Clusterf*@k (Life Sucks Book 4)

by Elise Faber

  Chance felt himself stabilize, too, the sensation in his chest disappearing just as quickly, and it was almost easy to pretend it hadn’t been there in the first place.

  Soph squeezed her arm. “You sure you’re okay?”

  A snort, her shoulders straightening. “I should be asking you that. I’m not the one with the broken garage ‘cause her sister-in-law can’t drive.”

  “Babe,” Soph said. “It’s okay. Go home and get some sleep. We’ll deal with this in the morning.”

  Misty nodded, threw her arms around Soph. “I really am so sorry.”

  Soph hugged her tight then pulled back and studied her face, concern rippling through Soph’s eyes. “You’re not okay.”

  “I’m fine.” But she didn’t sound fine, even as she turned and hugged Rob. Misty sounded very far away from fine. Soph didn’t push, though, or maybe she didn’t have time because Misty finished hugging her brother, who returned to the garage to continue his inspection, then rotated toward Chance and asked again if he could move his car.

  Chance nodded, rubbing his chest in a way that he was trying to pretend didn’t speak to something changing in his heart (fun, just fun!) and backed up his SUV, the grinding and hissing sounds as it moved not instilling a lot of confidence in its ability to cart him around. Still, he made sure to pull it well out of the way before watching Misty reverse at a snail’s pace out of the driveway, inching back and checking for traffic no less than half a dozen times, even though there was minimal traffic on the street.

  Minimal but not none, hence his unhappy front bumper.

  Then she was gone, and he’d parked in her place—making sure it was actually in park—and moved toward his sister. She hugged him tight then pulled back and studied his eyes for several long moments. “I don’t know if I should give you her number and tell you to go for it, or if I should warn you to stay the hell away.” A beat. “She’s special, Chance. Not temporary. She’s a forever woman.”

  There was that gut punch again.

  Or maybe a heart punch.

  Because the vulnerability was back.

  But he injected a bit of cocky into his tone anyway, tried to play it off as though it was all business as usual. “I already got her number.”

  Soph’s brows shot up in surprise, and then she sighed. “Don’t fuck it up.”

  He wouldn’t.

  Namely because he never allowed himself to get close enough to a woman in the first place to fuck it up.

  Fun. Fucking. Friends.

  That trifecta worked for him.

  And Misty, as lush and pretty and with plenty of spine as she was, would be no different.

  3

  Totaled

  Misty

  She was researching body shops.

  After having spent nearly an hour on the phone with her insurance company.

  And after having spent several hours of the early morning reaching out to contractors and garage door specialists.

  Yes, her brother was a contractor.

  No, he shouldn’t have to clean up the fucking mess she’d made of the front of his house.

  So, she’d take her lunch break to meet with one company, and then would meet the contractor bright and early the next morning. And she would be footing the bill. No matter what Soph said.

  Her fault.

  Her wallet.

  The latter of which was going to be a lot lighter, but that was karma for her. Next time she’d double-check for traffic. Or maybe triple-check. Or…

  The bell above the door rang, and she glanced up to see her two best friends Frankie—short for Francesca—and Mags—short for Maggie. The grins on their faces didn’t bode well for her future. Neither did Maggie sidling up to the counter, leaning a hip against it, and slowly closing Misty’s laptop. “What’s this about you careening into tall, dark, and handsome?”

  She opened her laptop on a wince. “I didn’t careen. It was more…reversing at a regretful speed.”

  “Regretful?” Frankie asked, having arrived at the counter a moment after Maggie. She’d detoured to check out Misty’s new display of yarn (because it was colorful and pretty, and Frankie loved yarn as much as Misty did). “How could speed be regretful?”

  “When it’s paired with a sedan reversing at the right”—or wrong, she supposed—“angle to crunch into the front bumper of an SUV that was twice its size.”

  Now Frankie and Maggie both winced. “That bad?”

  Misty nodded. “It was hissing and releasing steam, and when he tried to move it, the noise was… well, akin to a plethora of rusty nails screeching against metal.”

  “Yikes,” Frankie murmured.

  Maggie whistled and brushed her hands together but then almost immediately straightened, clearly ready to move on from Misty’s bad driving with nary a second thought—as was her way. Mags was an easy-come-easy-go kind of person. She didn’t get stressed about things like car accidents or storms coming up the shore. A broken heel? Missing a sale at the Kate Spade outlet and not getting her fix for her latest sparkly wallet? Those things had Mags losing her shit. But Misty feeling like an idiot because she hadn’t checked traffic and then more of one because she hadn’t put her car in park (seriously, what the fuck was wrong with her?), that was easy to move on from.

  “Well,” Maggie said, drifting over to a pair of glittery knitting needles, drawn like a magpie to all the shiny. “Your first accident took until you were thirty. That’s pretty good.”

  Frankie nodded. “That’s true. But she’s only twenty-nine, Mags.”

  The bell tinkled, and Misty glanced toward the door, an automatic reaction honed from her multiple years in business.

  Only this time, it wasn’t a woman, as was typical—though not always, since she did have a few male knitters, and Rob, knitting skills aside, visited quite often. This time it was a man—a tall, dark, and handsome man.

  Chance Jackson.

  “Fuck,” she whispered.

  His gaze drifted around the store, rested on her, and he smiled, started to come over.

  Mags whipped toward her, eyes wide. “Is that him?” she whispered, which wasn’t really a whisper, since Mags, in her easy-come-easy-go demeanor, didn’t tend to pay attention to things like the volume of her voice. “Oh, please Jesus, tell me that’s tall, dark, and handsome.”

  “Of course, that’s him,” Frankie said, much more quietly than Mags. “He looks like Soph.”

  “Actually, Soph is adopted,” Misty murmured out of the corner of her mouth. “But yes, that’s him, and also, please, kill me now.” She raised her voice as he got close, though his smile told her he’d heard every bit of their conversation. “Chance, so good to see you again.”

  He paused, gaze on hers, the corners of his mouth just barely tipping up, though those green eyes danced. “It’s good to see you, too.”

  There was a beat tagging along at the end of that statement, as though he’d swallowed the second half of it, and she could imagine what he was thinking of saying. (“It’s good to see you, too, especially not behind the wheel of a car that’s slamming into mine.”) Luckily, her friends didn’t give her too much time, not when Mags was sidling close and unleashing her full-wattage smile, the one that often left even Misty a bit muddled by proxy, even though it was only wielded on the male populace.

  “Chance, is it?” she said. “How long are you in town?” (Read: Can we boink?) She rested her hand on his chest, just for a heartbeat. “Oh, wow. That’s some muscle.”

  Misty dropped her head back, stared up at the ceiling.

  She loved Mags. She really did.

  But her friend was a bit much.

  Sighing, she lifted her head, seeing that Chance wasn’t even looking at Mags, despite the chest touch. His eyes were focused on her, and there was heat in their depths that had her stomach going squishy.

  Girding her loins, she forced a smile. “Chance, this is my best friend, Maggie.” She nodded at her voluptuous, brunette, troublesome friend. “A
nd”—a nod at Francesca—“this is my other best friend, Frankie.”

  He nodded at both of them, barely glancing their way, even though they were gorgeous and had gotten more than their fair share of second-looks, but he didn’t say anything, just returned his eyes to her and kept staring with that heat in his deep green eyes.

  “I—” She stopped. “Can I help you with something?”

  “Yes.”

  Misty waited.

  He just kept staring.

  Mags stepped back, drawing Misty’s focus. She saw that her friend’s brows were lifted, and there was amusement written in the lines of her face. Amusement along with an unwritten push for Misty to be the one doing the chest touching with Chance, because based on his focus, he'd be more receptive to Misty doing it over Mags and…well, as previously mentioned, Mags was easy-come-easy-go. Chance wasn’t interested—even with the smile and chest touch—so she was moving on. “We’ll go look at…something.”

  Frankie, shy sometimes to a fault, shook her quiet off and wove her arm through Maggie’s. “I saw some yarn I think you’ll like.”

  “Right. Yarn,” Mags said. “And those glittery needles.”

  Then she tugged Frankie off to the far end of the shop.

  Note: they were neither near the glittery knitting needles, nor the yarn. They were shamelessly staring at her by the small selection of knitting baskets she kept in stock.

  Also note: they weren’t out of earshot, since her store wasn’t that big, though they were far enough away that they’d have to concentrate to hear whatever Chance had to say to her.

  Never fear, though, they would be concentrating.

  Once they’d reached the corner, Misty returned her attention to Chance. He was still and silent, studying her, making her nerves prickle and goose bumps lift on her arms. “I, um”—she opened her computer—“I’ve been researching body shops. Todd at A-1 on First Street said that he could look at your car this afternoon—”

  He lifted a hand. “No need.”

  “Oh,” she said, biting her lip, “you already got it in somewhere?”

  The man must work fast. Though she’d spent hours on the phone that morning, not getting her car to the shop, so he’d probably been more efficient than her, especially since he wasn’t searching for contractors and garage door repairmen alongside that.

  He shrugged. “I had a buddy come look at it last night. It’s totaled. Put in an order for a new one. It’ll be here this afternoon.”

  She was still processing the first part of his statement when the second penetrated.

  “Totaled?” she sputtered.

  Oh shit.

  “Ordered?” She shook her head sharply. He’d ordered a car? Like it was an item off a menu, or a book off Amazon? How? What—

  Also, how in the fuck was she going to pay him for a brand-new car?

  She didn’t have that kind of money.

  She barely had enough to pay her own deductible.

  Fuck. Fuck. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

  “Misty.”

  “I—um—” She closed her eyes then straightened her shoulders and sighed, lids peeling back so she could meet his green ones. A nod. “Right. I’ll figure out a way to pay you for the car.” And pay for the garage door and the wall and her car and—

  “It’s covered.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “I’m not here about the car. That’s between me and my insurance company—”

  “Um—” It also involved her and her insurance company.

  “Misty,” he said again.

  “I promise, I’ll speak to them and—”

  “It’s covered.”

  “It can’t possibly be covered,” she said. “I spent hours on the phone with my agent this morning, and I barely got a commitment for an adjuster to come out. That doesn’t even count me having to look up body shops and—”

  “It’s covered,” he repeated. For a third time.

  “But…how?” She was nowhere near covered, and her issues were only with her bumpers. Chance’s engine had been smoking and hissing, and now he’d ended up with a new car and—

  Half his mouth curved up. “Sounds like your insurance sucks, babe. I sent some pictures. I talked to my agent. Adjuster came out this morning, and since my SUV is totaled, there’s no need to dick around.”

  Fingers clenching on the counter to keep her upright, she squeaked out for the second time, “Totaled?”

  The other half of his mouth tipped. “You’ve got good aim, babe. Bent the frame. No coming back from that.”

  Now she wavered on her feet.

  Fuck. Fuck. This was so much worse than she’d expected…and she’d spent the night rehashing, so thus had expected some serious shittiness.

  Now, she needed to pay for a new SUV.

  “I’ll pay you back,” she began, fully aware she was spiraling, yet unable to stop herself. She was the responsible one of her friend group. She had always made sure they didn’t get in trouble, whether it was getting home tipsy from a high school party to freezing Maggie’s credit card in a block of ice so she didn’t buy yet another pair of ankle boots she didn’t need. “I can do”—Misty did some mental tabulation—“nine hundred today, and I’ll figure out how to get the rest and—”

  Her words cut off this time because he was in her space.

  Like seriously in her space.

  One second, he’d been on the other side of the counter. The next, he was there. Spinning her so she faced him, his hands on either side of her, resting on the glass, boxing her in, his spicy scent overwhelming her senses, the heat from his body soaking through the light sweater she’d knitted like it was a hot knife coasting through butter.

  “I said, it’s covered.”

  Firm words.

  One might even say they were hard words, his eyes flashing with just a bit of annoyance. Well, he could be annoyed all he wanted. She’d fucked up, and she didn’t shirk her responsibilities. Thus, Misty sucked in a breath and pressed on. “It can’t be covered,” she said, watching them flash again, a lightning storm among gleaming emeralds. “Even if your insurance company will cut a check, it won’t be for what it’s worth.” She knew about these things, knew that the moment a car was driven off the dealer’s lot, the value dropped, and this played into the valuation the insurance company was going to make. His SUV had looked nice and new, and there was no way he wouldn’t be in the hole after ordering a new one like it was a fucking pizza.

  And yes, she was aware in some distant part of her brain that she was still spiraling.

  But he talked about getting a new car like he’d ordered a pizza!

  So no, she wouldn’t just drop this.

  She’d make things right.

  Somehow, fuck somehow, she’d need to make this right.

  4

  It’s Covered

  Chance

  He was losing her.

  He’d have to be an idiot to not see that.

  And he might be a lot of things, but he didn’t make a habit out of being an idiot.

  “Hey,” he said, dropping his hand to the side of her neck and finding his words colliding against each other in his throat, stumbling and tripping together and bottling up. Because her skin was like silk. Because she smelled like coconut. Because her eyes were even more beautiful up close. The varying shades of brown and gold all swirling together, sucking him in like a black hole.

  She shuddered out a breath, and he smelled coffee and mint and something else that was deeper, a scent lingering on her skin that was floral.

  Jasmine maybe?

  Hibiscus?

  Either way, it was intoxicating, and he found himself bending his head, pressing his nose to her neck, and inhaling deeply.

  Another shudder, and he felt her arms start to come around him, her fingertips grazing his waist.

  “Um,” she breathed.

  He flicked out his tongue, tasted her.

  Fucking heaven.
r />   “Come out with me.”

  She stiffened, and begrudgingly, he lifted his head. Not his arms, though. He kept those on the counter, caging her in. Mostly because he liked being there, but also because, based on the conversation from two minutes ago, she had a tornado of thoughts in her brain, thoughts she didn’t need to have because he truly didn’t give a shit about his car, and those thoughts were going to get in the way of him getting this woman in his bed.

  He needed her in his bed.

  He needed to see what those eyes did when he made her come.

  He needed fun, fucking, and friends.

  “What does that mean?” she asked, her brows pulling together and forming a V.

  Fuck, she was cute. “It means you and me go to dinner, maybe a movie. We talk and sit close, hold hands, maybe you let me taste that luscious mouth of yours, and we see where that takes us.”

  Her lips parted, but he couldn’t tear his gaze from her eyes. They’d gone molten, the gold streaks blazing, and he knew she felt it, too.

  The pull.

  The draw that was making his cock twitch.

  Then she blinked, and the heat was gone. She pushed at his arm, tried to slide sideways away from him. He just let his hips fall forward, to rest more heavily against hers, and yeah, his cock twitched again. But he ignored it, studying her face and wondering where the tornado in her brain would take them next.

  “I can’t go out with you.”

  He grinned.

  “I can’t,” she repeated.

  Unperturbed, he asked, “Why, babe?”

  Her chin came up, and he had an intense urge to kiss it. So, he did. Probably not the best decision in this moment, but she was there and smelling of hibiscus and mint and coffee and coconut, and he didn’t think, just pressed his lips to that adorable chin.

  And maybe flicked his tongue out to taste her.

  Fucking. Heaven.

  Her fingers lifted, brushed his waist again. “Because I can’t.”

  He lifted his gaze, but only enough to see her eyes. “Why?”

  Her lips parted, breath hissing out and coating his. “Because I crashed into your car and totaled it, and I still need to pay you back because I know it hit your wallet, even if you keep saying it’s covered,” she said in a fair approximation of his voice.