Revved

by Samantha Towle

  He’s fast becoming the best friend I’ve ever had.

  “It was okay,” he muses.

  “Just okay?” I give him a look of mock disgust.

  He spent a good majority of the film laughing. I even saw him get misty-eyed at one point.

  “Yeah, just okay.”

  “You lie.” Sitting up, I remove my legs from the coffee table and curl them under me, facing his side. “You loved it. Admit it.”

  “I said, it was just okay.” He frowns.

  His mood is still off. I thought the film might help, but the edge is still there.

  I need to make him laugh.

  “Tell the truth. Say you loved Cars, and it was the best film you’ve ever seen, or you’re gonna get it.”

  “I’m gonna get it?” That raises his brow.

  “Mmhmm.”

  “And how exactly how am I gonna get it?”

  I eye the bowl of ice cream and then grab it. Lifting the bowl up to chest level, I pull the dripping spoon from the ice cream, letting it drip back into the bowl. “Admit that Cars was the best film you’ve ever seen, or you’re getting creamed.” I give him a cocky look.

  His brow lifts higher. Feet off the coffee table, he sits up, eyes alert, turning his body toward me. “That so, Amaro? You do realize that I can move really fast. I’ll have the bowl out of your hands, and I’ll be covering you in ice cream before you even get a chance to flick that spoon in my direction.”

  “That so?” I raise a brow. “That’s a bold statement to make.”

  He gets up on his knees on the sofa, facing me. “Not bold. Fact.”

  “Are you challenging me, Ryan?”

  He tilts his head to the side. “Yeah. Why? You chicken, Amaro?”

  “Ha! Not likely. Challenge accepted.”

  Then, it all kind of happens pretty quickly. I scoop up some ice cream, lifting my hand to flick it at him. Fuck, he can move quick. He wasn’t kidding. I just manage to get a small splatter of ice cream on his shirt before I find myself flat on my back and the bowl out of my hand, gone somewhere on the floor, with a smirking Carrick pinning my hands above my head, plucking the spoon from my fingers.

  “What were you saying?” he says cockily from above me, holding the spoon tauntingly over my face.

  “Aargh!” I squeal, closing my eyes, anticipating the ice cream drip.

  “Do you give?” His voice is deep.

  It causes a ripple in my lower belly.

  I open my eyes, staring into his. “Never. I’d rather get covered in ice cream than submit.”

  Something flashes in his eyes at my last word choice.

  “Just do your worst, and get it over with.” Scrunching my eyes up, I ready myself for the ice cream covering.

  Then, I feel it—something very large and very significant pressing against my thigh.

  My breath catches, and my eyes open to meet his.

  His face is much closer to mine than it was a moment ago.

  And the look in his eyes now…it’s hot.

  Like the flick of a switch, I feel my whole body come alive against his.

  His body on mine, and his hard-on pressed against my thigh. Knowing that just being this close to me does that to him does crazy insane things to me.

  I bite my lip.

  He draws a sharp breath. His chest contracts on the movement. His eyes darken with want.

  Lowering the spoon to my mouth, he runs the base of it over my lips, coating them in ice cream. I suck in a breath at the cold contact.

  Tossing the spoon to the floor, he lowers his head. Keeping his eyes on mine, he very slowly runs his tongue along my lips, licking the ice cream from them.

  Sweet Jesus.

  I’m frozen. Every muscle is locked tight in place. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to.

  And I really don’t.

  I really, really don’t.

  Since the moment I met Carrick, all I’ve thought about is what it would be like to kiss him, to taste him…and now, it looks like I’m about to find out.

  Even though I really shouldn’t be doing this because no good could ever come of it, I can’t seem to find the will to stop.

  But I should at least try.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper. My words are weak and pointless.

  He blinks those blues of his slowly, moistening his lips with his tongue.

  God, he’s beautiful.

  When his eyes open back to mine, I see just how wired with desire they are, and it hits me straight between my legs.

  “I’m winning,” he whispers.

  Then, he takes my mouth in the most sensual, delicious kiss I’ve ever experienced.

  Every nerve ending in my body sparks to life. It’s like I’ve been sleeping, my body lying dormant for these last twenty-four years, and now, he’s awoken me with the single touch of his lips.

  His tongue moves into my mouth, sliding along mine. I can taste the sweet ice cream on him.

  He tastes like every single one of my dreams come true.

  On a moan, my arms go around his neck, my fingers curling into the hair at the nape.

  My action seems to set him off. On a growl, he knees my legs apart. Lying between them, he presses against me. Every hard inch of him is nestled up against my aching sex.

  God, that feels amazing.

  And I know I’m in the worst kind of trouble because I don’t want him to stop, especially when he starts grinding himself against me.

  The famous bass line from Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain” suddenly blasts loudly from my phone on the coffee table, jolting me from Carrick and from the moment I’ve let myself fall into.

  Shit! What am I doing?

  “Ignore it.” He brushes his lips over mine again, and his fingers thread into my hair, bringing me back for more.

  And God, do I want to keep kissing him.

  But my brain has kicked into gear now, and it’s saying I need to stop this.

  Because nothing good could come of this continuing. Apart from a ruined friendship.

  Carrick’s a driver. And he’s my friend.

  I feel an uncomfortable twist in my gut.

  Pressing my hands against his chest, I push him away. “Stop. We need to stop.” I’m breathless.

  “Stop?” He looks less than pleased at that idea.

  I kind of am myself. But stopping is the right thing to do.

  “Yes. Stop.” I wriggle out from underneath him, sliding off the sofa. I get to my unsteady feet and start to back up. I need to put some distance between us. “That…it shouldn’t have happened.” I touch my fingers to my lips. I can still feel him there.

  Carrick is sitting up now, staring at me in confusion and frustration. “It absolutely should have happened. And it needs to keep on happening.” He gets to his feet.

  “No. I can’t do this with you.” My voice is sharp. I don’t mean it to be.

  “You can’t do this with me?” His face snaps into anger. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  You know that moment when you know you’re digging yourself into a hole, but you can’t seem to stop the digging, no matter how hard you try?

  Yep, I’m there right now.

  “It means, you’re you, and I’m me.” I press a hand to my chest.

  “I’m me?” He’s starting to look beyond pissed off.

  I’m getting confused, and I’m exasperated. Quite frankly, I’m also horny. “Yes! You’re Carrick Ryan, man-whore supreme! You shag anything that moves, and I don’t want to be one of those moving shags! And I work for you, and you’re a driver, and I don’t get involved with drivers. You know that!”

  The silence hits like a dull thud in my head. I’m not fully aware of everything I just said, but I know it wasn’t good. I’m getting that from the way he’s looking at me like I’m a really bad taste in his mouth.

  Sighing, I drag a hand through my hair. “Look…that came out all wrong—”

  “No, I think it came out just right.�
�� His voice is tight, hard.

  “I…” I don’t know what to say. I let out a resigned sigh. “I should probably go.”

  “Yeah. You probably should.” He’s not looking at me now. He’s turned away, facing the window.

  Picking my phone and room key off the coffee table, I slip my feet into my flip-flops.

  When I reach the door, I say to his back, “I’ll see you later?”

  I wait a beat and get no answer. Yanking the door open, I let it slam shut on my way out.

  How could I have let that happen?

  We kissed, and now, we’re mad at each other, and it’s just stupid.

  I’m sitting on my bed in my room—like I have been doing for the past two hours since I left Carrick—going through the emotions of anger and sadness and anger again. I’m at resignation now. And regret.

  Big time regret.

  I hate how we left things. I don’t want to fight with Carrick.

  He’s the best thing in my life.

  My mum always says you should never go to sleep on a fight. Honestly, I’m not looking at much sleep tonight if I don’t sort this out with Carrick.

  I don’t want this to spoil what we’ve become.

  A kiss really shouldn’t spoil things.

  And yes, kissing him has sparked that crush of mine to intense life, but I can control myself around him. Because I’d rather have some Carrick than no Carrick.

  Decision made, I put my flip-flops back on, grab my phone and room key, and head for the elevator.

  My stomach is a riot of nerves the whole ride up to his floor.

  When the door pings open, I fill my gut with determination, and I march my way to his door.

  Hand raised, I knock on his door and wait.

  And wait.

  No answer.

  Is he not here?

  I knock again, a little louder this time.

  Still nothing.

  I stand here for a moment, feeling deflated. I was all ready to talk this out with him, and he’s not even bloody here.

  I wonder, Where is he?

  Maybe he went out and met up with Ben and the rest of them.

  I’ll just text him, ask him if we can talk. If I have to go out and meet him, that’s fine. I just really need to talk to him.

  I haul my deflated self back to the elevator and press the call button. Then, I quickly type out a text to Carrick, asking if I can see him, saying that we need to talk. I’ve just pressed Send on the text when the elevator pings its arrival.

  As the door slides open, I lift my eyes from my phone to the sound of female giggling.

  My heart stops dead.

  Carrick. And he’s not alone.

  He has a very attractive, petite local girl pressed up against the wall of the elevator.

  His mouth is on hers. His hand is up her dress.

  The mouth and hands that were touching me only hours before.

  Tears instantly burn my eyes, pain lodging itself firmly in my throat.

  I stumble back a step, and my movement catches the girl’s eye.

  “Oops.” She giggles, her voice heavily accented. “We have company.” She taps his shoulder with her fingers.

  Lifting his head from her, he turns to me. Glazed drunk eyes meet with mine.

  For a split second, as his blues burn into mine, he looks shocked that quickly transforming to guilt, and then his eyes harden to black.

  And I suddenly feel very cold.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  I’m taken aback by his acidic response.

  “I…” I blink, faltering.

  He’s never spoken to me this way before.

  Then, I force spine into my back. “I came to see if we were okay. Clearly, you are.” My tone is hard and brittle as I gesture a hand to him…them.

  As if realizing it’s still there, he removes his hand from under her dress, reminding me where it was.

  I’m going to be sick. Actually sick.

  I’m wondering if I can make it to a bin or anything that will hold vomit before I do it right here in front of him.

  Stop, Andi. Deep breaths.

  He’s free to do this. And this is who Carrick is. What he does.

  But he was with me…

  And I pushed him away.

  Well, he certainly had no problem with finding a replacement.

  “Carr, who is this?” Her voice sounds uneasy. She’s probably worried I’m his girlfriend or something.

  I part my dry lips to speak.

  But Carrick beats me to it. “She’s nobody.”

  Nobody.

  If he had hit me, it would have hurt less. I jerk back from the shock, pressing the heel of my hand to the blade of pain he just stuck in my chest.

  Unaffected by the hurt he just inflicted on me, he steps out of the elevator, leading the girl out by the hand.

  He gestures. “Elevator’s all yours.” His voice is monotone, almost like he’s bored of having to actually talk to me.

  I glance in the elevator, but all I can see is him in it with her. Him pressed up against her. Kissing her. His hand—

  “I’ll take the stairs.”

  “Whatever.” He walks past me, leading her toward his suite.

  Taking a lungful of air, I hold it in and force my feet to walk in the direction of the stairwell while I hear the disappearing sounds of her giggling as they go inside his suite.

  I tightly wrap my arms over my chest, holding myself together, while my inside quietly cracks open.

  I reach the door to the stairwell. Shoving it open with my shoulder, I fall through, and the breath I was holding in painfully whooshes out of me.

  A sob hitches in my throat. I catch it, covering my mouth with my hand, and hold it in as I run down the stairs.

  Shoving my key in my door, I fall into my room. Letting the door close behind me, I crumple up against it.

  Removing my hand from my mouth, I press it to the pain in my stomach as the sob breaks free. Tears spilling from my eyes, I move my fingers to curl around the little car pendant hanging around my neck.

  THE NEXT DAY, I left China without having to see Carrick.

  Now, I’ve arrived in Bahrain with the guys and turned my phone on. I’m sitting on the bus to take us to the hotel, and I’m staring down at a text message from him.

  I’m sorry.

  He’s sorry.

  For what? For kissing me? Kissing her? For having sex with her? For being the world’s biggest arsehole?

  Aargh!

  A sharp shot of anger pulses through me. I delete the message and throw my phone into my bag.

  “You okay?”

  I lift my eyes to see Uncle John standing by my seat.

  “Mmhmm. I’m good. Just tired.” I force a smile.

  He takes the seat next to me. “I hear you. I think I’m getting too old for all this traveling.”

  “Never.” I look at him, smiling. “You wouldn’t know what to do if you stopped. You love it.”

  “Sure I do.” He gives me a wink. “But I’m still getting old.”

  “Well, to me, you still look the same as you did when I was a girl.” I curl my hand around his arm and rest my head against his shoulder.

  “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  “Like old times.” He lets out a long breath. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Carrick.”

  And there it is.

  I lift my head and meet his eyes. “And?”

  “And I want to make sure that you’re okay.”

  He stares at me, and I feel like he can see right through me. He’s always been able to know when something is going on with me.

  “I’m fine. Carrick and I are just friends.”

  “I’m sure you think that. But does he?”

  I think back to yesterday. “Yeah, he does.”

  Another long stare, and then he seems to settle on it. “I just worry about you, kiddo.”

  “I know yo
u do, and I appreciate it, but everything’s fine. I promise.”

  Except it’s not.

  He lets out a long breath. “Even though I see you every day, I feel like I’ve barely spent any time with you since you arrived.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. But I get it. We’re all busy. You are more than most.”

  Uncle John is always working past the clock.

  “Yeah, well, I want to spend some time with my girl. When we get to the hotel, you wanna have dinner with me? Or are you too tired?”

  Smiling, I say, “I’m never too tired to have dinner with you.”

  I’m sleeping when the knocking on the door starts.

  I had dinner with Uncle John and then came straight up to bed as I was shattered.

  Petra isn’t here. She was flying back to the UK for a week as there’s some catering thing to be done back home, and then she’s coming out. I can’t wait until she gets here. I could do with some female company right now.

  So, I’m alone in my hotel room with someone knocking on the door.

  Stumbling out of bed, I flick on the light, blinding myself in the process. Glancing at the clock, I see that it’s five a.m.

  Approaching the door, I look through the peephole.

  Carrick.

  Shit. What’s he doing here?

  I thought he was still in China. I’m sure he had some press things to do before coming to Bahrain.

  But he’s here, meaning he couldn’t have left much longer after I did.

  On a deep breath, I open the door.

  “Hey.” His eyes flicker to my bare legs before lifting to my face.

  I’m wearing pajama shorts and a T-shirt. And now I’m remembering that I also don’t have a bra on.

  Great.

  I fold my arms over my chest. “What are you doing here? I thought you were still in China.”

  Staring at him, I notice his eyes look bloodshot and glazed. Has he been drinking?

  “I came early. Private jet,” he explains.

  “Well, that’s great, Carrick, but it’s ridiculous o’clock in the morning, and I was sleeping.”

  “Sorry, I just…” He scrubs his hand over his face. “I wanted to talk to you.”

  I wanted to talk the other night, but you were too busy screwing some other woman to talk to me.

  “Well, couldn’t you have waited until a reasonable hour?”