Head Over Wheels
Spicy Young Romance By
January Valentine
Amazon Kindle Edition
Head Over Wheels (Spicy Young Romance)
Copyright © 2013 Victoria Valentine
All Rights Reserved Victoria Valentine
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN 10: 0615750273
ISBN 13: 978-0615750279
ISBN 13: 978-0-9849573-7-8 (Electronic Version)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2013930002
Water Forest Press Books
PO Box 295, Stormville, NY 12582
waterforestpress.com
TABLE OF CONTENTS
A GIRL CAN DREAM, CAN’T SHE?
KELLY’S CAFÉ
ROOMMATE AND BEST FRIEND
HUNTING COLLEGE JOE
ME & PETE
MY FIRST BIKE-A-THON
TRAFFIC JAM… WOW
KELLY’S – INDIGO – BILLY ARKANA
INTRUDER ALERT
DISHING BILLY ARKANA
BACK TO THE GRIND
RUGGED NUGGETS: BRING IT ON STRIP CLUB
WAITING FOR A PHONE CALL IS MURDER
PARTY AT THE PRESTIGE
SHAKING UP WITH INDIGO
VANESSA AND THE BRAWL
PETE AND CASEY
MY FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH PHONE SEX
PRIMPING FOR A FIRST DATE
CATASTROPHY AT AMA
DINNER WITH INDIGO
THUNDERSTORM IN INDIGO’S ARMS
MY QUALIFICATIONS & MOM
WHEELIN’ TO POUGHKEEPSIE
THE DELAROSA CLAN
WHEELS ON A HOT TRACK
RELATIONSHIP COUNSELING
INDIGO’S APARTMENT
EASY COME EASY GO
GRADUATION SURPRISE
THE HAMPTONS
RING AROUND MY FINGER
MANHATTAN AGAIN
BREAKING THE TIES THAT BOUND ME
SORTING THINGS OUT
THE A-FRAME IN MAINE
SEX AND SURPRISES
HE LOVES ME HE LOVES ME NOT
ONCE IS NEVER ENOUGH
EMMA’S SCREAM – INDIGO’S REVELATIONS
MORNING… AFTER THE STORM
WILDERNESS HIKE
THE FOLKS IN WESTCHESTER
THE ACADEMY
UNDER ARREST?
STAKEOUT
EMERGENCY
EPILOGUE
AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Love is the beauty which clings to life, binds hearts together, leaving them hollow without it. – JV
a song in tune a night in june
a table by the fire
a sip of wine your lips on mine
the dew of my desire
Love is not keeping secrets
never asking why
every splendid creation
beauty in one's eye
loss when a heart is blind
pain when clocks refuse to rewind
hanging on for dear life
knowing when to forfeit
Love is the flower that opens in fragrance of time
wisdom to care for it before the petals die
Sometimes things that seem most perfect, in reality, are not. Such as love.
You give it. You take it. You lose it. You break it.
Romance sparkles behind a door, and you long for an opening, a chance to experience the rise of a brilliant sun bursting through a fairy tale window, the enticing sound of footsteps rushing up the stairs.
And when the earth trembles beneath your feet, you hold on tight, struggling to fit those fragile pieces into life's mesmerizing puzzle, until one day, you're launched into flight, bound for the sky, and while the world around you spins, you find yourself tumbling.
Who will be there to catch you when you fall ... Head Over Wheels?
A GIRL CAN DREAM, CAN’T SHE?
When I strutted into Kelly's Café, all heads turned my way, fiery eyeballs flashing like beacons. Had my flowing chestnut hair caught the crowd as it did daylight? Perhaps my eyes, which at times held a similar hue; soft golden brown flooding an emerald-green forest. Or was I the main attraction because I happened to be wearing a fuchsia bikini my body rejected by spilling my curves all over the place?
Hold on a minute. This is so not me ...
A rush of horror washed over me. Should I run? But where would I go? My brain disengaged, the streets outside filled with chaos. Without my cuffs and firearm, I'd be a victim. I was helpless!
Displaced, I froze. Everyone in Kelly's was dressed. I wrapped my arms around my smooth-skinned middle. My sapphire belly button ring, peeking from beneath my forearm, glittered like a fireball in daggers of sunlight shooting through the windows. Daggers like the sharp stares three catty girls pitched at me when two construction workers let out wolf whistles.
"What's your problem, biatches?" I wanted to yell, but hard as I tried, my defenses were trapped by an invisible hand sealing my mouth shut. For the first time in my life I fell speechless. "Whatevs..." I managed to slur, although I doubt they noticed the swell of my lips as their eyes appeared glued to my half-naked torso. "Huh," I huffed and tossed my head. My hair whipped an arc, slapping my face, and ended up stuck to my tongue.
Sure, give them even more to laugh at ... I squared my shoulders, nudged my mane back into place, and drew a breath. Eat your hearts out. This is healthy body, toned three times a week by Zumba.
With bare feet I thumped across the cold floor, snatched a cardboard cup, and with my nose in the air, elbowed my way through the gathering crowd to the self-service counter. I may have appeared the epitome of confidence, but inside I cringed. I would never be caught dead in public in a string bikini. Sure, on a Montauk beach, but not in a coffee shop.
What the hell am I doing here?
Curious stares heated my back, my face reacting with a crimson burn which would clash hideously with my barely-there attire. I'm a fashion diva, not disaster! Screw them. I lifted my chin higher, mumbling, "Hombres cachondos." [Raunchy men.]
Then my alarm clock rang. Oh, shit. I'm late for work — or do I have a class today?
KELLY’S CAFÉ
Manhattan was in its usual Monday morning panic. Shielding my eyes from a blinding sunrise, I crossed Tenth Avenue as a sign flashed a green walk, my body weaving through a mob of blue and white-collar comrades like a knitting needle through yarn. Before punching the time clock at AMA (Abigail Mitchell Apparel) – the elegant department store where I worked part- time security – I slid past a few utility workers congregating under Kelly's awning. The open glass door welcomed an early spring, and more pushy customers than I would have liked to have seen, as I was already seriously late.
I hadn't slept well the night before. Tossing and turning was one thing, but God, how I missed Nikos, my Mediterranean mistake. It's been over six months, I told myself. Time to get on with your life, girl. He turned out to be a conniving bastard and you're a freak for letting him get to you this way. But the familiar pressure of those strong arms folding around me, drawing our bodies close, was a mood killer, to say the least.
The thought of him back in his homeland – soaking up the same sun my purple lenses filtered – on a pristine beach with another woman in his bear hug, made me want to vomit. Not only was he roll-over-stop-your-heart-gorgeous, but so was the island he lived on. It was paradise. I'd seen it firsthand.
Before I entered Kelly's, I looked down at my jeans, ribbed tank top and half-zipped hoodie. I wasn't dressed to kill, but the circle of guys parted for me like gentleman, although their facial expressions were anything but. The wiggle room they left me to squeeze through was so tight, I felt hot breath on my neck as I passed. If I had eyes in the back of my head, instead of a long, messy braid, I'd probably have caught them gaping at my rear end.
Once inside the café, the dream bounced across my mind and I had to choke back laughter. Imagine if I'd really sauntered in wearing a string bikini? I'd be feeling more than hot breath on my neck and eyes on my rump roast, that's for damn sure.
Like a kid with a secret, I couldn't keep a straight face. And that's how I looked when my eyes caught his. There I stood, like a grinning idiot. Solo. Stalled in the middle of the place, with a tooth-baring smile.
Our eyes locked.
Wasn't love at first sight reserved for movies and fools?
Did I detect a glimmer of recognition in his?
Surely not on my end. I'd never forget anything so scrumptious. My mouth felt like cardboard, stiff and dry, and a sinking sensation accompanied my awkward lips as they shrank back into their normal shape. At least I held my jaw in place. Damn! Why did I bite my lip?
Madre de Dios.[Mother of God.] He was fine. Finer than the to-die-for 18K gold sparkly flat rope necklace displayed in AMA's guarded jewelry case; the one I drooled over but would never be able to afford. The only gold I owned was plated. Then my fingers slipped over the slender crucifix, centered with a brilliant diamond, suspended from a delicate chain around my neck ... Shame set in. Grandma had left me one of her few precious possessions, blessed by a Cardinal, passed on to me with her love. The cross had meaning, sentiment, emotions a lump of cold metal could never have, regardless of its lure ... and cost.
My moment of guilt dissolved as I melted into his gaze, conscious of the skate of my lips which blotted my creamy lipstick, willing them not to quiver.
A step up from Nikos, hell – twenty steps up from Nikos was more like it. From the distance, I couldn't gauge the color of his eyes, but they were wide, translucent. A surge of sunlight flared through the window, striking his face, and he squinted as his stare endured ... dared. Could he really be looking at me this way? So openly? My elevator stomach dropped ten floors.
The beckoning barista broke our trance. Gorgeous did a forward head-swoop, faced the impatient guy in the green smock, and placed his order. I saw his lips move, but had to imagine the sound of his voice. Smooth and mellow, of course. It had to be ... deep and sexy. As sexy as his masculine profile, and defined trapezius and shoulder muscles bulging through his pullover. I strained to see more of him; unable to through the crowd. Still, with a top half like that, how could the bottom be disappointing?
Stricken with a sudden bout of immobility, my ballets still glued to the same two floorboards, I found myself drawing in too many breaths. Wondering if he felt the same connection, I consciously wiped expectation from my face.
After he finished speaking to the barista, his head moved in my direction, sweeping smoothly from side to side as though focusing on imaginary objects around me. By some unexplained force, our eyes would connect, meet, hold. Then he'd break free, look over his shoulder. Damn. Why did his eyes keep shifting away?
We seemed to be involved in a hide and seek game, two rubbernecking strangers, well aware of the crudeness of staring. Still, I couldn't fight the urge. And apparently, he experienced the same fascination.
Suddenly he grew bolder, and it was my turn to focus on blurred faces around him, up and over his head, pretending to study the menu hanging on the wall. Each time I dared a peek, he'd be glancing my way. Our eyes kept brushing with more than curiosity, and I became quite uncomfortable. Finally, the corner of his questioning eyes crinkled, his lips pursing with a hint of a smile.
The gaze we shared sent messages, and I thought he might be contemplating a walk in my direction. Oh no, please don't. I mean, yes, yes. I'm over here ... I longed to fling my arms in the air and wave him on like a giddy cheerleader.
At the thought of standing beside him, my legs grew weak, my body tingly. Guapo! [Handsome.] He was drop-dead hotter than a Ghost Pepper. My reaction to this guy was puzzling. My preference had always been for the dark and mysterious type. He might have been borderline jock — but not your typical college Joe. But, mysterious ... oh yeah. Esthetically, he'd be considered late summer. And the look on his face made mine react ...
The impatient barista, suspending a steaming coffee cup in his wobbling hand, grumbled, once again breaking the spell. There was something compelling about college Joe's change of expression a moment before his head swung back to the guy: Brooding. Soul digging. A chill ran down my spine. I couldn't take it ... and I couldn't take my eyes off him.
His hair was thick and appealingly messy; he must have been facing a hectic morning, or his sun-tipped locks had been pillow-brushed and finger-combed. Mmm, to run my fingers through that would be amazing.
Oh yeah ... this guy spends a lot of time at the gym ...
The v-neck sweater expanded for his broad neck, the smooth black knit a striking contrast against his sandy hair. His bronzed face hinted there might be a sailboat tan beneath his clothes. Speedboat maybe ...
I wondered if I'd have noticed him had he not initiated the staring contest. But Lord, those eyes drew me right in. Captivating ... I needed help. I reached for my cell phone.
Me: Kelly's
Em: When?
Me: NOW!
Em: Working U ok?
Me: Sending pic
Em: OMG. Who is that?
Me: Idk don't show Pete
ROOMMATE AND BEST FRIEND
"He's hotter than my Honda before the engine blew," pulling in a breath, Emma Kim exclaimed.
"You think?" My threaded brows shot up.
"Holy shit, Jewel. How many pics did you sneak?" Emma laughed light and airy, like wind chimes. She dropped her shoulder bag on the table and grabbed my phone. With satin ebony hair, shoulder length and straight, she appeared a perfect work of anime art. I watched his delicious photos flash across the smudged screen as her fingers slid over it. She shoved the Droid at me before dropping onto the sofa. "He gave you the eye, huh? How did you not jump him?"
"Not easy. He made a big deposit into my memory bank, that's for sure." In an instant, I relived the split second our stares met and held. "He didn't give me the eye, not like ours." My laugh resonated, deeper than Em's, but every bit as musical. "But it was sure as hell invitational. Whatever ..." The sigh I drew rose from my gut.
"Hopefully now you'll realize there are other baskets for your eggs ..."
My eyes widened. "What the hell are you talking about?" I choked out a laugh. Baskets and eggs? I wasn't the Easter bunny, and certainly not ready for mating.
"One of my mother's expressions," Emma giggled. "You know what I mean. Maybe now you'll forget the gigolo and start sleeping. I'm tired of sleep deprivation because of your bathroom runs, or wherever it is you go fifty times a night."
"Nikos who?" I shot her a snarky grin. Over the past months I'd spent so much time thinking of my ex, my memory bank had been almost depleted of juicy visuals. "Let's put it this way. Nikos was a piggybank. This guy's Fort Knox. I wonder if I'll ever see him again?"
"You have to, Jewel. From what you described, it's a love story in the making."
"Yeah, but in this crowded city," I blew out an exasperated groan, "maybe we're just two Manhattanites passing in a café."
"That's what I love about you," Emma's voice followed her over the head arm stretch, "you keep us in drama."
I searched the fridge for dinner. Fi
nding nothing of interest, I leaned a rounded hip against one of the four counter stools. Sliding onto the seat, I half draped myself over the Formica top, supporting my head with a palm, slipping into my oh, misery position. "We need to shop. This kitchen looks poverty-stricken. Wanna go out for food?"
Emma brushed thick bangs from her forehead, her body, suspended on the three cushions of our burgundy sofa, barely making a dent. "I'm beat. You go though. Bring me back the usual."
"How did your day go?" I habitually asked.
"Multi dimensional neurosis. Phobias, panic attacks, delusions of grandeur. You name it." Emma closed her eyes, took in a breath, expelling a gust of air.
"I don't know how you do it." I shook my head. "I have enough trouble figuring out my own brain, without trying to dissect someone else's."
"That's why I sweated out five years at Columbia." Pointing a lean leg, she kicked a high-heeled pump across the room, nailing one of the club chairs in front of the living room picture window. The chair rocked, rippling the vanilla drape hanging behind it. For a petite girl, Emma was strong; she was also impulsive and burning with ambition.
I met Emma Kim when I was pre-college apartment hunting in Manhattan. I answered her ad and within a few days we were roommates, forming an instant bond and lasting friendship. Sweet and compassionate, she had chosen the perfect profession: Mental Health Professional. While she saved enough cash to go into private practice, she worked for the State of New York.
It wouldn't be long and I'd have my B.S. and launch my career. From my first day at John Jay, I'd flown through every single class with a 3.8 until my life fell apart. That occurred during the year of Nikos Loukas, the hunk with the accent that cracked the core of the never let your guard down ice queen. I guess it was bound to happen, and probably did to every girl. For me, once was enough.
Nikos had dumped me during midterms, forcing me close to depression, something foreign to me, as foreign as the man. Thank heavens for Emma. I was one of her most difficult cases, and with twenty-four hour access, should have been her easiest success. But nothing could pull up my grades, or push me through the two classes I inevitably flunked. So, I'd registered for the same said courses again this semester. Thankfully, my second run of Forensic and Political Science were proving to be successful. I'd graduate soon, and hopefully land a permanent position in law enforcement.
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