up.
"Who's the chick?" I say under my breath to my best friend, Nate. He may be the fancy pants mayor of our town now, but don't let that fool you. He's still a scumbag just like the rest of us.
"Poor girl got her tires slashed and her windows shattered when she went into Millie's for a snack," he sighs, tenting his fingers under his chin the way he always does when he's upset. The town's got a crime log that is miles long, but Nate thinks he’ll be the one to turn the whole place around.
"What kind of car does she have?" I can hear the hoarseness of my voice, the smoky tone it takes on when I'm angry. Nate's eyebrows jump at the edge in my words and he puts his hand over mine.
"A brand-new BMW 430i," he chuckles softly, trying to calm me down. He knows the events of the day have been more than enough to set off that famous Max Hudson temper, and he’s trying to extinguish the fire before it fully ignites.
I swing my eyes over to the girl who's watching us intently. "You parked a Beemer outside Millie's?" I can't help the arrogant grin that spreads across my face. "The graffiti and shuttered windows weren't enough of a warning sign for you, sweetheart?"
Her eyes darken and her cheeks turn a deep rose. She's even more gorgeous when she's angry. "I didn't have a choice," she mutters.
My responding scoff has her smolder intensifying. It's kind of fun to get her worked up like this. Almost therapeutic.
Fucking rich people.
Nate shoots me a warning look, and I roll my eyes, before turning my attention back to Nurse Nipples. "We done here?"
"Yes, Max. And you're welcome, by the way," she pouts. "Make sure you change that bandage often and try not to use that hand for a couple of days."
Right, like I can afford to rest my hand like that. I just shrug and head towards the door. From the corner of my eye, I can see Rich Girl and Nate get up to follow me.
"Max?" I spin around to face the nurse. She's fluffing up her white blonde hair and making a weird duck-lipped face at me from the living room. "Maybe I'll see you later at the Driftwood?"
"Maybe." I turn back around with a curt wave and push past the two sourpusses waiting for me. We climb into Nate's car without a word and drive back over to the shop in an awkward silence.
He's barely tapped his brakes before I pop open the door to hop out. "Thanks for the help, man." I step outside without a backwards glance at her.
But then I hear it, a second pair of footsteps clicking behind me. Shit, even her walk sounds sexy.
"Max, wait up," she calls behind me, but my legs are much longer than hers. I don't know why she won't go away. I'm sure her daddy can have his butler come and pick her up or something. She certainly doesn't need to stick around Rustic Ridge, especially after dark.
"Max!" Her cry is a cross between a squeak and a screech, and I can't help but laugh. I try to hide my smile when I turn around, but I know she sees it.
"Yes, princess? Is there something I can do for you?"
"I need my car fixed. The tires have been slashed and there's no windows... and Nate says you're the best." She flutters her long, thick lashes at me and I know that look must work on every man
with a pulse. Though my cock twitches at the sight, I force myself to be strong.
"Look. This town is not your speed, Cinderella. You don't want to stick around here. Your fancy little car is going to need special parts I don't have on hand, and it takes time to get them in stock. Just do us all a favor and call Daddy to come and bail you out of trouble, okay?" I start to storm off, but she wraps a tiny hand around my arm.
I almost laugh at the sight of this woman, barely five feet tall, trying to stop me with one hand. I could shake her off with very little effort, but she doesn’t look intimidated.
"No. You look, dickhead," she spits. "If it weren't for me, you would have bled out all over your shop, so at the very least, you can shut the fuck up and listen." She folds her arms across her chest and narrows her eyes. "I don't know who you have me confused with, but I can assure you, you don't know me at all. You have an auto body shop and I need you to provide auto body services. So, provide!" She slams her hand on the wall beside me and I flinch.
Alright, so she's a little scrappier than your typical Trust Fund Barbie. I may have underestimated her. I sigh and shake my head as my lips twitch with amusement. "Show me your car and we'll talk."
◆◆◆
"Jesus," I mutter as I run my eyes over the car. The glass reflects the light of the setting sun, making it appear to glitter against the black asphalt. It would almost be pretty if it weren't so fucked up.
I sink to my knees and inspect the tires. They're a high-class brand, specially designed for a smooth ride, so it feels like you’re driving on butter. They're pricey, but I have some lower tier tires that may work for this car.
The real problem is the shattered glass.
I don't do windshields typically, and even if I did, I wouldn't have this model in stock. "I'm going to have to order this from Rucker’s Bend, the next town over," I tell her. "It's going to take a few days, and I really recommend—"
She cuts me off with her hands on her hips. "I'm not calling my father. Order the parts and I'll stay in town until it's fixed."
Chasing Summer Page 1