Paths: A Killers Novel, Book 2 (The Killers)

by Brynne Asher

  Putting the flower incident behind us, he was back to his normal self, and spent the night in my little house just as promised. I have no idea how he slept on the little loveseat Addy provided, but he said he was fine. I’m sure all of this spurred my subconscious, creating my erotic dream that I can’t get out of my head. It took me forever to get back to sleep, and the only reason I didn’t put my own hand between my legs for some relief was because I was afraid he’d hear me. Addy didn’t name my little house a bungalow for no reason—it’s small.

  Still worked up into a sexual frenzy, I waited tables all day in the tasting room. Besides coming in for a quick lunch, Grady weirdly didn’t stalk me at work today. Instead, he told me he was catching up on some things, he’d be by at six-thirty, and we’d leave whenever I was ready to pay off my bet.

  It’s strange how he won’t leave my side at the Ranch, but at Whitetail he doesn’t mind. I didn’t have the chance to ask him about it—he seemed in a hurry to get wherever we were going, so I barely had time to change into a pair of jeans, sweater, and boots, plus touch up my makeup. We drove barely ten minutes to Old Bust Head, a local brewery in Vint Hill that I’ve never been to.

  The place was packed, but Grady grabbed my hand and found a corner table where a group of four were leaving. Not only was it packed, it was loud because of trivia night. The guy on stage with the microphone was asking questions and we kept our own score.

  Grady offered to play together, smirking the whole time and said I might not feel like losing to him again. That, of course, got the best of me. I’m competitive and it was time I beat him.

  It was unlike any date I’ve ever had, but seeing as though Grady is only the second man I’ve ever been on a date with, it would be different.

  Right after securing our table, he took my hand again, and we left the building through the back door. There, under a huge overhang near the brewery warehouse, was a truck with the name French Kiss scrolled along the side with a mass of people waiting their turn.

  After taking our place in line, I looked up at him. “What’s this?”

  He tipped his head with a small smile, but spoke slowly as if I didn’t speak his language. “Dinner.”

  “Like a concession stand?” I went on.

  He turned fully to me. “You’ve never eaten at a food truck?”

  “No.” Sure, I’ve seen them around, especially when we went to New York City on shopping trips or if I had to go to downtown Buffalo. But Vanessa Augustine won’t even eat at a chain restaurant, let alone from something on wheels. “I assumed all they sold were novelties, prepackaged ice cream bars, and popcorn.”

  “Oh, Maya. This is going to be fun.” He grinned big and put an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his large frame. Turning me to a large easel sitting next to the truck, there’s a menu haphazardly scrawled on a dry erase board. “French Kiss is French food, not usually my thing, but I’ll go out of my way to eat at any food truck. I don’t care about the beer—we’re here for the food. Order whatever looks good.”

  I read through the menu that included a full breakfast offering, savory crepes, fancy French bread sandwiches that would challenge Maggie’s, cheese and meat platters, and a ton of sides that sounded mouthwatering.

  “They have all that in this truck?” I asked.

  “No, they make all that in this truck.” He gave me a squeeze and I looked up to him. “You remember I read your background, right?”

  I frowned, but nodded, not loving the fact he’s been able to read up on me while I still know so little about him.

  “I understand why you might not have experienced a food truck. Trust me, it’ll be good.”

  Well, it wasn’t only good—it was great. I snagged the last of the parmesan fries that Grady ordered for us to share. They were tossed with parsley, sea salt, parmesan, and roasted garlic. I forked the last bite of my savory crepe with turkey, roasted asparagus, capers, and sun-dried tomatoes, and Grady inhaled his French dip sandwich. The meat and cheese platter that came with fruit was annihilated. It was the best meal I’d had in a long time.

  I’m surprised it was made in a truck and now I’m wondering what else I’ve been missing out on.

  Since sitting down for dinner and a delicious beer, all I’ve learned about Grady is he knows his geography and early American history well. He knows Australia is almost cut in half equally by the Tropic of Capricorn, and the Oneida Native Indian Tribe aligned themselves with Americans during the Revolution. I, on the other hand, am kicking his ass in science and literature.

  “What measure of energy comes from the Latin word meaning heat?” the announcer booms over the PA system.

  Easy. I know this before the options are given and scribble my answer down quickly before flipping my page over.

  Grady leans in close, as it’s the only way we’ve been able to have a conversation thus far because of the noise. I feel his breath on the side of my face when he boasts, “Madagascar put me ahead. You wanna bet again?”

  Knowing we’ll probably be back at a tie because he sucks at science and I doubt he guessed calorie, I turn my head to him and can’t help but bite my lip from having him so close. Especially his mouth, and I find myself wondering if he’s as good with his tongue and lips in real life as he was in my dream.

  Shit. I need to focus.

  “Another date?” I ask.

  His eyes drop to my mouth. “You bite your lip a lot.”

  I instantly roll my lips out of sheer habit, before forcing myself to release them and relax. His eyes come back to mine, but I don’t say anything. I know I do this, my mother has pointed it out my entire life, explaining to me it’s not only unnerving for others to watch, but unbecoming. Still, I catch myself doing it all the time.

  Grady doesn’t let me explain, but goes on, “Makes me jealous.”

  To this, I lean back, confused.

  His hand comes up quickly, wrapping around the back of my neck and the next thing I know, he’s kissing me.

  He doesn’t kiss me long and deep, but his tongue does sweep mine. I taste the sweetness of his root beer he insisted on having since he was driving, along with a hint of our French Kiss dinners. I can’t remember anything tasting better.

  When he pulls away, he’s looking at my lips when he mutters, “Makes me want to kiss them.” His eyes shoot to mine. “Maybe even bite one of them myself.”

  “Let me see a raise of hands for calorie,” the voice booms over the speakers.

  Without moving, our lips almost touch when I ask, “Did you get that one right?”

  His beautiful lips tip on one side. “Fuck no. Calories are something I work off so I can eat more of them.”

  I lean my head into his hand because it feels good and smile. “Then we’re tied. You still want to bet?”

  “Yeah. If I win, you make me dinner, but I get to choose what you make.”

  “And if there’s more science and literature questions and you go down like a big fat loser?” I ask.

  “Then you still make me dinner, but you get to choose what to make.”

  “Either way, I’m making you dinner,” I point out the obvious flaw to his plan.

  He grins big, unapologetically. “I know. I want you to make me dinner.”

  To keep from grinning, I bite the inside of my lip, but catch myself quickly when he narrows his eyes on my mouth.

  Honestly, I love to be in the kitchen and there’s nothing more I’d like than to cook for Grady. Even more so if I get to pick the menu. “I’ll make you dinner.”

  He smiles and is about to say something before we hear the next question. “Name the author of The Power of One.”

/>   I scribble my answer and cover it up, but Grady doesn’t try to hide his. When I see him write out Stephen Covey, I do my best to hide my smile.

  “What?” He shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve never heard of The Power of One. It sounds motivational—it’s my best guess.”

  I laugh and show him my answer when Bryce Courtenay is announced. All I say is, “You’re going down, Grady Cain. I can’t wait to make you dinner.”

  Chapter 14 – You Give Good Dates

  Maya –

  “Tell me about your sisters.”

  I look back and Grady is pushing the cart, looking put out, but following along. He’s just mad he lost at trivia, yet this was his idea. Apparently, I’m cooking for him tomorrow night.

  It’s late. We stayed at the brewery until closing, listening to live music, but it was louder than trivia, so I had no opportunity to interrogate him about anything. I’m shopping slow, trying to think out a menu while I bombard him with questions.

  “What do you want to know?” he asks, looking bored since we’re in the produce section.

  I bag up a zucchini and he doesn’t hide his scowl. “Are they older? Younger?”

  He leans down with his forearms on the handle and starts pushing slowly again. “All younger.”

  I stop, so he stops in tandem. “Wow, I still can’t believe your parents had five kids. All I have is my brother, and we were pretty quiet because we had to be. My mother wouldn’t have it any other way. That must’ve been interesting for your parents.”

  “I don’t know about parents, my mom did all the parenting when we were young, but that’s it. We’re really close in age. Gracie’s the youngest and she’s twenty-four.”

  I realize there’s so much to learn about him. “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-two.”

  I nod, but roll my eyes before moving on. “I suppose you know how old I am.”

  This buys me an unapologetic Grady-grin I’m quickly becoming obsessed with. “You’ll be twenty-nine late next month. You can bake me a cake for your birthday.”

  Whatever. I move on and grab a small butternut squash.

  “Are you close to your sisters?” I keep on.

  He shrugs and when we finally move on to the next aisle, he perks up and starts tossing jars of pickles, olives, jellies, and more peanut butter in the cart. “I guess. I try to see them when I can—they’re in Ohio. I’m the only one who left, and I did that right after high school. Joined the Army and never looked back.”

  We make it through more aisles, me adding needed ingredients and Grady adding junk food.

  “I’m glad you’re close to your sisters. I don’t know what I’d do without Joe. He’s my best friend,” I say, thoughtfully. I stop again to look at him and mean it with all my heart when I say, “You don’t know what it means to me that I get to go see him. I’m worried about him, but I also miss him. My mom’s a pain in the ass, my dad’s tied up in his business, but Joe and I have always had each other. And with the issue of Weston looming over me, I don’t think I’d have the nerve to go back on my own.”

  Grady straightens from where he was leaning on the cart and takes a step, closing the small distance separating us.

  “So, thank you,” I go on, tipping my head back to look him in the eyes. “It means a lot to me.”

  He says nothing, but leans down just far enough to press his lips to my forehead.

  When we finally make it through the aisles and head to the front of the store to check out, we come across the holiday department that looks as though Santa’s dropped a Christmas bomb in Walmart.

  “Do you spend Christmas with your family?” I ask.

  I’ve never spent a Christmas away from mine, but I’ve hardly had time to think about it. Working seven days a week has distracted me from everything.

  When I look over, Grady’s gaze is on me.

  “Sometimes,” he answers. “It’s been hit or miss for the last ten years. Depended on if I was working and could make it back. You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I look back at the artificial trees, stockings, and Santa tchotchkes galore. “I honestly haven’t thought about Christmas until now. I’ve been … busy.”

  “Maya,” he calls for me. When I look back to him, he’s got a small smile on his face and juts his chin to the aisles of holiday décor. “Go pick out what you want.”

  I shake my head quickly. “Really, I’m okay. You’ve seen my rental, I don’t have room for anything else in that little house.”

  “There’s room.”

  “There’s not.”

  “There is.”

  “Fine, there might be, but I can’t afford it.”

  He turns to me fully. “If you don’t go pick out some Christmas crap, I will. Who knows what you’ll end up with, but I promise it’ll include the ugliest shit in this store. If you want to risk ugly Christmas shit around your house for the next few weeks, that’s your call.”

  We have a stare down in the middle of Walmart.

  “Go,” he insists.

  I sigh.

  “Go,” he repeats. When I don’t make a move, he does. “Fine.”

  He starts down the aisle with purpose and literally starts to grab stuff off the shelves, tossing it on top of the food with barely a glance.

  “Grady—you’re going to squish the vegetables.” I cringe when I see what he’s thrown in the cart. “Eww, that is ugly.”

  I pull things out as fast as he throws them in. Pink reindeer, singing bears, a stuffed pig dressed in a Santa suit … he’s either got really bad taste or he’s trying to piss me off.

  “Nope.” He moves forward as fast as he can, grabbing a box of Pokémon ornaments.

  “Stop!” I yell, sort of laughing at the same time. “I just want some garland, maybe some lights and stockings. Nothing,” I wave my hand at the stuff I just shoved back on the shelf, “like this.”

  He looks smug, like he won another bet. “Go pick out what you want.”

  I move around him to search for prelit garland just so he’ll stop. “This is why you’re a carrot cake. You’ve honed the act of being sweet by being annoying. I never knew such a thing existed. How you do that, I have no idea.”

  “I told you, I’m good with women.” When I look back, he’s grinning, proud of himself. “Hurry up, but don’t get a tree. We’ll do that next.”

  “I don’t have room for a tree.”

  “We’ll make room, but I’ll get you a real one.”

  I don’t answer, but stop at the stockings for a quick second, hesitating. I don’t have a fireplace, one stocking would look stupid, and even though he’s been sleeping on my loveseat, I’d feel silly getting one for Grady. Shaking off the thought, I move on, to look at the lights.

  “I thought you wanted stockings?” he calls from behind me.

  I shrug it off without looking back. “I don’t have a mantle.”

  “Maya,” he calls for me and I look back. He doesn’t stop until he gets to me, still pushing our cart. Reaching for my waist, he yanks me in tight, and I’m pressed up against his big, broad chest. “Have you ever spent Christmas alone?”

  I sort of frown. Of course, I’ve never spent Christmas alone. Christmas is a production for my mother that she starts planning on Labor Day. The production grows by the year—not that she's ever lifted a finger to do any of it—and none of her decorations have ever come from Walmart.

  “It’s shit to be alone,” he goes on, assuming my answer. His expression isn’t as loose and relaxed as I’ve grown accustomed to over the past few days. It’s serious an
d meaningful. “I’ve been alone for the last five. Even though it’s shit, you do your best to talk yourself into it not being shit, but it is. Even though I’m taking you to see your brother next week, there’s no fucking way I’m leaving you there, which means you’ll be here for Christmas. I don’t want to spend it alone this year. I want to spend it with you.”

  I bite my lip to mask my happiness. “You do?”

  His eyes drop to my mouth and he frowns as his arms constrict around me. “Don’t do that in the middle of Walmart.”

  I allow myself to smile this time and my eyes get big. “Sorry.”

  “Pick out two stockings, unless you’re inviting someone else to Christmas that I don’t know about.”

  I shrug. “I was going to invite Foxy, but since you’ve invited yourself and there’s barely room for the two of us, I guess he’ll have to make other plans.”

  “Does Foxy have family?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Then Foxy’s not coming to our Walmart Christmas.” He gives me a squeeze before giving me a quick kiss. “Hurry up, it’s late and we still need to cut down a tree.”

  He lets me go, but I don’t hurry. “I’m sure they have live trees outside. I doubt we’ll find a tree farm open this late.”

  “We live in the middle of the forest, Maya. We don’t need a tree farm, but we will need one of those things to put the tree in.”

  “A tree stand?” I grin.

  “I told you I’ve been alone for the last five years, sorry I’m rusty on my Christmas lingo. Now, speed it up, we’ll need shit to put on the tree, too.”

  “Got it.” I turn to pick out two stockings, which makes me immensely happy. “A tree thing and tree shit. I’m on it.”

  *****

  Grady –

  I wasn’t lying when I said I’d been on my own the last five Christmases. I also haven’t given it much thought until we were standing there, but at that moment, I realized how alone I’ve been.