Chased

by Hazel James

  “No.” I cross my arms and glare at him. He rolls his eyes and sighs, then lifts me into his truck. My fists pound against his chest and arms, but it doesn’t stop him from fastening my seatbelt or shutting my door. As soon as he rounds the hood, I unbuckle myself and open my door, but he flies back to my side and blocks me from climbing down.

  “If you get out of this truck one more time before I tell you to, I’m going to kick your ass.” His voice is low and threatening, but the spark in his eyes assures me that he’s not angry for being called out of bed in the middle of the night.

  Oh, God. I hope he was in his own bed. Alone. I shudder as I consider the other option.

  DH clears his throat and points inside the truck, and I reluctantly obey, because the sooner I get home, the sooner I can go to bed. “Fine. But I’m still pissed at you.” He may not have technically done anything wrong, but he’s still the common denominator in this evening’s fiasco. I lean against the door to put as much distance between us as possible and close my eyes so he doesn’t try to talk to me on the way. I have nothing nice to say to him.

  I smell bacon. The good kind, not the turkey crap I bought at the store last week to save on calories. I crack an eyelid open and immediately notice two things: I am not in my bed, and I am not naked. The second part is good, but the first part isn’t, because I’m in a bed that smells like DH.

  Great. Now I have to burn my clothes, and I really like my Sam Hunt shirt.

  I open my other eye and take in my surroundings. When I ate dinner at DH’s apartment the night he fixed my car, we stayed in the dining room. Being in his bedroom makes me feel like I’m invading his personal space, even though I’m not the one who put me here in the first place. I crawl out from under the covers and walk to a wall of photos across from his bed. They’re mostly pictures of the sky. Not all of them are of tornadoes, though. Some are just rainstorms, some are sunsets, and one is of him skydiving. The picture was taken from below, so he’s surrounded by a blue, cloudless sky. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile as big as he is in this photo. He looks high on life.

  “That was a good day,” he remarks from the doorway. I turn and cough to cover my gasp at the sight of his shirtless body. Black basketball shorts sit low on his hips, accentuating the V that’s currently making my ovaries explode. “Breakfast is ready.”

  I follow him to the small dining room and take my place across the table from him. He made eggs and French toast to go along with the bacon, and he even has powdered sugar. What kind of bachelor has powdered sugar? “This looks amazing, and I’m going to eat every last bite on my plate because I refuse to count three stuffed mushrooms as a meal, and I lost my appetite before I could eat my Coney dog last night, which means I haven’t eaten since yesterday at lunch. And yes, before you say anything, I realize I’m rambling. You’re sitting there shirtless, which makes me nervous, and I’m still tired, and you already know I have no filter when I’m tired. So, before I devour my meal, I need to ask you one question. Why the hell am I in your house right now?” There I go, ripping that damn bandage off again.

  His lips curve into a smirk. “Me being shirtless makes you nervous?”

  “That would be the only thing you heard me say.” I roll my eyes and shove a slice of bacon into my mouth.

  “You’re here because you passed out in my truck and wouldn’t wake up when I got to your house. I think dead people sleep lighter than you.”

  “Yesterday was a long day,” I admit between bites.

  “Sorry about leaving you to sleep in your clothes, but I figured you’d be mad if I changed you.”

  “You figured right.” Jesus, this bacon is good.

  “Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you were safe, so I put you in my bed and crashed on the couch.”

  “I appreciate that, and this breakfast, which is really fucking good, but don’t think for a second that I’m not still mad at you.” I finish my last bite of eggs and move on to my French toast.

  “Why are you mad at me?”

  “I was arrested because of you! I’ve never even had an overdue library book, but I can tell you all about having handcuffs on my wrists and what the inside of a holding cell smells like. It’s piss and Lysol, in case you were wondering.” Just thinking about last night has me wanting to take a shower.

  “How did I get you arrested? I wasn’t even there!”

  “Because you left your truck with me and didn’t even try to get it back, so I did the right thing and returned it to you, but you had your cop friends staking out the garage!” I would flip him off right now, but I need both hands to cut another bite of my French toast. I’ll never tell him this, but it’s the best I’ve ever had.

  “Hold on, Shawshank.” DH holds his palm toward me.

  “Stop calling me that!” I sacrifice a bite of my French toast and fling it at him instead. It sticks on his left cheek for a few seconds, then lands on his plate. He stares at the intruding toast, then slowly looks up at me. He doesn’t bother to wipe the syrup off his face. He doesn’t say a word. He simply loads his fork with eggs, turns it around and catapults it across the table at my face.

  I’ve been egged, and this is war.

  I grab a handful of his eggs, since mine are all gone, and smear them around his face. Then I run like hell to the back of the apartment. His footsteps get closer, and before I know it, he scoops me up and throws me on his bed, pinning me beneath his body. Then he empties the container of powdered sugar all over me and his black sheets.

  “Uncle! Uncle!” I shout, kicking my legs and flailing my arms. He grabs my wrists and secures them above my head, and his playful expression from a few moments ago is replaced with a look of desire that travels straight to my core.

  “Looks like I still make you nervous,” he murmurs, his voice husky. A playful smile teases the corners of his lips upward, making his dimples peek out above his eggy beard.

  I swallow once, twice. “What makes you say that?”

  He releases my left wrist and traces a finger over my cheek. Then, without taking his brown eyes off me, he brings his finger to his mouth and licks the powdered sugar from it. “Because you were holding your breath.”

  “I WAS HOLDING MY BREATH because you just dumped powdered sugar all over me!” Her face screws into a scowl and she shoves me off her. “And now I’m covered in food with no way to get clean and once again, it’s all your fault.”

  “Actually, it’s your fault,” I point out. “You fired first.”

  “Only because you provoked me!” She sits up and shakes out her hair, which coats everything around us in another fine layer of white. “I should have just stayed home and eaten ice cream last night, but noo…” she mutters, wiping her face. “I just had to bring that stupid truck back to you. And why the hell did you make me drive it, anyway? Now I look like one of your desperate floozies trying to sink her claws into you, and that’s the exact opposite of what I’m trying to do.”

  “And what’s that?”

  She throws her hands in the air, then drops them on the bed, stirring up yet another cloud of powdered sugar. “To stay the hell away from you! You’re bad for my health and my arrest record. You even brought me back to the scene of the crime! That goes against rule number one in Criminals for Dummies.”

  “Are you done rambling yet?”

  “I wasn’t rambling!” she hollers through clenched teeth.

  I laugh. “Whatever you say, Shawshank.” I leap off the bed to dodge her swing and grab a grocery bag from the top of my closet. “Go take a shower. You can change into something from here.” I toss the bag on my bed. She narrows her eyes and nudges it with her toe.

  “What’s in there?”

  “Girl clothes.”

  “No. Abso-fucking-lutely not. I would rather walk home looking like this,” she gestures at herself, “than wear whatever your bimbos left that you hoarded like a sicko souvenir keeper.”

  “Relax, Paige. They’re Maggie’s. She and Eric used
to live here and they left some shit behind. I never got around to giving it back.”

  She eyes me, then the bag. “Promise?”

  “Promise.” I make an X over my heart for good measure. She studies the bag for another few seconds, then picks out a pair of navy shorts and a white tank top. I show her where the towels are, then get to cleaning up our mess while she’s in the shower. Surprisingly, I’m able to keep my mind off the fact that she’s wet and naked twenty feet away.

  Okay, mostly able.

  But that doesn’t stop me from wondering why she’s not wearing her engagement ring.

  An hour later, my sheets are in the dryer, the apartment is back to normal, and Paige and I are food-free. “Thanks again for the shirt,” she says, capping her lip gloss and plopping down on the opposite end of the couch from me. The shorts fit her well, but she said the tank top was one wrong move away from a wardrobe malfunction. I assured her that I didn’t mind but relented and gave her the one off my back when she threatened to pepper spray me.

  “How’d you know where I put your truck key, anyway?” she asks, propping her bare feet on the coffee table. “I never texted you to tell you it was in the gas cap.”

  “I have an extra, so I used that one.”

  “Well, thanks for coming to get me. Sorry if you were… in the middle of something when they called you down to the jail.”

  Her eyes dart around the room, looking anywhere but at me, and I don’t bother hiding my smile. “Is this your way of asking if I was with a woman last night?” I don’t know why, but the thought of Paige being jealous makes me happy.

  “What? Pssh. No. I don’t care what—or who—you were doing last night.” She fishes her lip gloss from her pocket and applies another coat to her lips.

  “You’re a terrible liar, but I was home last night. Alone.” She exhales a quiet breath and eases into the back cushion.

  “I’m not a terrible liar.”

  “You are. You have too many tells, which makes you a dead giveaway.”

  “Tells?” She turns to her side, bringing her feet to the center cushion. “What are you talking about?”

  “The little things you do when you lie to cover up the fact that you’re lying… or maybe just nervous.”

  She crosses her arms and pops an eyebrow, challenging me. “Like what?”

  I hold up one finger. “Putting on lip gloss.”

  “That doesn’t count, I always wear lip gloss.”

  I add another finger. “Holding your breath.”

  “What is it with you saying I hold my breath? I breathe like a normal person, thank you.” She huffs and scowls at her legs.

  “Lack of eye contact.” I wiggle three fingers. “You’re making this easy on me, Paige.” She whips her head up and flips me off.

  “You’re missing something,” I note, touching her ring finger. I shouldn’t bring it up, but I’m not always known for doing the right thing. I have a feeling I know what she’s going to say, and that thrills me as much as it scares me.

  She stares at her naked finger and takes a deep breath. “It’s at home. And tomorrow, I’m mailing it back to Chad. I broke up with him last night.”

  “Ah, so that explains your ice cream comment earlier.” I hope like hell that my voice sounds normal, because my brain is sounding all kinds of alarms right now. I need to friend-zone myself immediately. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “There’s not a whole lot to talk about. We just grew apart. I realized a couple of weeks ago that there was no spark anymore. I just didn’t want to admit it, because on paper, Chad and I are perfect for each other.”

  “Well, that’s your problem. Paper has no chemistry.”

  Paige nods as she absorbs my words. “Truth be told, I never should have accepted his proposal in the first place.”

  “So, why did you?” I shift toward her and bring her foot into my lap. I need to touch her, and this is literally the farthest I can get from the place I’d really like to touch. By default, it’s the most platonic option.

  She closes her eyes as I knead my knuckles down her arch and back up again. “Because that’s what I thought I wanted. I thought it’d help put some of the spark back.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  She thinks for a moment, then her lips turn up slightly. “Foot massages.”

  “Not right now. I mean, what do you want from your significant other?”

  She opens her eyes and looks directly at me. “Foot massages. Seriously.”

  My brows draw together. “I still don’t get it.”

  “Have you ever given a foot massage to a girl you dated casually?”

  “Considering I’ve only dated girls casually, no, I’ve never given anyone a foot massage before.”

  “Exactly. Stuff like that requires an intimate connection, and somewhere along the way, I lost that with Chad. Or maybe I never really had it,” she says, tipping her head to the side. “I dated a few losers before him, and he was such a refreshing change of pace. I think I got stuck on ‘safe.’”

  “So you want dangerous foot massages?” I joke. She’s right—Chad is safe, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Safe keeps you from getting hurt.

  Paige chuckles and tucks a wet curl behind her ear. “You’re such an idiot.” She sighs when I switch to her other foot. “I want a man who’s above comparison. I want the butterfly-infested romance from the books I read. The kind of romance that makes me crazy when I’m with him and crave him when he’s gone. I want my relationship to fuel me the same way it fuels him. Screw the paper, I want chemistry.”

  I stare at her lips as she says the last six words, then I do something really, really awful. I drop her foot, grab her neck, and kiss the fuck out of her. I have no right to, and she can never be mine, but that doesn’t stop me from devouring her mouth. Her hands ball into fists on my chest, and I worry that she’ll push me away. Instead, she does the opposite. She grips my arms and leans back on the couch, pulling me down with her. I can’t get enough of her lips or her neck or the space between her collarbone. She tastes like sin and cherries, and the way her body responds to mine is enough to make a sane man crazy. I’m going to Hell, and I want Paige Landry to be my last meal.

  I nip and lick my way from her shoulder to her mouth and kiss her one last time, savoring the softness of her lips, before I pull away and rest my forehead against hers. I gasp for air while I consider the ramifications of what I’ve just done. I’ve kissed countless women, but none of them have made me wish I could give them a future. Paige is a bell I can’t un-ring, and I already know I’ll never be able to get the sound of her out of my head.

  The part of me that doesn’t give a shit about anyone else wants to tell her that I felt absolutely nothing. That it was just paper with no chemistry. But the other part knows I can’t do that, because aside from my family, Paige is the only good thing I have in my life. She deserves more than lies or false promises from a broken man.

  “That was fucking amazing,” I confess, my face still inches from hers, “but I can’t. We can’t. I’m sorry, I never should have done that.” I rise from the couch, fighting the tremors of regret that surge through my body, and escape to the bathroom where I can have a front-row seat to my self-loathing. Gripping the cold porcelain sink, I stare at the reflection of the selfish man in the mirror.

  “Why in the fuck did you just ruin everything?” I whisper at him.

  I stay there, white-knuckled and filled with guilt, until my breathing and heart rate return to a steady rhythm. Then, with the weight of a thousand apologies on my tongue, I open the door to face Paige.

  Except, she’s not on the couch. Or in my room. Or anywhere.

  “Uncle D, please don’t tell Mommy I’m being rude, but you’re no fun today.” Austin’s school is out for summer vacation, but that doesn’t put a stop to our Thursday afternoon dates. Neither does a torrential downpour. We moved to plan B—video games in his room—but I could give two solid shits abou
t Minecraft right now.

  “Sorry, buddy. It’s been a rough couple of days.” I set my controller on his night stand and lean back against his pillows, grateful that I can stop feigning interest in pickaxes, torches, and portals.

  “What happened?” Austin’s green eyes shine with the innocence of a seven-year-old, something I never experienced myself thanks to my parents. My mother showing up on my doorstep two nights ago is half of my problem, but I refuse to discuss that with him. She’s already fucked up one kid’s childhood; I won’t let her near anyone else’s.

  “I hurt my friend’s feelings, and she’s not talking to me right now.” I tried calling Paige after she left my house. She didn’t answer the first twelve times, and the last eight went straight to voicemail.

  “What did you do?”

  Destroyed the closest thing I had to a future before it ever started. I sigh and rub my hands over my face. “Well, I sort of kissed her.”

  “I see,” he says in a voice wise beyond his years. “Uncle D, I know why she’s mad at you.”

  “You do?”

  He nods. “You gave her cooties.”

  I bark out a laugh and do my best to cover it with a cough. Holy shit, I love this kid. “You just might be right, buddy. But I don’t know how to make it better.”

  He taps his finger against his chin, then his face lights up with a gap-toothed smile. “I do! Come on!” He grabs my hand and pulls me down the hallway and into the kitchen.

  “Mommy, I need your grown-up scissors. Uncle D’s hands are too big for mine.”

  Maggie spins around from the stove where she and Eric are cooking dinner. “For what?”

  “He made his friend mad because he gave her cooties, and we’re gonna make her a card!”

  “What friend is this, and how did he give her cooties?” Eric asks, resting a wooden spoon on the counter.

  “I don’t know who it is, but he kissed her. Yuck.” Austin wrinkles his face.

  Maggie grips Eric’s arm and smiles. “Who did you kiss, DH?”