by May Dawson
I’d secretly had a lot of fun reading that summer.
I opened the book and began reading the story of a princess who, judging from the back cover, finds herself torn between her duty to her kingdom and the sexy, forbidden men she falls in love with.
I flipped to the end to make sure there was a happy ending. I knew it was a romance, but what if I’d picked up some terrible love story where, I don’t know, someone dies, or they all die, or she has to choose in the end?
Then I went back to reading from the beginning. She met a panty-dropping hot shifter—well, those guys could be total dicks, I wished her luck—but I grew more and more invested. I kept ‘spooning’ ice cream into my mouth, but sometimes I was so focused on the page that I missed.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have a hot alpha guy who pinned me up against the wall and ravaged my throat with his kisses… Sure, I’d claw the head off any man who thought he could order me around. But maybe, just maybe, I’d like to be taken care of for once.
With Brad, I was always on my own. Once he let a door slam in my face as he walked in before me, then snickered something about feminism. Man, I realized in retrospect I really should have chewed his arm off before I left Scarborough.
But this hunky shifter was determined to love and protect his queen… even if she thinks she’d rather be alone…except for when she’s distracted by his chiseled body and charming smirks. I heaved a sigh. In reality, I didn’t think I’d ever met a guy who smirked without me wanting to slap him across the face.
But the guy in this book is lovingly bossy on one page, threatening to spank her ass if she keeps putting herself in danger, and then on the next page is kneeling in front of her, tender and loving. He presses kisses to her body, looks up at her face with worshipful eyes. He treats her like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever found…and then he fucks her like he’s trying to break her. But she doesn’t, of course—she just has orgasms. Many, many orgasms.
I cranked down the window. It was getting hot in the car without air conditioning.
Anyway, that was why when the tow truck pulled up, I was reading a romance novel and scooping up rocky road ice cream with a credit card.
Look, I might not win any awards for dignity—because ice cream had gotten all over my mouth too—but I should definitely win one for ingenuity.
Then Blake Averill, my childhood-crush-slash-nemesis, got out of the truck.
Amber eyes.
Dark hair.
Broad shoulders.
Tall, lean frame.
I practically threw the ice cream across the car and frantically scrubbed my hand over my mouth, trying to get rid of the ice cream residue.
“You’ve got to be kidding me, universe,” I muttered. “Bad things are supposed to come in threes. This is five. Five!”
My car breaking down was four and that was ridiculous enough, but coming face-to-face with Blake was definitely five.
When I looked like this, I thought maybe seeing Blake should count as six and seven too.
Reluctantly, I got out of my car.
Blake stopped dead when he saw me, his eyes widening. “Lily?”
“Hi, Blake.” Why was he looking at me like that? I couldn’t read his expression. “So you have… a towing company?”
“And a garage to go with it.” He stood up straighter when he said it, as if he weren’t already tall enough. “We’ll get your car fixed up. What’s wrong with it?”
“If I knew, I’d fix it.”
“I like your confidence.” He winked at me, and another girl might’ve said that he had a sexy wink, but he always drove me out of my damn mind. “Well, we’ll figure it out. Let me get it all hooked up.”
“Great. Thanks.” I walked away from him, into the sunshine. My heart was racing, which made no sense.
I wandered along the sidewalk as he hooked up my car, trying to convince myself that I was cool, I was calm, I was a real grown woman who could handle my childhood crush.
I had to ride with Blake back to the garage. But it would be fine, I could get through some small talk about him and his two ‘brothers’ and how they’d come back to Silver Springs and then it would all be over and I could eat my ice cream on the couch.
I came back just as he was hosting the car up on the back of the truck.
When he saw me, his eyes brightened. There was no denying the way he looked at me, and it made me stumble deep inside.
Then he said, “You’ve got something on your cheek.”
Ice cream. It was ice cream. He just thought I was funny.
He licked his thumb—oh, I should think that was gross, Blake and I were not on licking terms—and reached for me.
I definitely didn’t need him to rub the rocky road off with his thumb like I was a kitten. I felt a dismissive smirk cross my lips as I took a step back.
My heel came down on nothing.
The drainage gap between the sidewalk and the side of the road wasn’t that deep, but Blake still saved me gallantly, throwing an arm around my waist and reeling me against his body.
He smelled good, like clean white soap and leather as well as a faint tang of automotive grease. Those amber eyes locked on mine, and a faint smile played on his kissable, lush lips.
He was so cute, and he thought I was just so klutzy.
I pulled out of his arms and huffed, storming off a few steps.
Then I felt even more guilty because I hadn’t thanked him. Knowing Blake, he was keenly aware I hadn’t thanked him, but he decided not to call me on it.
He probably expected me to feel grateful for that too.
His smile widened, and I bristled, not even knowing why. I tucked my wayward curls back behind my ears, trying to get myself back together. I’d known Blake since kindergarten. How could he fluster me?
Then I saw what was emblazoned on the side of his truck, and I turned to him skeptically. “Really, Blake?”
“What are you mad about now?” he demanded, crossing his arms over his big chest. He looked unfairly sexy just then with his t-shirt hugging his broad shoulders and a frown dimpling the skin between the most gorgeous gold-flecked amber eyes I’d ever seen.
So many things. “Did you really name your business—your actual, going-to-put-this-on-my-taxes, plastered-on-a-big-ass-sign business—Hot Wheels? What are you, seven?”
“Why do you care?” He didn’t even look mad; he looked genuinely perplexed.
“Because it’s so goofy, it gives me the worst case of second-hand embarrassment.”
For a second, he nodded, as if he were seriously considering what I’d just said. Meanwhile, my heart did flip-flops. Why was I so mean to Blake when he was nice to me?
“Oh, not only did I give my business a stupid name,” he said, a faint smile touching his lips, “but you’re going to come work for me.”
Right, now I remembered why being mean to him had become a habit. He was bossy and protective, as if he had all the answers, even though we were the same age. Since the two of us were five.
“What?” I asked. “Excuse me?”
“I heard you lost your job,” he explained. “Easy fix! You just come work for me. We need someone helping out at Hot Wheels.”
“No.” I shook my head, unable to help laughing. That idea was more surreal than accepting an allowance from my grandfather. “I’m not—I don’t know anything about cars.”
“You sounded really confident about them ten minutes ago,” he pointed out. “Anyway, we can teach you everything you need to know.”
“No thanks,” I said. “Very kind offer, thank you, but no thank you.”
That was a lot of times to say thank in one sentence. Totally playing it cool there, Lily.
He shrugged. “Suit yourself. We could use a good receptionist. Our filing system is a mess.”
“I’m sure it is.”
He stopped and turned to me, bracing his hand on the side of his truck. He raised both eyebrows skeptically. “What is your problem? I
n all seriousness?”
When those gorgeous hazel eyes met mine in challenge, it made something in my chest flip-flop. But I plunged on. “In all seriousness, I don’t have a problem. You can’t just come in here and tow my car and fix my employment situation…”
“I can, actually,” he said. “You just don’t want me to. And you still have chocolate on your face, by the way. So congratulations. You really showed me.”
I swiped my cheek with my sleeve. “It’s ice cream.”
As if that made things better.
“Get in the truck,” he said, going around to the driver’s side.
I stood there for a few long seconds. I hated when he bossed me around. I also didn’t want to walk home from the grocery store carrying my shopping bags and trailing droplets of melted ice cream behind me.
I grabbed my groceries from the passenger seat, threw them into the truck where my feet would go, and then swung up.
The cab was clean and air-conditioned to a refreshing cool after the heat in my car—and Love Blooms. I checked that the book was still in my purse.
“What’s that?” he asked, looking at the bright cover.
“Mm? Nothing.”
“Romance novel?” he asked. “I think Dylan secretly reads those.”
I nodded, and didn’t say anything else. I didn’t want to talk about romance with Blake.
Chilly silence settled between us as he drove us toward the garage.
Just as we neared my house, Blake said, “I don’t know why you hate me so much.”
“I don’t hate you,” I said.
Blake was impossible to hate. Easy to be annoyed by, sure. But impossible to hate.
He scoffed at that. “Sure, Tiger.”
The nickname just annoyed me right now, especially after my grandfather’s teasing.
“Could you let me out here?” I pointed out the window at my house so fast that my finger slammed into the glass, and I pretended that it didn’t hurt, but he noticed. Of course he did. “You can call me and tell me what’s going on.”
“I’ll check your car and stop by to let you know,” he said.
“You can just call me.”
“I can just stop by. I can walk.” He smiled at me, but it was one of those signature Blake I’m-about-to-rile-you-up smiles. That cocky smirk still brought out the very nice dimples in his cheeks. “It’s very convenient. You can walk to work too!”
“I’m not coming to work for you.”
“You can tell yourself you’re coming to work with me if it will make you feel better,” he said, stopping the tow truck in front of my house. He turned, putting his arm behind my headrest, careful not to touch me. The movement brought us intimately close though, and I was keenly aware of his hand braced just on the other side of the headrest, his corded forearm, the scent of white soap and mechanic. He looked so comfortable with himself. “Even though I’m a great boss.”
“I’m sure you are. You’ve got years of practice—now you’ve finally got the title.”
He laughed at that, and I took the opportunity to climb down from the passenger seat.
He jumped down from the cab. I glared at him as he reached past me to grab the rest of the shopping bags, and I started picking up bags as fast as I can, trying to beat him to them.
“I don’t need help,” I told him.
“Oh, bullshit,” he said and I glared at him harder, not that he ever seemed to notice.
As he walked me to the door, he told me, “Have a good night, Tiger.”
“You too.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Not if I see you first.
He strode back toward the truck, looking ridiculously fine in that t-shirt and the jeans that hugged his perfect ass.
No matter what I told myself, there were butterflies in my stomach as I watched him go.
It was probably from speed-eating all that ice cream, though.
5
The next morning, I laid in bed for a few minutes, studying the same crack in the ceiling that I grew up sleeping under. The crack ran from the wall above my closet, across the slanted ceiling to the tiny window seat that formed my reading nook. I traveled to Narnia and Neverland leaning against that window, whether the glass was cold during a snow day from school or rain droned against it steadily during a spring storm. To me, that particular window seat is the coziest corner in the whole universe.
For once, I had nowhere to be, no alarm going off. Brad wasn’t going to grumble at me because I hit snooze.
The cover of Love Blooms peeked out the top of my purse, which I left on my desk. After all, that garish cover was hard to miss. My bedroom was small enough that I could snag the book from where my purse hung over the chair back without leaving bed. Then, for old time’s sake, I settled into the window seat, even though it felt narrower than it used to be.
I flipped the book open to a random spot toward the middle. Oh, she’s fallen for a new guy. He’s a charming flirt who gets constant attention from women, with a rakish grin. Good luck with that, girlfriend. I remembered Brad lying to me as his side chick huddled naked in between my coats—god, I better get my coats dry-cleaned—and I almost flipped the book closed.
But Mr. Flirty has eyes for no one but our heroine. Other women throw themselves at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice. For some reason, it made me think of Dylan, who was always so casually sexy—and so oblivious to the impact he had on everyone around him. Including me.
I wondered what made this princess so special.
Oh look—there it was on the page. I found myself daydreaming as I stared at the page, propping my cheek on my hand.
“Why are you still here?” I demand. “I’m not the easiest girl to love.”
“Maybe not,” he says, caging me against the wall with his arms. I look up at him, heart beating wildly…but is it because we’re fighting?
Or because I can’t stop staring at his lips?
“But I don’t need for this thing between us to be easy,” he says, his gaze fixed on mine intently. “I just need you.”
He leans in for the kiss, and my lips part to welcome him…
I snapped the book closed. Yeah, I wish. In real life, prickly girls ended with a trashed apartment and a grandfather who wanted them to move home because they couldn’t survive on their own. I rested the book on my forehead. Maybe I could osmose a happy romance.
I needed coffee.
And a fresh start.
But I could definitely have the coffee. Coffee, at least, was a reasonable goal.
When I started to make breakfast, I found a bunch of boxes of stale cereal in my grandfather’s cluttered pantry. One thing turned into another, and the next thing I knew I still hadn’t managed to eat a Pop-Tart, but I was knee-deep in the bags of clutter I was sorting.
My grandfather walked into the kitchen, then turned and walked right back out again.
“Oh no, get back in here, old man,” I called after him. “You can work that coffee maker one-handed, and I need coffee for this. What happened here? Some of these cans are older than you are.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed. Then he added, “They hadn’t invented cans yet when I was born.”
He started coffee, then took a seat at the kitchen table, watching me as I dumped out half the contents of his pantry.
“I’ve got a clutter situation here,” he admitted, as if he were seeing it with new eyes. “I’m definitely going to have the easier end of things when I die. It’s going to suck for you, though.”
The easy way he talked about his own mortality made me want to huck the expired container of steel-cut oats in my hand at him. I hated the thought of losing him. Instead, I shook the oatmeal at him. “Have you ever actually eaten this?”
He squinted at it. “Squirrel food.”
“Then how did it end up in here?” I asked, dumping it into the bag.
“A friend told me I should try it. That I should eat healthier.”
“O
h? Is this Lasagna Friend?”
“I’m not talking about Lasagna Friend when you won’t talk to me about those boys down the street.”
I snorted. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“You should definitely snort like that around them. There really will be nothing to talk about.”
“You’re driving me crazy,” I told him.
“Then maybe you should take that job so you get out of the house.”
I rolled my eyes. “I have to go back to the city. Everything I own is there.”
“Everything important is in Silver Springs.”
“You’re very important to me, Grandpa, and you know that all too well. But what else is there in Silver Springs?”
He just smiled as if he knew something I didn’t.
After tackling his pantry, I moved on to cleaning the living room with him. He was surprisingly willing to purge. I was pleasantly surprised. Marie Kondo had nothing on me.
Then he looked around the living room, as I returned from dragging another box of discards onto the front porch. He nodded to himself, then said, “Looks like there’s room for you now.”
I quirked an eyebrow at him. “Um. I’m twenty-four.”
His forehead creased as he studied me. “Does that mean you have more stuff than when you were eighteen?”
“With this economy?” I asked him. “Nope, that’s not the takeaway. I’m twenty-four. I can’t live with my grandpa indefinitely.”
“Why not? I like having you here. You like being here.”
“You and I snipe at each other constantly.”
“And we both like it. Sarcasm is your love language.”
“That seems healthy,” I muttered. “I’m going to take your car to Goodwill and then the dump, okay? I’ve got to get all this stuff out of the house.”
“Go ahead,” he said. “If she’ll start for you. Maybe she will. Roberta always liked you best.”
“Maybe she prefers me because you bought a sexy convertible and then named her Roberta.”