“He was doing a VIP thing, over at the Flat Iron Grill,” a teenage girl said, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, looking pained. “And before he was swarmed and groped . . .”
“Oh, don’t be so stuffy, Amelia,” the redhead said, rolling her eyes. “Guys love that sort of thing, believe me.”
“He made a break for it. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was running for the cops,” Amelia shot back, scowling.
“Well, he is smokin’ hot,” Hailey commiserated, causing the redhead to grin triumphantly at the girl, Amelia. “And he’s around here? Seriously? You’re not kidding?”
The redhead nodded. “Not even kidding. Can you imagine?”
“Well, crap. I’m stuck here until the end of my shift. I thought I saw a guy running past the window, down the mall. Thought he was a thief, actually.”
Don’t oversell it, she chastised herself. She was out of practice.
“Which way did he go?” Pocket-Ripper said, gripping the edge of the counter.
“That way,” Hailey said, pointing to the far end of the strip mall. “But he could probably . . .”
Before she could finish, Sweater-Woman was already moving. Redhead let out a hoot, like a baying hunting dog, and sprinted after the crowd. Only Amelia remained behind.
“Um, miss?”
Hailey bit her lip, hoping that the kid would move so she could hustle Jake out of here without incident. “Yes? Did you want some coffee?”
Amelia looked at her searchingly. “If you do happen to see Mr. Reese,” she said, her tone serious, “please apologize to him. From me.”
Hailey smiled. Amelia was no fool. “I’ll do that,” she said, nodding. Amelia nodded back, then strolled out.
Hailey waited a beat, then let out a breath, turning to the prone actor. “Well, that was a close one. You okay?”
“I am now,” he said, smiling at her. He was wearing a pair of dark blue jeans, a black T-shirt, and a brown leather jacket. His eyes were shockingly blue—like, Paul Newman blue. He was sex in a pair of Levi’s. “Damn. You’re not a bad actress, you know that?”
“I’m a terrible actress,” she corrected. “But I’m a hell of a liar.”
He chuckled. “Thanks for covering for me.”
“No worries,” she said, feeling a little fluttery burst of sexual awareness hum through her stomach—and, just as immediately, felt a little irritated with herself for it.
So he’s famous. So what?
“You’d better get out of here before the rampaging horde comes back, though.”
“You said it,” he agreed. “Can you tell me where this hotel is?”
He handed her a piece of paper, and she scanned the address. “Sure. It’s not far. Maybe a five-minute drive.”
“Can I call Uber or a cab from here?” he said, pulling out his phone.
“You could,” she said, shaking her head. “Only problem there: this isn’t that big of a shopping center. Those women are going to be back. Better make sure they know exactly where to pick you up, and wait until they’re out front before you leave.”
He glanced at her. “I don’t suppose you could take me,” he said with a hopeful smile.
She felt a jolt of awareness flash through her like an electric shock.
Dimples, she thought absently. They were her downfall.
Jake Reese gave great dimples.
She looked heavenward. “I have an afternoon shift, at my other job,” she said, trying to fight the pull of attraction she felt. This guy’s not for you, kiddo.
“You said it’s only five minutes away, though,” he wheedled.
“What is it with guys trying to get on my good side today?”
He deliberately turned, pointing at his ass. She saw the gaping hole where his pocket used to be. The guy was wearing striped boxers, she noticed. He also had an ass a woman could write odes to, she also couldn’t help but notice.
“I don’t think I’ll survive another round with those women,” he said, his eyes imploring.
Damn those dimples.
“Fine,” she said, ignoring the flash of his blue eyes and her corresponding hormonal bump. “As soon as my replacement comes back, I’ll . . .”
“Oh, thank you,” Jake said quickly. Before she knew it, he was hugging her.
She was being hugged by Jake Reese, a.k.a. Rick from Mystics, the brooding bad-boy with muscles for miles and a kick-ass Shelby Mustang. His character had successfully taken on Illuminati alien assassins as part of a secret brotherhood of Templar knights. She knew this because she watched the show religiously, threatening to kill people over spoilers. If she had any spare money, she’d probably go to the Mystics con that was happening that week.
Now, she was in his arms. Her mind was temporarily blown.
He smelled like expensive cologne, just a splash of it, plus some pure rugged male. Her body tightened in response, her breasts crushed up against the rock-hard wall of his chest.
Oh, my.
Of course, it was at that point that Stan breezed back in, a paper bag of greasy goodness in hand. “Thanks, Hales, I . . .” He stopped, jaw dropping at the sight in front of him.
Jake pulled back away from Hailey, with a rueful half smile.
“Well, I got a double burger and fries with a milkshake,” Stan said, tongue in cheek. “What goodies did you grab for lunch, girl?”
She rolled her eyes. “Say good-bye, Stan,” she said, grabbing her own leather jacket and throwing it on.
“Good-bye, Stan,” Stan replied, chuckling. With that, she did a quick scan for the fangirls, then grabbed Jake’s hand and tugged him toward the parking lot. She’d just take him to the hotel, drop him off, and head off to her shift. He’d get a ride, she’d get a story to tell her sisters and friends.
She glanced over her shoulder at him, then reddened, realizing she still held his hand. She didn’t have to lead him like a two-year-old. She tried to let him go.
He didn’t release her, though; instead, he squeezed. And she felt a resulting tension in her body as he winked at her before finally dropping her hand.
Her blush went a little deeper—she could feel the heat on her cheeks—and she looked straight ahead.
Drop him off and go to work, she chastised herself. The guy was hot as hell and twice as charming.
He was the last thing she needed. And she wasn’t going to be his mark.
* * *
Jake followed his rescuer to the parking lot, staring at her as surreptitiously as he could. She looked like a forties pinup mixed with a goth. Her dark brown hair was done up in elaborate curls, tied at the nape of her neck with a navy-blue bow. She was wearing a maraschino cherry–red sweater and jeans that hugged every curve, of which there were plenty. She was also wearing Dr. Martens that looked like she could stomp a man into powder and a black leather jacket that looked worn, not from fashion but from hard use.
She was, in a word, awesome.
He was grateful that she’d both saved him and was now transporting him to the relative safety of his hotel. He also couldn’t stop staring at her, which is why he didn’t realize they’d come to her car until she stopped him.
“Hop in,” she said. She gestured to a beat-up old station wagon, midnight blue except for the Bondo spots. It looked like, charitably, a hoopty. Or, uncharitably, like a piece of shit.
“This is your car?”
She lifted one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at the doubt in his voice, and made a pursed pout with her full scarlet lips. “Are you judging my ride?”
“No,” he said quickly. It wouldn’t do to have her strand him here. He got in, ignoring the cold of the patched vinyl seat. “It’s . . . unusual. Vintage,” he added, trying to remedy the situation.
She patted the dashboard lovingly. “Don’t listen to him, Charlotte,” she crooned.
“Your car’s name is Charlotte?”
She slammed the door shut. “Of course,” she said, as if it were perfectly obvious. “And don’t let ho
w she looks fool you. She’s got it where it counts.”
“I’ll bet . . .” he started to say, and then the woman revved the engine. It sounded like a lion roaring, or maybe a mechanical T. rex. “Holy shit!”
Her smile was like the sun. “It’s bored out, blueprinted and balanced, with a radical cam and aluminum heads, a four-speed transmission, and a three-point-seven-three to one posi rear end. She does a twelve-second quarter mile at Pacific Raceways. Like I said: don’t let looks fool you.”
“I’m impressed,” he said. Actually, he was dumbfounded.
She shot him a curious glance. “No cracks about why a woman’s driving a car like this?”
“Nope,” he said, rubbing the crackled leather seat and feeling the thrum of the engine roar through him. “I’d ask about a price, but I get the feeling she’d never be for sale.”
“Too right.” The woman let out a throaty laugh that made his body tense in all the right places. It wasn’t like he was hard up for female companionship, but this woman wasn’t just any woman. Obviously, his body had noticed.
He cleared his throat. “So, you know my name. What’s yours?”
“Oh! Right. I’m Hailey,” she said. With ease, she pulled the large vehicle out of the parking lot, turning onto the main street.
“I owe you, Hailey,” he said. “Did I hear you’re a fan of the show?”
Her skin was olive-hued—maybe there was some Latina, or maybe Italian or Greek, in her background?—but it turned the greatest rose color when she blushed. “I do like Mystics,” she admitted. “My sister Cressida’s an even bigger fan.”
“You going to the convention?”
“Gotta work,” she said. “Even if I didn’t, though, I don’t really have the couple hundred bucks for admission to burn.”
Guilt pricked him, and he shifted uncomfortably on the bench seat. She was obviously going from one job to another, and he’d hijacked her into acting as a cabbie for him. “Can I give you some money for the ride?”
She shot him a quick, hard glance. “Wasn’t fishing for cash, ace,” she said with a tight grin. “Just pointing out the convention’s a little pricey for a relatively new show, and the first time you’ve had a convention.”
Now he felt his own cheeks heat. “Well, how about, like, a T-shirt or something? Some memorabilia? I can grab you some.”
She smiled more gently this time. “Cressida would love that, actually,” she said, then nodded, as if her sister was the deciding factor. “If it won’t take too long . . . ?”
“It’ll only take a minute,” he assured her, feeling a little better. She was right, it took less than five minutes to get there—considerably less, the way she drove. She took one of the last spots in the hotel lot as someone pulled out.
He got out, then looked at her. “Come with me, I’ll grab your stuff,” he said. Sure, he could’ve simply run in and grabbed it, but that would mean he wouldn’t get to spend those last few minutes with her—and then she’d just drive off into the sunset.
As they walked toward the building, he took her hand, grinning at her little jump of surprise. “Just wanted to show you where the lobby is,” he said innocently.
Her eyes went wide, but she didn’t pull away. He got the feeling that she wasn’t stunned easily, and felt inordinately proud.
That is, until he reached the desk. The lobby was a cacophony of chaos. People were trying to sign in, wearing various costumes. He could see what looked like a convention organizer arguing with a hotel manager type. There were also a bunch of men and women in business-casual gear, gawking with irritation at the disorder swirling around. Everybody, it seemed, was trying to get either checked in or checked out, and were complaining about the same.
Hailey nudged him. “I have to get to work,” she said.
He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want her leaving without anything. He didn’t want to be some fast-talking Hollywood type, welshing on his offer. “This’ll just take a second,” he said, then went in front of the line, nudging past people who were getting gradually pissed about it. He stopped the manager. “Hi, there.”
The manager, a thin man with a pronounced Adam’s apple and receding hairline, glared at him. “You’re going to have to go back in line with everybody else,” he snapped.
Jake released Hailey’s hand, crossing his arms in front of his chest and glaring back. “I’m Jake Reese.”
The manager looked distinctly unimpressed.
“I’m with the show? The convention?” he said, feeling like a total schmuck to have to put it that way. “I’m supposed to have a room here.”
“So does everyone in line,” the manager said loudly. “You’ll have to wait your turn.”
Jake felt humiliation burn at him. It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t in front of Hailey, but he’d made a big deal about this, and now he was striking out. Maybe if I used my dad’s name, this guy’d snap to, Jake thought bitterly. Which is why he wasn’t going to use it. He felt like enough of a douchebag for saying he was with the show. He wasn’t going to compound it by pulling the Hollywood royalty card, cementing the impression of “entitled asshole.”
He glanced back at Hailey, ready to apologize, only to see her studying the manager shrewdly.
“Maybe you didn’t hear properly. This is Jake Reese,” she said sharply, her tone making the manager stand a bit straighter—as well as a woman at the nearby counter. “Don’t you know who he is? He’s one of the main attractions at the convention that’s setting up—chaotically, I can’t help but notice. He’s the reason that all these women are shelling out three hundred dollars, not to mention the hotel fees. And you know a lot of them are going to be eating at your restaurants.”
The manager blanched. She surreptitiously nudged Jake, and he took the hint, standing a little straighter, trying to look haughty. Maybe he should consider hiring Hailey to be his handler, he thought with a smirk. She seemed to have some skills in that area.
“Jake Reese?” the woman behind the counter said, stepping away from an irate customer. “I’m so sorry. I thought that someone had contacted you. There was a huge mix-up. The dental convention let out later than we booked, and there’s been a lot of miscommunication with the convention organizers. We have your bag here, behind the counter. Give me just a second to grab it.”
She dashed off, and he stared after her, mystified. What mix-up? And why is she giving me my bag? Why isn’t it, I don’t know, in my room?
She handed it to him. “I’ve got a lead on a few rooms in other hotels,” she said, “but it’s kind of a busy season right now. There are conventions and business meetings all over the city, so, um, I’ve had a hard time finding anything available.”
He stared at the bag for a second, blinking. “Are you telling me I don’t have a room?”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, and she looked near tears. He sighed.
“It’s, um, okay,” he answered, nonplussed. “Really. I’ll figure something out.”
“You can room with us, Jake!” a woman at the counter said, waving a key card.
“Oh, shit,” he muttered.
“We are sorry for the inconvenience,” the manager said stiffly. “You will absolutely have a room available tomorrow.”
“I expect you’ll ensure that it’s more than adequate,” Hailey said, and the manager guy cowered. Actually cowered. It was kind of glorious. “Come on, Jake. You can bet your ass that upper management will be hearing about this.”
He took his bag and followed her out, ignoring some of the catcalls from fans who were starting to recognize him. “What are you doing?” he whispered.
“Just follow me,” she hissed back. Pretty soon, they were back at her car.
“I’m sorry,” he said, feeling like the hotel clerk. “Really, really sorry. If you give me your address, I’ll make sure stuff is shipped to you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. Saying good-bye to Hailey had just gotten a hell of a lot more awkward. “Now I guess I’d, um, bet
ter look for another . . .”
To his surprise, she burst out laughing. “Man. That is just one big clusterfuck in there, isn’t it?”
Slowly, he grinned. “They’re still figuring it out,” he said. “They’re a new convention company, so it’ll take a while to work the kinks out, I think. Thanks for the rescue back there.”
“Guys like that give me hives,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Self-important, doesn’t pay attention unless you’re ‘worth paying attention to’ in his mind. And unable to handle stress. My sister Rachel does event planning up at the casino, and she’d have that place running like a Swiss watch without breaking a sweat.”
He felt the warmth in her voice when she talked about her sister. “Yeah, he was kind of a dickhead,” he agreed.
“Incompetence. Such a turnoff,” Hailey said decisively.
Suggesting that a guy who knew what he was doing might be a turn-on for her. He filed that away mentally.
For . . . reasons.
“Anyway, they’re right. Everything is booked around here,” Hailey said apologetically as they made it back to her car. “I don’t know if March is convention season or what, but I know that a lot of hotels are full.”
“How do you know that?”
“I work at a casino that’s also a large hotel,” she said with a sigh. “It’s sold out right now, too—there’s a big tournament, and a lot of tourists—and Rachel told me they had to arrange for transportation to other hotels for some of the attendees.”
He felt a pang of disappointment. It would’ve been cool to spend a bit more time with her—wander down to where she was dealing blackjack, maybe watch her work. Maybe see if she had a dinner break. He owed her that, at least.
And that’s totally not why you want to stay in the hotel where she works, he admitted to himself.
Her smile was broad, and mischievous. “As luck would have it, though, I happen to have a room reserved there for tonight.”
He felt a zing course through his body, like when he’d accidentally touched a live wire, back when he was doing construction. “You do?”
Was she asking him to stay with her?
Yes, please! His body clamored.
One True Pairing: A Geek Girl Rom Com (Fandom Hearts) Page 2