The Hitchhiker_Opposites Collide

by Kathy Coopmans

  “This is going to hurt.”

  I look down to Katch pouring rubbing alcohol onto a cloth and then dabbing it on my open knee caps. I clench my teeth together, feeling the burn. It’s like a swarm of hornets has decided to sting me all at once. I hiss but refuse to show any other signs of pain.

  “Katch…”

  “Hollywood, this kit has seen better days. It was the only option.” Katch throws down the kit, sending it scattering to the floor. “It’ll help you grow a well-needed pair.”

  The jackass smirks at me then pulls me up to his chest. He doesn’t have to tell me to wrap my legs around his waist. I just do it and oh, hell, does he feel nice.

  “You know how to get hold of me when it’s ready,” he hollers over his shoulder.

  JimBob nods his approval.

  I turn my face and inhale his rich timber scent. It’s powerful, mingled with a hint of leather. He’s a shelter of expansive woods and protectiveness making me want to carve my initials in him.

  “Are you afraid of anyone?” I whisper into his neck.

  My lips are so close to his skin, thirsty to take a taste. My question causes him to stop mid-movement. He continues to stare forward, debating on his answer.

  “Not until you.” His typical demanding and strong voice is so quiet I barely make out the words. Not until me? Oh. My. God.

  He begins walking again toward the car and makes it seem effortless as he opens the door and then places me on the bench seat. I notice he doesn’t make eye contact when he sets me down. I also don’t miss the fact he was gentle and caring in his movements with me. Before he shuts the door, I grab his wrist, halting his movements.

  “Thank you for protecting me.” I wink at him. “Even if it was a bit over the top.”

  “You haven’t seen anything yet, Hollywood.” He shuts my door, and I’m seeing everything I want to see as he makes his way around the front and slides right into his car.

  “Are we going shopping now?” I grab my purse, toss on my sunglasses, and pull my hair out of the mess on top of my head. My long locks cascading down my back.

  Katch nods while watching my hair fall down over my shoulders and then glances back toward the road as he pulls out of the parking lot.

  “Yup.”

  “Good, the first store I need to hit is a shoe store. Does the mall around here have a Barney’s of New York?” I’m kidding, of course.

  Even if they did, Katch is not the kind of guy to go walking through a mall. Hell, he probably doesn’t even know where one is. Somehow, I can’t picture him shopping at all.

  I pull out my lip gloss. Swipe it across my lips and check to see how much cash I have.

  “No. There’s a Target about ten minutes from my place. I figured we could stop there.” It’s then I realize I only have one hundred dollars. I can’t use my credit cards for fear they are being tracked. Same goes for my phone.

  “You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?” I say, trying to remain calm.

  I’ve never been in a Target store in my life. I know what they are. My secretary, Fiona, loves that store. She has the cutest clothes from there.

  “I’m not making fun of you, Hollywood. I’m letting you know there isn’t a mall near my house and I ain’t driving all over the place so you can spend my money on shit you don’t need.”

  “Okay.” I turn my head to look out the window.

  I’ve been on my own for so long now that the thought of someone else, let alone a man who is slowly showing me his softer side, buying my clothes and personal items is a big hit to my woman power ego. I’m not going to offend him or argue with him when it’s obvious he has to pay for my stuff. How the hell does he know what I need anyway?

  “Hey.” He places his hand on my wrist.

  I close my eyes, turn around, and I’m met with mesmerizing eyes and a gentle smile.

  “I know this is rough on you. Shit being thrown at you left and right, wearing someone else’s clothes and shoes. I fucking get it. One thing you need to know is, this ain’t the end of the world. Another thing you should know is, I’m one hell of a cook. And my house, well, let’s just say it’s fucking badass, but it ain’t got shit on the badass in you. You are one hell of a strong woman. Don’t forget that, Caitlin. Not fucking ever.”

  I can’t help myself. I lift my hand and run it across his glorious beard. It calms my core. A bad habit finding solace in this man who’s my complete opposite. It’s just for now, until I get my life back; or at least that’s what I will keep reminding myself.

  “Thank you.”

  6

  Katch

  I’m thirty-two years old, a cold-blooded killer, and I just went all soft on a woman. Jesus Christ, this is why I don’t have conversations with them. I fuck, I chuck, and I run. Now, look at me. I’m about to pull into a Goddamn Target.

  I don’t shop. Not even for my food. I have a housekeeper for all of that shit. She comes with a few side jobs, preferably on her hands and knees, but she knows what she’s getting, and that’s all she’s going to get. Mindy is going to be pissed out of her Goddamn mind when she finds out I’m bringing Caitlin to my house. Not one time have I let her or any other woman stay with me. Hell, I’ve never even fucked Mindy on my bed. This woman right here, though, she isn’t a club whore. She’s different in more ways than my fucked-up mind can comprehend.

  We don’t have a thing in common, and yet here I sit, turning my car around after she begged me to please take her to the Starbucks we just passed. What the hell is wrong with me? I have no clue what it is about her that has me tied up in knots I can’t slip out of. If I don’t tone my shit down now, she’ll be pulling me along from the rope attached to my dick.

  “Welcome to Starbucks, may I take your order?”

  “Get your ass over here and tell her what you want,” I instruct.

  “Quit being so bossy.” I’m about ready to show her how bossy I can be when she unfastens her seatbelt, hangs half her body over the bench seat with her palms planted on the leather console, and gives me a view of her tits.

  Fuck me. Her cleavage is spilling out of her black lace bra. Her fucking tits are perfect, and if I have anything to say about it, it won’t be long before they are in my mouth and my dick is sliding in between them. My cum would make the perfect fucking necklace right under her face.

  “Um. You can pull up now,” she says, eyeing me with her tell-all eyes. She knew exactly what I was doing, and she instigated it.

  I am so fucked when her luscious lips quirk up into a devious smile. Damn her.

  “You pull a stunt like that again, and I won’t hesitate to rip that shirt off of you.”

  “I’d like to see you try,” she challenges.

  I don’t reply, not until I pull up and pay the lady who shakily takes the money out of my hand without looking at me.

  Caitlin starts laughing her cute little ass off when I hand her coffee and tuck the change in my pocket.

  “What the fuck you laughing at now?”

  “You. That lady heard everything you said. I’m sure of it.”

  “I don’t give a shit. What I do give a shit about is you flashing me your tits. You keep that shit up, and I’m skipping Target. Taking you to my place and cuffing you to my bed. I’ll fuck those giggles right out of you and won’t stop until you’re raw and passed out. Now, drink that shit.”

  Hollywood clutches the cup of coffee in one hand while the other stays planted on the leather bench seat. Her tongue darts out licking her bottom lip. She’s fucking feeling me as much as I am her. We both want to fucking ravage each other, that much is clear. It’s fucked up and a mystery that I can’t even start to solve.

  Her bottom lip is glistening with the wetness of her mouth. Yeah. I’m fucking that, too. I suddenly have a powerful urge to taste her, but hell if I’ll reward her fucking little stunt. I run the pad of my thumb along her bottom lip, soaking up her taste. Caitlin freezes at my touch. Her breath hitches. She stares at me, waiting for my
next move. Slowly and without breaking eye contact, I bring my thumb to my mouth and taste her.

  It’s gut instinct when my eyes close and I fight to keep in a moan. The sweetest of sweet tastes glides over my taste buds. Big mistake. I lean down and finally open my eyes with my forearm brushing up against her tits and whisper over her lips.

  “Remember my fucking promise.” I pause for a beat. “Because it will happen.”

  I sit back down in the driver’s seat not looking back over to the woman who has my dick straining painfully against my zipper. The thought of one layer between us doesn’t help fucking matters, so I focus on the road ahead.

  Caitlin sits quietly in her seat on the short drive. She sips her coffee, and I’d bet a fucking ton of money she’s wet as hell, dying for some friction between her long fucking legs. Again, not one thought helps my hard dick calm down.

  I kill the engine and go to step out of the car.

  “Money.” Caitlin looks over to me. “ I need money.”

  “Get the fuck out, Hollywood.”

  When she listens and doesn’t resort to her arguing, I know I have her strung taut with the need to be fucked properly. Guarantee the stuffy suits have never taken this woman the way I will.

  Caitlin takes one long drink from her coffee cup before entering Target. I watch her slender neck extend as she finishes it. The creamy skin exposed on her chest fires me right back up. It takes an eternity for her to finally drop her head back down and toss the cup in the trash. I follow behind her through the automatic doors. I’m so out of fucking place my dick wilts from its hardened state and my skin crawls. This shit ain’t my scene, not even growing up. I learned from a young age to take what you get, even if that meant me getting hand-me-downs and digging through trash.

  I keep a good three feet back from Caitlin, watching her round different clothing racks and keeping an eye on my surroundings. I’ve been in this business long enough to know something isn’t right in this whole scenario. Whoever wants this woman dead is fucking serious and above the law. I’ll never be able to explain the invisible attraction and overwhelming surge of protectiveness I feel.

  Chalking it up to Curtis and his old man and everything they’ve done for me will have to do. They pulled me off the streets and away from my vicious old man. That fucker did teach me one thing. No. Fucking. Mercy.

  “What do you think?” Caitlin holds some damn black sleek dress with a red scarf off to the side.

  I raise my eyebrows. “You’re going into hiding. Don’t think you’ll need a fuck-me dress.”

  “Seriously.” She drops the dress. “I have no damn clue what I’m doing.”

  “Do I fucking look like I do? Here.” I grab her hand and drag her around the carousel of clothing until we get to a more casual section.

  Here we go. I’ve admired plenty of fine asses in these types of pants. Caitlin’s will look sweet as fuck all wrapped up in these tight little things.

  “Hold your arm out,” I demand and then begin tossing black yoga pants over her extended arm.

  Caitlin remains silent with her eyes growing the size of saucers. She’s fucking adorable out of her comfort zone, and it only drives me to push her farther out of it.

  “Extra-large, right?” I cock an eyebrow.

  “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” She stomps a foot like it’s going to scare me away.

  “Fine, double X.”

  “Just shut the fuck up and keep tossing these horrendous pants my way.”

  With the last pair I pick up, I make sure to show her the medium on the tag. She gives me a slight nod, and then I drag her over to a t-shirt selection. The fucking dog in me picks out a smaller size with her tits in mind.

  “This shit is heavy.” Caitlin blows her hair out of her face since her hands are full. “I’m used to personal shoppers and shit.” I bet you fucking are.

  She bites down on her bottom lip, stopping her complaining. It’s a move I can appreciate. She’s trying.

  “I’m your personal shopper. Shut the fuck up and let’s pick out panties, or you can go without them for all I care.”

  If her hands weren’t full of clothes, I’d grab them, place them down my pants, letting her know how good it feels to go commando.

  We cross the aisle to an expansive section of panties and bras. Caitlin groans again, rearranging the clothes in her cradled arms. I spot a pudgy douche bag of a man passing us with a nearly empty shopping cart. I snag the edge of it, pulling it out of his hands.

  “Katch,” Caitlin says, but I don’t respond to her.

  “Thank you.” I nod to the stunned weasel dick.

  I reach down and grab the pack of Oreos and lube from the bottom of the cart and toss them at his chest. Then reach over and throw in Caitlin’s clothes. It’s a bit sick how excited I am to see her fucking ass hugged by those pants.

  I begin pulling down black bras with barely-there cups.

  “Whoa, ass. You don’t even know my size.” Caitlin pushes her tiny palm into my chest.

  I drop the bra, snake my hands up underneath her shirt. Her skin burns my palms as they travel up her abdomen. Then I’m palming her breasts. They fit perfectly in my large palms with just the right amount of spillover.

  Just like in the car, she stills with her breathing catching deep in her throat. My cock throbs with the thought of deep-throating.

  “Katch, what are you doing?” she finally whispers.

  Her tender voice pulls me back to the present, ripping me from the thought of her swallowing my cum and licking the rest of it off her lips.

  “D.” I let my hands trail down the same path and then force myself to step back.

  My answer silences her while I continue to toss in the sexiest bras Target has to offer. I then go on to panties, and I damn well make sure not to throw many in. I want her fucking bare under those yoga pants, so it only takes one yank to be deep inside her.

  “What else?” I growl, needing to get out of this fucking section.

  “You are the biggest jerk I have ever met. There are security cameras here, and you bet your sweet ass, they are making a laughing stock out of me. You are acting as if…” She pauses.

  “As if, what?” I get within an inch of her face. The more I stare at her beauty, the more it becomes perfectly clear to me that if I attempt to fuck her, once ain’t going to be enough. She’ll become a distraction to me. A woman I’ll want waiting for me when I return home. And that is a huge fucking problem for me, because Goddamn it, I want her. She wants me. We would fucking combust every damn time we came together. The thing with Hollywood here is, I can see her dreams in the shadows between her eyes. She wants love. Katch Sterling don’t love.

  “As if I’m yours.” Fuck.

  “Wanting to fuck you don’t mean you’ll be mine. You and me ain’t never gonna happen. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I change my mind about fucking you at all.”

  Goddamn it. Shit. Fuck. I hurt her. Those eyes fight to hold back tears, and her bottom lip starts to tremble.

  I’m a Goddamn fool for the shit I said earlier, even more so for what I said now. Can’t take it back, no matter how much I want to.

  Her shoulders sag as she spins on her feet and walks away from me. I grab the cart that she left in the middle of the aisle and follow her to the shoe section. She never says a word to me when I roll up behind her. She’s pissed. Good. She needs to be. I said earlier I don’t play games and I unintentionally jumped right on board to play one with her, and now look what it’s done.

  She takes off the flip-flops, tosses them in the cart along with a box of white tennis shoes, and slips her feet in some glittery black sandals.

  She moves to the toiletries next. Toothbrush, paste, all that shit gets thrown in the cart.

  “You going to ignore me now?” Yup, she sure is. Fuck this.

  I’m not following her around begging her to speak to me. I made a slight error in judgment; she’ll have to get over it. It’s probably
the first time Little Miss High and Mighty has been turned down in her life.

  “Fuck off,” she replies, turns around the corner, and dodges out of sight. A minute goes by without me studying her ass and fighting to control my raging hard-on. I keep an eye on the ends of the aisles, making sure she doesn’t get too far. I round the corner she did a few minutes ago when I hear a scream that makes my blood run cold. Desperate, terrified… Caitlin.

  “What the hell?” I manage to get out.

  She’s slumped to the floor, clutching a bottle of shampoo in her hand. Jesus Christ.

  “Get me out of here!” she screams. Her voice so high pitched that a worker comes running down the aisle.

  “Sir.”

  “Do me a favor?” I lift her up in my arms and start walking toward the end of the aisle. “Hold that stuff for me. Put it under the name of Mindy Vasquez. She’ll come get it within the hour.”

  By the time I have her to the car, she’s limp in my arms, crying. Rattling off shit about her mother and her father. I can’t understand a word she’s saying.

  “I need to put you in my car, Hollywood. You have to let go.” She looks right through me. A Goddamn ghost is what she is right now.

  Finally, she loosens her grip so I can unlock my door and strap her in. I have my phone up to my ear, listening to it ring by the time I slip behind the wheel.

  “You forget to tell me something?” I clip into the phone when I gun the engine to get her to my house.

  “Like what?” Rachel bites out.

  “Like does this crazy friend of yours have any triggers, flashbacks, shit that will make her collapse to the ground, such as”—I lean in to see the bottle of shampoo she still has clinging to her chest—“a damn bottle of green apple shampoo?”

  “Oh, my God. Is she alright?”

  “Fuck no, she ain’t alright. She will be as soon as you fill me in.”