Take a Chance

by Ash Johnson

  Take A Chance

  Published by Ash Johnson

  Copyright 2015 Ash Johnson

  All rights reserved.

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art by Ash Johnson

  For Mom- I love you

  Happy Mother’s Day!

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Harlow

  “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

  I shove the thick-rimmed glasses I wear to drive at night back up the bridge of my nose, while the chant keeps playing through my head as I drive my busted 1988 Hyundai down Van Buren Street. My piece-of-crap car has been acting up a lot, but since I don’t have the resources to get a new one, I have to pray that it will last for the next ten to twenty years.

  The engine struggles and screeches, and even though my foot is pushing the gas pedal through the floor of the car, I’m only doing forty miles per hour.

  “Come on, baby. Just get me to work and back tonight, and I’ll take you into the shop in the morning,” I cringe. How many times have I said that and never actually done it?

  I am already late getting to the animal hospital, but after being there for almost ten hours last night, and then working my waitressing job for another six this afternoon, I’d figured I should go home from the diner and shower before the animals started biting me, because I smell like a cheeseburger.

  I’m five minutes away, and the panic begins to melt from my shoulders when I notice bright headlights shining into my driver’s side window. I don’t think anything of it, because I had just seen a vehicle getting ready to turn left up ahead. But when a loud crunch and the back of my car jolts to the right, the panic comes back and I close my eyes tight.

  After the wrenching noises of broken glass and twisting metal have stopped, I open my eyes but don’t release my death grip on the steering wheel. Time stands still as I stare through the wind shield at the smoke coming from under the hood. I’m mesmerized by the thick cloud pouring out of the corners and dissipating a few feet away from the car.

  I can faintly hear a tapping noise to my left but can’t get my brain to focus on what it could be. I’m in a daze. Then the car door opens, and I twist my head to find a man squatting down into my car, anxiety etched in his features. His lips move, but I all I can hear is the loud ringing in my ears.

  I squint at him, hoping that either he will speak up or I will learn to read lips. His mouth keeps moving, and his hands move into the car toward me, but he doesn’t touch me for some reason.

  I search around the interior of my car as if something in here will help me figure out what the hell has just happened, but I come up short, so I close my eyes and try to focus on calming down before I have a full-blown panic attack. As soon as I’ve taken three or four deep breaths and forced myself to relax, the man’s voice penetrates my ears.

  “Miss, are you all right? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

  I move toward him and open my eyes again. I lift my shoulder and shove my face into it to push my glasses back up my nose, and that’s when I finally take him in. And holy hell is there a lot to take in.

  His broad shoulders are covered in a threadbare, graying muscle t-shirt, on which the word “Beast” is written in thick black letters—which he really is, if his enormous biceps are any indication.

  I examine the thick cord of muscle from his shoulders to his neck. His square chin and chiseled jaw are covered in five o’clock shadow, a darker shade than the dark blond on his head.

  A small silver scar runs through the right side of his cheek and down into the scruff. His nose doesn’t appear to be symmetrical to his face. It sits more to the right, like it’d been broken, and it didn’t quite set properly.

  But it’s his eyes—which I can’t tell the exact color of because it’s too dark around us—that suck me in. The intensity in them as he peruses my body is a bit intimidating. His brows are pulled together as he stares into my eyes, but a look of concern and intrigue has never seemed so sexy on a man before.

  “Are you hurt anywhere?” His voice pierces through the fog in my brain. Oh yeah, we just had an accident. Shit, switch your brain back on, Harlow.

  I shake my head as I do a mental check of my body. The only things that hurt are my fingers, which have been squeezing the life out of the steering wheel, but that isn’t because of the panic from my car jolting anymore. I now attribute my nerves to the hot man standing next to me with a worried gaze plastered across his face.

  “Uh, no, I’m fine,” I mumble.

  Crap, my car. I’m hopeful that the damage is minimal and I can just away from this and get to work, but even as I think this, I know I’m more than likely wrong. My car has done a forty-five-degree twist, and I’m taking up two lanes on this side of the road. This hunk of junk couldn’t hold up to that kind of force.

  I unhurriedly remove my hands from the steering wheel and unbuckle my seat belt before moving out of the rusted car. The handsome man takes a few steps back from my open door to allow me to stand but moves no further as he does a top-to-toe examination of me.

  I don’t even want to know what this obviously-out-of-my-league hot guy sees when he sees me. I’m still within a healthy weight range for my five-foot-seven-inch stature, but the weight isn’t distributed to where it should be. I have a nice little muffin top that sits above any pair of pants or shorts I put on. My thighs have a little too much pooch, and my calves are too skinny.

  Most would think that with this extra chunk in those places that I would have a decent sized chest, but this just isn’t so. For some reason my breasts chose to rebel when it came to gaining weight and stayed at the large A-cup to small B-cup range.

  After a few seconds of watching him stare at me, I give up and glance away. Better to miss the look of disappointment at seeing a plain Jane in front of you instead of a swimsuit model.

  I move my head toward the rear end of my car, which is buried under the front of this man’s black Hummer like he was at a monster truck rally and my car was a junker he drove over to get the crowd pumped up.

  Suddenly, I lo
se my fear of rejection by this man and become pissed. My rear windshield is shattered, and the back tires appear to have given up the fight to hold my car upright, because they’ve twisted and collapsed to the ground. All because this man couldn’t pay attention to the road.

  “What the hell, dude? Did you not see my car on the road before you turned out?” I say pointing at what’s left of the rear of my car.

  I shoot my head back to him to see that he has stopped inspecting my body and is now focused on my face, and his is scrunched together in what could possibly be anger.

  What the hell?

  Chapter 2

  Blake

  What the hell is wrong with this chick? She drives down the road with her headlights off in a piece-of-shit car that looks like the rust is the original paint color, and then she tries to ask if I didn’t see her on the road?

  Of course I didn’t fucking see her on the road. That’s why I turned out when I did.

  When I first saw her in the car, I couldn’t move my eyes away. Her stunned and scared expression was so captivating that I didn’t want to look away. Then she turned her eyes toward me, and even though I couldn’t see the color of them, it was as if someone punched the air right out of me.

  “Hello? Are you going to talk to me now?”

  First she calls me “dude” like she’s a thirteen-year-old girl, and now she’s berating me? I didn’t answer her, because I was afraid I would blow up and yell, which isn’t something you do in the presence of a lady, but she’s pushing that button over and over again. I hope I don’t blow up and scare the shit out of this girl, but her sass definitely isn’t helping.

  “How old are you?” I blurt out.

  I can tell my question confuses her, because her head cocks back a bit, and she pulls her brows together before huffing. Hell, the question confuses me, because I have no damn clue why I just asked it, but it’s better than going off on her for her awful driving skills.

  “I’m twenty-three, but what the hell does that have to do with anything?” Her voice comes out a bit softer and smoother. After the words leave her mouth, her jaw flexes and she balls her hands into fists at her sides, like she needs to remember that she isn’t happy right now.

  A small grin spreads across my mouth at her attempt at anger. She sounds like she’s trying to be pissed but can’t hold onto it.

  “Well, I ask for a few reasons. One, you called me ‘dude’ like you were a preteen girl trying to stay hip on the newest lingo.” My grin gets wider when her eyes narrow in my direction, and she cocks her hip out and places her balled up fist on it.

  “And two, you didn’t have your headlights on, so I didn’t see you. Did you just get your driver’s license, honey?”

  When I finish speaking and then her eyes study the ground instead of me. I’m amazed that I can see her face blush that shade of red at this time of night, but it does. I can tell I’ve either pissed her off or embarrassed her with that question, but shit, her car is stuck underneath my Hummer. How much is that going to cost to fix?

  Before I can tease her a little bit more in an effort to make light of this situation and avoid bitching her out, tears form in the corners of her eyes.

  Shit.

  I don’t do well with crying women.

  She bites her lower lip in an endeavor to stop the tears but miserably fails. Before I know it, tears are sliding down her cheeks and I have no clue how to stop them. For some reason, seeing this girl cry doesn’t sit well with me.

  “Shit. I’m sorry, I was just teasing you. You know, trying to make light of the situation. I didn’t mean to make you cry,” I tell her, but it doesn’t help. She keeps crying.

  She brings her hands up to her face and sneaks her fingers under her thick-rimmed nerd glasses so she can cover her eyes while the dark brown knot of hair on the top of her head bobs back and forth with her sobs.

  I’m severely out of my element here. I don’t know this woman, and I have no idea how to put a stop to her meltdown. I think about taking her in my arms and pulling her close until her tears stop, but that just feels wrong for so many different reasons. Hell, I don’t even know this girl’s name.

  Then I notice the headlights of other cars passing us on the road, and I realize we aren’t very safe right now. Her car is sideways in one lane, and mine is crooked and partially parked on top of hers. Since we’re on a busy road and don’t have a lot of lighting, I’m worried that someone might hit one of the cars while we’re standing here and we’ll get hurt.

  I reach past her and dip my head into her car. I find the hazard light button and push it, glad that these lights still work now that her car is basically a pancake. Then I step out and glance back at her. I was afraid to touch her when she was in the car in case she was injured in any way, but now that she seems to physically be all right, it’s safe to try and touch her. When I reach out and place my hands on her shoulders, she recoils but doesn’t step back from me. Well, that’s a step in the right direction.

  “I’m not sure why the hell you’re crying, but we aren’t safe standing right here. So what do you say we move off to the side of the road and call a tow truck to come get your car out of the middle of the street?”

  I don’t wait for an answer before stepping closer and gently wrapping my arm around her shoulders. As soon as the coast is clear, I rush us both across the street to the sidewalk and pull out my phone. I call a tow truck while this chick tries her damndest to calm down and, for the most part, she fails. The deep breaths she’s taking while she shakes her hands in front of her make it sound like she just ran a fucking marathon. Hell, her choppy breaths are making me feel out of breath.

  Her phone rings in the pocket of her dirty black scrubs, and she pulls it out quickly. I’m confused when she flips the phone open and places it to her ear. I didn’t think they made flip phones like that anymore. At least not the ones with an antenna on them that you have to pull up to get any reception like hers.

  “Hey, Tim. No, I know I’m late, but I got in a car accident about five miles away. Yes, as soon as I take care of this, I’ll be there. I’m sorry, I’ll hurry.”

  So she may have a boyfriend. For some odd reason that I don’t understand, this disappoints me.

  She closes her phone and turns back at our linked cars, still ignoring me.

  “Holy crap, my back wheel is bent,” she yells and points at her rusted piece of junk.

  “Well, that’s what happens when it has a five-thousand-pound vehicle parked on top of it.” I chuckle, thinking a joke make light of the situation.

  Nope.

  She looks back to me and glares at me behind those big-rimmed glasses, but it’s such a cute glare I bow my head to keep my grin hidden.

  When she turns back to the mangled cars I take my time to examine her closer.

  She is of average height, maybe five foot five or so, and her body seems proportionate for the most part. She has thicker hips that you could get a good grip on them while you’re standing behind her. The thought causes a slight twitch in my dick, and I move my eyes away from her hips before my mind comes up with other things that will start stirring my cock to life.

  I start at the top and lock my eyes onto the big, dark mass on her head. It’s hard to tell just how dark her hair is, because we don’t have a lot of light from the street lights, but appears to be a dark brown ball wrapped around itself a few different times, which makes me wonder just how long her hair is and how it would feel brushing against my chest as she’s riding me. Shit, move on from her hair before you embarrass yourself, Blake.

  I break the stare I have going with the back of her head before she thinks I’m some creep and pull my phone out of the pocket of my workout shorts, only to realize that we’ve been standing with each other for about thirty minutes and haven’t spoken much. I want to hear what her voice sounds like when she isn’t pissed off, so I start a conversation.

  “I can’t believe we’ve met this way, and I still don’t even know your
name.”

  She moves back toward me, and I use the opportunity to get a good look at her face. The apples of her cheeks are round and pale, and the bridge of her pixie nose is tinted, like it might be covered with small freckles. Her eyes are a light color, but it’s impossible to tell what color they might be, and even in the darkness surrounding us, I can see that she doesn’t appear to have much makeup on.

  She gives me a once-over, and her shoulders ease a bit. Then a small smile, which makes two dimples pop next to her mouth, appears, and she sticks her tiny hand out to me. “I’m Harlow Wilholten.”

  I give her a cocky smirk that makes most women cream their panties and loosely grip her outstretched hand. “I’m Blake Maynard. It’s nice to meet you, Harlow, but it would have cost us both less money to have met at a bar or restaurant. I could have even searched for you online if we were desperate enough. You didn’t need to hit my truck.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Well, meeting like that is so impersonal these days. What better way to know if you’re dating material than to have you destroy my car?”she teases back.

  I smile and try to keep the light conversation going when a police car stops behind our tangled cars and flips on his flashing lights.

  “What happened here?” the middle-aged officer asks when he makes it to us.

  Harlow begins to tell him the situation, but I don’t want the cop to give her a ticket for not having her headlights on at night, so I speak over her.

  “It was my fault, Sir. I turned out onto the road and didn’t see her. I can’t see well through my periphery and missed her car before I turned out.” This isn’t a lie, except for the fact that I couldn’t see her, because she didn’t have any damn lights on when it’s dark outside.

  I glance over at Harlow to see her lips parted and her light doe eyes watering up. I nod and the officer hands me my ticket while a tow truck pulls up in front of her car to jack it up.