I’m confused.
I look back at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Coming with you.”
“Kat asked you to?”
“She didn’t have to.” Resolution is imprinted in his features. He stares back at me, and I know he is not asking me if he can join.
He’s telling me.
I want to scream.
“No,” I call out, walking faster towards my car out front. “You’re not.”
I pull out my keys, preparing to open my car door when I hear Lukas from behind.
“You’re right,” he tells me. “I’m not going with you. You’re coming with me.”
He hits a remote and the lights of a nearby Beemer flash. It is a deep blue sedan—sexy and chic.
My gaze shifts between it and my rim-less Acura. I tap the hood of my car, feeling self-conscious.
Rain begins to fall while I stand undecidedly at my car door.
I look up at the clouds, racking my brain for an excuse.
The sky is rumbling, my resolve is crumbling, and I’m wondering how long I can put off being alone with Lukas.
If I could just avoid him for this one night.
But I can’t.
Eight dozen cupcakes? I can’t carry them all by myself. And he knows it. He starts to chip away at my stubbornness.
“My car will be faster than yours,” he bellows—as if I needed the reminder. “Yours looks like it’s on its last leg.”
Indignation breathes life into my voice.
“Well, she gets me from point A to point B.”
“Barely, I’m sure.” He glowers at my car and then me. “Get in.”
I don’t move for several seconds—to prove a point, I guess—but by the time I plop myself into the passenger seat, I am more than grateful.
The car is velvety black inside, and the seats feel like clouds.
Lukas climbs in beside me, turning the ignition on. And then we’re off.
We pull out of the driveway and away from the neighborhood with the GPS speaker on.
She is the only voice that speaks for several miles.
“Turn right,” she commands.
Pause. “Turn right.”
Lukas huffs.
“If we turn another right, she’s going to put us in a circle.”
He glances down at the GPS.
“We’re heading to GiGi’s?”
I rub my damp sleeves with brisk hands, staring ahead, trying to ignore his heated gaze. “Yup.”
At my reply, Lukas turns the car around, whipping a U-turn in the middle of the empty road.
I grab for my passenger-side door with a death-grip that nearly numbs my fingers.
The car enters the semi-circle smoothly, barely making a squeal or skid as it rights itself to head unswervingly in the other direction.
The maneuver scares the hell out of me. But before I can speak, Lukas places a hand on my thigh. He removes the hand immediately.
I do my best to ignore the gesture, but his voice is like a subdued roll of thunder, reverberating softly across my skin, resonating richly in my ears.
“Didn’t mean to scare you. I know a faster way there. Trust me.”
But I don’t.
I’m not so sure I trust anyone after the day I’ve just had.
Lukas.
Linda.
Even Kat.
I can’t believe she didn’t tell me. She knew.
How could she be so insensitive?
I press my face against the car window, wishing the rain could wash the last day and a half away.
“Sibling rivalry?”
I glance suspiciously over at Lukas.
“You’re muttering under your breath.”
Oh. Right.
I sigh. “I wouldn’t call it that.”
“What would you call it?”
“An annoying pain in my ass.”
He smiles. “I hear siblings usually are.”
“You hear?”
“Yeah. I don’t have any siblings.”
“Lucky you.”
His smile turns into a subtle laughter, a sound that makes my heart beat faster. But the chuckles fade quickly, and his smile drops just as suddenly as it appeared.
He grows as serious as I am.
“Yeah, well, friends aren’t always much better. They’ll turn their backs on you quicker than family, I suppose.”
I eye Lukas with curiosity now.
“Foxx and Chris, huh?”
He doesn’t respond.
“Yeah, well, I guess I know what you mean. I’ve been going at it with my best friend, Linda, these days.
“She used to be so supportive, but nowadays, she’s giving me every reason why I should just quit.
“And now, I need a new realtor for a new studio, and she just…”
I stop. I’m rambling.
I’m rambling to Lukas of all people. A man I couldn’t talk to for more than two minutes. A man in whose face I regular hung up.
“I’m talking too much,” I say. “You don’t want to hear this.”
“No…” he replies softly. “I do… Just keep talking, blondie.”
I smile at his lopsided grin.
“I don’t know… I don’t expect perfection—just loyalty, ya know?”
“Loyalty,” Lukas scoffs. “Now, there’s a interesting concept.”
“One that many people don’t seem to understand.”
“Including me.”
I shoot him a look, but he keeps his eyes on the road.
“Let’s just say ‘trustworthy’ is not a word that the women I’ve, uh… seen would use to describe me.”
Hm. That’s unexpected.
An honest moment from Lukas. A humble moment.
I could get used to that.
“Shocker,” I joke, grinning. “I’m sure Foxx and Chris would say differently, though.”
The leather steering wheel gives a squeak as Lukas’s fingers tighten.
“Maybe,” he muses. “Maybe not. There was this one thing with Chris that…”
But the sound of a horn cuts him off. An intersecting car blows through a stop sign to our right, nearly barreling into the car in front of us.
The cars swerve to miss each other, coming within mere feet of one another.
It’s a close call—one that shocks us into silence.
I don’t speak for the next minute or so. I’m too scared.
The rain. The darkness. The near-collision.
Something about tonight is putting me on edge. I can’t tell what it is, but it’s there—like a shiver under my skin.
Suddenly, there’s a break in the quiet.
“What’s this obsession you guys have with sugar? Cupcakes, especially?”
I laugh. Lukas throws me a look out of the corner of his eye. I think he’s trying to break the tension.
If he is… then it’s working. I start to relax in my seat.
I go on and on about the nuances of baked goods, the differences between American and foreign chocolate.
I emphasize the importance of buttercream frosting, the subtle technique of filling the cake.
I am so engrossed in giving this lesson that the minutes fly by. I barely notice.
“To top it off, it’s a cake that you can hold in your hand! It’s warm; it’s sweet. It’s delicious. What could be better than that?”
Lukas once again peers over at me, and the air grows warmer in the car. The levity that had just developed between us has dissipated, and it’s been replaced with something tenser.
Something powerful. Something hot.
Lukas speaks, and his voice is more soothing than the rain.
He’s calm. He’s commanding. And with the searing stare that he’s casting in my direction, I may just come right on the spot.
“I know something that tastes much sweeter,” he comments.
His implication is crystal clear, and suddenly, I feel a flood.
Funny.
Cupcakes? What damn cupcakes? Nothing feels more appetizing than Lukas right now.
The car jerks suddenly to a stop, making me jump.
“We’re here,” Lukas announces.
He throws the gear in park, opening his door and marching around the car to open mine.
I step out into the cold rain, joining him. I hunch my shoulders near his body, tempted to grab onto his sweater.
He pulls me into the circle of his arms, hovering like a protective shield, as we make our way inside the cupcake shop.
We settle in near the store counters, shaking the rain (and edge) off of ourselves as we approach.
But the words “cute couple” from the cashier throw us right back into turmoil, and we spring apart, putting as much distance between us as possible—growing uncomfortable with how… comfortable we’ve suddenly become.
Oblivious to our discomfort, the cashier rings up our order and soon, the cupcakes are set before us.
I grab for a box. Lukas snatches the other seven.
We drop the boxes into the backseat and scurry into the car while an icy waterfall opens up from the sky.
The car is warm almost immediately, and we sink our soaking wet limbs into its seats.
The ignition starts; the seat heaters kick in, and we’re back on the road, both suppressing the strong and overwhelming urge to nuzzle close to one another.
On a Hot Streak
It's hard to walk away from a winning streak, even harder to leave the table when you're on a losing one. ― Cara Bertoia
LUKAS
Vanilla.
The smell of warm vanilla sugar.
Not the cupcakes. No. I wish it were the fucking cupcakes.
It’s her. It’s always been her.
From the moment, I met her and put my arms around her to dance.
From the second, I put my mouth on her freckles and played “Connect the Dots” on her skin…
The smell of vanilla has tormented me.
Even now, when the overpowering aroma of frosting fills the air, I smell her skin beneath it.
Warm. Fragrant. Delicious.
I shouldn’t have touched her. I shouldn’t have grabbed her body into mine at the cupcake shop.
But it was instinct, a natural reflex, and now I sit in the car beside her, stewing in my own special brand of torture.
I need to get out of here.
I’ve got to get us back to Foxx’s, or I’ll fucking cave. I’ll put my hands on all of the places I touched just a few weeks ago.
I’ll put my hands on a few more places that I’ve yet to explore.
I check that the seatbelt’s tightened around Elena’s waist and then I punch it, kicking the BMW into another gear as I head away from the popular bakery.
My body is painfully rigid by the time we speed down the straightaway. Elena’s body is even tenser than mine.
She sits up straight.
“Whoa, this car is fast,” she mutters.
“Mmhmm.”
“Even in the rain…”
“Yup.”
“Tires must be great.”
“Just serviced.”
I don’t look at her again. Not even when she sighs heavily beside me.
There’s a minute of silence. We don’t even make it to two.
“Ok,” Elena huffs. “I guess I need a sign on my forehead because you’re obviously not getting it. Slow down, Lukas.”
“The word ‘please’ isn’t in your vocabulary, is it?”
“I’m not kidding.”
“I’m not laughing.”
A beat passes.
“So, you’re still not going to slow down?”
“I still don’t hear a ‘please.’”
She scoffs.
“I’m not in the business of begging.”
Hm. I can think of one place she definitely begs, but I won’t voice it.
I’m already in too deep, and right now, I’m just trying to get myself out of the pit.
Still… Elena’s right.
The rain is still too heavy, and the constant green lights have made my speeding way too easy.
I’m flying down the street without so much as a stop. I decide to slow down…
But nothing happens.
The car doesn’t change speed when I release the pedal.
In fact, it continues to careen down the wet streets at the same velocity. As if I haven’t released the pedal at all.
I tap the pad again with my foot, but still nothing changes.
It’s stuck. The pedal’s stuck to the floor.
Shit!
I hit the brakes, but we barrel through the next stop sign.
As we pass it, Elena screams.
“Jesus Christ, Lukas! What the hell are you doing?! Slow down!”
Panic hits me like a sledgehammer to the chest. I snap.
“Lean back!” I yell at her. “Tighten your seatbelt! The pedal’s stuck!”
But the words rattle through my teeth as we hit an unexpected divot in the road, and I have to steady the steering wheel with one clenched fist as we rumble violently through the intersection.
I slam my forearm across Elena’s chest, a lousy attempt to secure her in her seat, and I can feel her heart thundering against her chest, matching the ferocious hammering of my own.
I can’t breathe. I can’t hear. I can’t think.
The pulse of Elena’s heart is like a roar in my ears, deafening everything else, drowning me in a sea of white noise that mutes the sounds of the streets.
The high beams. The horns. The screeches of other tires.
They barely register as her heartbeat slams against my arm, and suddenly, I find a focus that I didn’t know I had.
I place one foot on each pedal, “two-feeting” the brake and the gas as we near another intersection.
We are close. Too fucking close.
And I can’t stop.
My limbs lock around Elena as I brace for impact.
An impact that never comes.
As if the hand of God has reached towards the car, the gas pedal finally unsticks, and I manage to pull the car onto the off-shoulder, placing it in park as soon as we come to a cruise.
I look into Elena’s face and find fear shining back at me, brighter than any high beams. My arm is still over her chest, and she clutches it with a claw-like grip.
We sit there on the side of the road in complete silence for several minutes, not looking at each other.
I place the car back in drive after a few more agonizing minutes, and we soon find ourselves coasting back into Foxx’s neighborhood with our flashers on, our car inching at a snail’s pace that enrages the drivers around us, who never quit honking.
I park silently on Foxx’s motor court without as much as a thought, and Elena and I exit my vehicle, walking stolidly and separately up the driveway towards the entrance.
Our hike is mechanical, slow—as if we have to tell ourselves to place one foot in front of the other.
And by the time we reach the front steps, we have yet to even glance at each other. Neither of us has uttered a thing.
I finally turn to Elena.
But where I found fear a half an hour ago, I now find rage. She stares at me with an intensity that could melt suns.
Her countenance is heavy.
“I thought… you said… that your car would be safer than mine.”
I freeze, not knowing what to say.
My car had just been serviced from top to bottom.
There was no way that it should have had any issues. No fucking way.
And yet it did… and those issues had almost killed us.
I’m confused, pissed off… and irrationally defensive.
“I said it was faster, not safer. You act like I had control over what happened.”
“You did!”
“Oh, so I made the gas pedal stick? What the hell do you…!”
My sh
outs come out unintelligible, however—mixed, mingled and shaken with Elena’s voice that crashes violently against mine in an indistinguishable jumble of screams, grunts and curses.
We’re getting nowhere, and we know it, but we both keep yelling at each other.
I can’t hear her over my growls, and I’m certain that she can’t hear me over hers.
We step closer to each other with each tirade, inching nearer and nearer until we stand foot-to-foot, screaming in each other faces.
It is the worst move we could make.
To a couple of raging hardheads like us, this argument is nothing but foreplay. And the more we go at it, the hornier I get.
Because the line between the versions of the Elena that I know are thin, and the passion that she shows when she is enraged is but a hair’s breadth away from the passion she shows when she’s aroused.
I’m a sick ass bastard… because it turns me on. I fucking love it.
I grab her shoulders and for the first time since the yelling began, Elena drops silent.
Completely silent.
I don’t want to hurt her. Actually, I want to do the very opposite of that.
And she knows it. I know she knows it.
I can see it her in eyes.
The color of her blue irises softens under the dim porch light hanging above the front door.
The pigment melts right before my eyes, shifting from the shade of frost to a dewy hue.
Her pink lips part, and she gazes up at me with a glare of expectation—of anxiety. Of need.
I smell her vanilla. I know she tastes as great as she smells.
And the cupcakes… Those damn cupcakes.
We forgot them in the car, and they’ll stay in the goddamned car, if I have anything to say about it.
I’m only focused on getting Elena to myself and away from this mess.
And the car. Fuck. The car!
That death trap of a BMW.
It was perfect just a week ago, and now it’s not. More than that, it’s practically suicide on wheels.
And it wasn’t earlier this week… or even earlier tonight.
Something’s wrong. And I’m beginning to wonder if it’s me.
Is it my fault?
Am I so fucking off—so fucked up—that my demons have come to collect?
To finish what they started and drag Elena down with me?
I would have died long ago if it hadn’t been for Chris and Foxx.
Fucking and fucking over the women they care about—that’s how I repay them?
Hour by Hour (Games & Diversions #2) Page 3