Chasing Casey

by Jane Anthony

  “It’s late. I should get home.” The quiver in my voice is a dead giveaway. My nerves are wound so tight I feel as if I’m about to burst. I can’t remember the last time a man elicited this kind of reaction from me with just the touch of his hand, and it’s only on my arm.

  His grasp tightens as I turn to leave. As strong as he is, his grip, while firm, is still so gentle. He could easily squeeze hard, leaving a mark like a possessive alpha male, but he doesn’t, and I know he won’t.

  “Or maybe it’s early. Depends on how you look at it.” When I meet his gaze, a touch of sadness behind his steel eyes stops my flight and keeps my feet rooted to the sticky floor.

  Marisa crashes in through the doors from the back room. The blue neon lights from the bar catch her red hair, shrouding her in a purple glow. AJ’s hand slides off my arm, but it doesn’t matter. I still feel it there, scorching my skin and making it hard to breathe. “Am I interrupting a moment?”

  “Nope.” AJ brings the bottle to his lips again but stops just shy of them. “Casey was just about to give me her phone number.”

  “Was I.” It’s a statement, not a question. AJ’s self-confidence is starting to crowd the empty room. This kind of bravado may work on the bar flies, but I know all about guys like him. Sexy and charming are a poisonous combination, the likes of which I am now immune.

  AJ sets a single finger on the face of his phone and slides it to my side of the bar. His hand looks beat up, like an old saddle—not pretty to look at, but nothing feels as perfect between your legs. The thought of AJ’s hands on my body instantly excites me. Judging by the crowd of women always around him, I have a hunch those hands are skilled in many ways.

  I scowl at his phone as Missy scurries around me to start our side work for the night. I don’t have time for this. I’m here to work, not give hot guys my number. “See you next week, AJ.”

  ***

  “Night, Frankie; night, Bits.”

  I wave to the guys as I walk past, with my purse slung over my shoulder and my opposite hand mindlessly smoothing the ends of my hair. AJ left not long after I deflected his advance. It will be a whole week until I see him again. With any hope, that gives him time to move on and my libido a chance to mellow out. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. My taste in men has always been shit. If there’s a loser within ten miles of me, that’s the guy I want. I always did love a project.

  I push the thought out of my head as I fling open the door and step out into the sultry spring night. The sky is so clear, lit up by a bright, full moon and millions of glittering stars overhead. This kind of night makes me long for the ranch, sitting on the porch drinking sweet tea with Austin. Sometimes, I sit out on the rickety fire escape, wishing I’d made better choices. That I’d never been swept up in Davis’s promises of neon dreams and the thrill of the big city and had married Austin instead. He loved me, and I know he would have made sure we had a nice life together. Unfortunately, I just wasn’t ready for it.

  AJ leans against my car. Dressed in black from head to toe, he fades into the dark night. The tip of his cigarette glows bright orange when he brings it to his lips and inhales, before tipping his head back to blow the stream into the air. It curls around his lips as he watches me approach, gray eyes shining in the silver moonlight. “I’d offer you a cigarette, but you’re already smokin’ hot.”

  “Those things will kill you.” I stop in front of him, resting my hand on my hip. My heart continues its relentless pounding, and his gaze drops to the open ties in the front of my tank.

  He pulls the cigarette from his mouth with two fingers. I watch the ash whirl in the breeze before he drops it to the pavement and crushes it with the sole of his boot. “I’ve lived through worse.”

  “I’m sure you have. Good night.”

  AJ slides closer to the handle as I reach for it. “I don’t bite. I only wanted your number.” The familiar scent of detergent, smoke, and masculinity floats off him, making it hard to think. I wore his T-shirt so much this week, the smell of him has started to evaporate from its fibers, and I’ve actually started to miss it.

  “What for?”

  He shrugs. “What if I have an emergency rum and Coke situation?”

  Don’t you dare smile at him.

  “If only there was a vast resource of information right at our very fingertips,” I chide, crossing my arms over my chest, holding back the smile threatening to crack my tough exterior. “Oh yeah, there is. It’s called the Internet.”

  His hand smacks his chest as if he’s been shot. “Beauty and brains? Looks like I hit the jackpot.”

  That line wins him a well-deserved eye roll. “What can I do to get you off my car?”

  He digs his phone from his pocket again and holds it up. “Ten little digits, cowgirl. That’s all I ask.”

  I can’t believe I’m doing this.

  I grab the phone from his hand, grazing his calloused fingertips in the process. Lord have mercy, they’re as rough as they look. With trembling fingers, I type in my number and save it into his contacts. Getting involved with someone from work is a bad idea. My need for this job outweighs my need to know how those calloused fingers would feel trailing up my thigh.

  He slides the phone out of my hand, gives the screen a few quick swipes, and then slips it back into his pocket. My purse chirps a second later. The moonlight catches on his gleaming white grin, and I notice a tooth off to the side that’s slightly crooked. It’s hardly noticeable. Something easily missed. But something about it still makes my heart jump. It makes him seem more real. Less perfect. It also makes him a little harder to resist.

  CHAPTER 5

  AJ

  A ROLLING FOG of steam floats from the crack in my bathroom door so thick I can barely see as I enter. The moisture in the air is heavy, beading up on the mirror and turning my reflection into blobs of unrecognizable black and tan. I walk toward the sound of running water. It’s so loud, pounding down on the tile like rain, beckoning to me, daring me to see who might be inside.

  The walk seems endless. My bare feet slide on the dense layer of condensation built up on the warm ceramic tile, but the faint outline of a female body through the tempered-glass door stops me in my tracks. It’s long and slender, a dancer’s body. She moves and sways, lifting her arms above her head, letting the water roll over the delicate curves of her chest and hips. In one seamless movement, her hands glide through her wet hair, run over her breasts, and skim down her taut stomach.

  I move in even closer, my need to see who the mystery woman in my shower is outweighing the blatant crossing of boundaries. A petite hand touches the glass. I lay my hand over it a split second before she pulls it away. The figure vanishes, replaced by a blinding light. I shield my face, but it’s too late.

  The door explodes. Shards of glass shatter all around me, scratching my eyes and scattering in my hair. The force blows me off my feet. I open my mouth to scream for help, but it, too, fills with glass, tearing up my tongue and destroying my throat. I can’t speak, I can’t see, and the water continues to beat down on the ground fast and hard, echoing in my ears, making the pain in my head unbearable. My arm hangs uselessly at my side, unable to wipe away the blood I feel pouring over my face. Sirens and shouting, the deafening sound of metal tearing metal . . . then nothing but darkness.

  I sit up in my bed, gasping for air. My fingers spring to my wet hair, tracing the scar that recedes into my hairline, but when I pull them back, it’s only sweat. There’s no blood. There’s no glass. It was a dream.

  With my heart still in my throat, I blink the remainder of the nightmare from my vision. The accident. Once upon a time, the nightmares were so vivid and frequent it was like reliving it. Constantly, night after night, long after I recovered and returned to my normal life. Well, the new version of my normal life.

  But it was years ago. Six years, to be exact. I was a stupid kid, angry and bitter. I let that anger consume me until I was just a shell of my former self. That AJ Morello d
ied on the road. Reborn in his place was a guy with an arm that never quite worked the same way again and nightmares that continued to torment me long after I wake each morning. They said I was lucky to be alive. Sometimes, I’m not so sure.

  The chick in the shower is new, though no doubt influenced by a soaking wet cowgirl with killer legs and soft baby blues. I’d rather have that torturous cock-stiffening dream than the usual nightmare. Too many nights I’ve spent haunted by my baby sister’s tears and apologies even though I was the one who fucked everything up.

  The seductive woman in my dream was someone else altogether. She moved in the shower slow and deliberate as if her body was calling out to me. I swear I heard her whisper my name as she touched herself. Maybe I just need to get laid.

  Too shaken to sleep, I light up a smoke and grab my phone. As memories of the dream start to subside, thoughts of Casey pop in front and center. Her heart-shaped lips, the way her eyes picked up the twinkle in the bar lights, and, for Christ’s sake, those dimples. I never considered myself a smile guy, but damn. The girl lights up the room by merely walking into it. Marisa said she doesn’t date, but I’m determined to put an end to that.

  I open my inbox and type in quick text.

  You must be exhausted from running through my mind all night.

  Smoke pirouettes from the end of the cigarette hanging from my lips, forcing me to squint one eye. Someday, I’ll live up to my promise to Jill and actually quit. But today isn’t that day.

  My heart jumps when my phone vibrates on my lap.

  I’m exhausted because you woke me up.

  I can almost hear the words dripping from her mouth in that sweet little twang of hers.

  Since you’re up, meet me for breakfast.

  You don’t give up, do you?

  Nope. ;)

  Can’t do it, have errands to run today.

  What errands?

  Nosy, much? If you must know, I have laundry to wash and my car needs an oil change.

  The smile that spreads across my face is so big it hurts. Casey obviously has no idea what I do for a living.

  An oil change, huh? Meet me at Morello and Tate Restoration in an hour.

  After sending off another quick text with the address, I jump out of bed, still laughing about her oil change comment and wondering if it was fate.

  ***

  The old, yellow building sits back along the edge of the highway, so bold and bright you can see it from a distance. That was my dad’s grand marketing plan. Make it bright enough to notice from the road and ridiculous enough for the customers to remember when they need to come back. As absurd as it sounds, it actually works. Whenever I tell people who I am, commentary about the obnoxious yellow building is sure to follow. He was a crazy old man, but he knew what he was doing when it came to business strategies.

  Back then, it was Morello and Son’s Restoration. We changed it after Jillian got married and Jameson became our partner. He earned it. Our history is spotty, but after all is said and done, he’s more than my brother-in-law. I give him a lot of shit, but that dude’s my brother in every sense of the word.

  It’s not long before a Pontiac Grand Am pulls into the empty lot. The black paint glimmers in the sun, but nothing compares to the golden shine of Casey’s hair as she emerges from the car.

  For a brief moment, I feel like I’m still in a coma. All the blood leaves my brain as she sashays toward me. Her little beige dress flows in the gentle wind, floating around her bare legs. In the sunlight, I can just make out the outline of her body through the thin, almost see-through material. Brown cowboy boots match the braided leather belt cinched around her slim waist, and her hair blows wild and free as she moves. She’s a country boy’s wet dream. All she needs is a friggin’ cowboy hat. I thought she was sexy in jeans, but Casey in a dress takes the cake, and my twitching dick approves.

  “Well, you got me here. What’s your plan?”

  A slow smile spreads across my face as I extend my hand. “Anthony Morello Junior. Nice to make your acquaintance, ma’am,” I quip in my best attempt at a Southern accent, tipping my hat.

  “First of all, your Texas drawl sucks. Don’t do it again. Second, you own this place?”

  “That’s my name on the sign, isn’t it?”

  The office door buzzes overhead as I push it open and usher her inside. A dozen donuts and two coffees sit on the monstrosity of a desk, waiting for her arrival. “I promised you breakfast, and I’m a man of my word.”

  “Well, aren’t you just full of surprises?”

  “You have no idea. Keys?”

  The tinkling strips of metal dangle from her delicate fingers as she turns her palm toward the ceiling. I grab them with one hand and a glazed donut with the other. “Make yourself at home,” I say, backing out of the office door.

  Banjo playing blasts through her car speakers when I turn the key, followed by a drawling male voice. Casey’s country roots run deep, right down to her taste in music. Never been a fan myself. It’s not that I’m opposed to it; I just haven’t been acquainted with it. I grew up on a steady diet of loud and brash rock ‘n’ roll from as far back as I can remember. My old man was as hardcore as they come. He was all about fast cars and fast music. It’s no surprise Jill and I turned out the way we did. It’s in our blood.

  In no time, the car’s jacked up and I’m in the zone. Oil changes are monotonous work. Lift the car, drain the oil, check the filter, and so on and so forth. It’s mindless. A job any jack-hole with half a brain could do, but nobody likes to get their hands dirty anymore. Not that I love what I do or anything, but it beats sitting in some stuffy office staring at a computer all day. I couldn’t do that shit. Thankfully, Jill’s good at it. She runs this office like a pro, and she’s anal as hell. She has her system and doesn’t allow anyone to mess with it. It’s the reason she hasn’t given in and hired someone to replace her now that she has Zakk. She can’t give up control of the office. We’re a great duo. Well, trio.

  “How’s it going out here?”

  “All set.”

  Casey twirls a wavy tendril around her finger and leans against the wall as she sips her coffee. “So what do I owe you?”

  I smack the button on the lift, and the car begins its slow descent to the ground. “Don’t worry about it,” I reply with a dismissive wave.

  “You have to let me give you somethin’.”

  “Go out with me this week.”

  “Are you extorting a date out of me?”

  “No. I’m asking you out. If you say no, it’s still no charge.” My boots scuff on the dirty concrete floor as I walk over to where she’s standing. “But say yes, Case.”

  “What if I don’t?”

  “I’ll just keep asking until you do.”

  Standing this close, I notice her blue eyes have flecks of topaz and sapphire in them. There’s no usual green ring around her irises dulling their brilliant color. They size me up as if she’s contemplating her answer. She wants to say yes, I can tell, but she’s hesitating. This Tom and Jerry game excites her. The thrill of being hunted is what drives her. “You really interested in takin’ me out, or you just hopin’ to get your hands on my chassis?”

  Car metaphors. I like this girl.

  “These hands will stay in these pockets, I swear.”

  Her bottom lip disappears between her teeth and slides out slowly, leaving the tiniest bit of saliva on her plain pink lips. All it would take is one step forward to close the distance and press my mouth to hers. “Fine.”

  “Excuse me, what was that?” I say, cupping my hand around my ear.

  “You win, city boy. I’ll go out with you. Afterward, you stop, okay? Stop askin’ me out, stop with the pickup lines. Deal?”

  “Sure, cowgirl. Whatever you want.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Casey

  “SO WHAT ARE you going to wear?”

  Marisa lies sprawled out on my bed, watching me apply mascara. Two gigantic, messy buns flank each si
de of her head, like flames shooting out of her skull.

  “Uh. This?” My usual wardrobe is jeans and a tank top, which is the exact outfit I’m wearing right now. I’ll wear a skirt or the occasional dress, but it’s best if I keep this casual. I don’t want to give off the wrong impression.

  She slides off the bed and pads to my closet. “Bor-ing,” she singsongs, punctuating the syllables of the word. The hangers clang together as she pushes them across the bar in search of something better. “You have legs like a thoroughbred. Wear a skirt or something.”

  “Legs like a thoroughbred?” I laugh, pausing mid-mascara stroke.

  “Yeah, you know. Strong, long, elegant. Thought you knew all about horses?”

  “Ridin’ them, not checkin’ them out!”

  A squeal echoes from the interior of the closet. “How about this?” A black strip of fabric—hanger and all—flies out and hits the floor with a thud. I turn and eye the satin garment on the ground as Marisa extracts herself from the closet and picks it up.

  “That’s a slip, Missy. Not a dress.”

  She looks at the slip then back at me with furrowed red brows. “So? It’s hot. Give the stud horse a run for his money.”

  “Put it back,” I say with a smile.

  The old metal frame creaks under her weight after Marisa finishes her tour of my closet, and plops back down on my bed. “Show off a little skin, babe. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Show off a little skin, she says. I’m half tempted to call this whole thing off and get back in my sweats. Butterflies flap inside my gut every time I think about AJ. Knowing he’s on his way here has kicked the little suckers into high gear. “Am I makin’ a mistake here?”

  “I’d wear more eyeshadow, but that’s just me.”

  “No, I mean goin’ out with AJ.”

  In the mirror’s reflection, I see Marisa pull herself to a sitting position. “No. You need to get out, Case. It’s been long enough.”

  “I know you’re right. It’s just . . .”

  “Listen.” She slides to the edge of the bed as I turn to face her again. “I know you think God is smiting you or whatever, because of Austin, but that’s crazy. You aren’t meant to wander the Earth alone for all of eternity because you broke some good ol’ boy’s heart. It’s just not logical.”