Overdrive (Santa Lena Sizzles series Book 3)

by Jessa York

  When the torture of having her sexy body pressed up against mine and the touch of her hands mere inches away from my very impatient cock got to be too much to bear, I headed back to her house. Right now, I was fairly certain of an invite inside, but doubt still lingered at the periphery of my mind.

  We stopped in front of Vivienne’s house, where I assisted as she dismounted and got her land legs back again. “That was amazing. You feel so free out there, like you don’t have a care in the world,” she blurted out in her cute-as-hell Vivienne way. Her excitement was a gift. “Having the wind blowing through your hair feels awesome. Next time, I’m not wearing a ponytail. I bet I’ll look cooler having my hair flowing out behind me.” She dramatically swung her shoulders, giving me her best fish lips impression.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed the ride,” I told her, still waiting to see if I got an invite inside or if I was going home to my apartment alone.

  “Aren’t you coming in?” she questioned me rather cautiously. “It’s still early,” she reasoned with me.

  “Yeah, I’d love to,” I responded, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

  Practically jumping off the bike, I found her hand and led her quickly to the house.

  10

  Vivienne

  I smelled coffee even before I cracked open my eyes. My body felt like it had been run over by a truck. A handsome, mischievous truck who liked a good challenge and held more talent in his fingers than most other men had in their entire bodies. He had the most amazing dexterity and amazing other things, too. No man had ever satisfied me like he did.

  “Baby, I’ve got to get going.” He shook my hip gently, forcing my eyes open. He had to go? Now? The sun was barely up.

  “It’s early. Come back to bed.” I yanked on his shirt, pulling him over top of me for a kiss. He tasted like...apple pie? “You’re up and showered at this ungodly hour, eating pie?” I asked, confused by his actions but loving the fact he raided my fridge.

  “Pie is perfectly good breakfast food,” he said against my lips. The cinnamon on his breath made me kiss him again for another taste.

  “I never thought of it that way, but I’m suddenly all right with pie for breakfast. It’s not breakfast time. It’s the middle of the night. Come back to bed,” I coaxed, wanting to feel his hard body against mine again.

  He sighed and placed a kiss on my forehead. “Monday mornings are busy. I need to get to work.” Oh right. Damn. He’d probably miss out on a bunch of calls if I made him stay with me.

  “I get ya. Too bad, though. Fill one of my to-go cups and take it with you. You need to stay awake. Oh, one more thing. The plastic bag in the fridge is yours. I filled it with leftovers for you to take home. Whatever you do, don’t throw away the containers. I want them back.”

  “Is there pie?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

  “Pack your own pie. You obviously know where it is,” I said, clutching his head more forcefully as I kissed him deeper.

  “Can’t get anything past you,” he said, grinning at me. “I made you coffee.”

  “There’s no such thing as coffee at this hour. It doesn’t exist,” I informed him, rolling over to find a comfortable spot.

  “Honey.” He stayed where he was. I figured he’d be ready to rush out the door when dismissed.

  Confused, I turned back to him. “What? You talk a lot in the middle of the night.”

  “It’s not the middle of the night.” He squinted his eyes at me. “Look, is it all right if I call you later?” That was cute. Way cute.

  “Sure. Now go away so I can sleep for another ten hours,” I told him as I flopped more dramatically down on the bed.

  Not finished with me yet, he leaned over and kissed my cheek. “I’ll call you later. Sweet dreams.” Then he left me as I fell back to sleep almost instantly.

  11

  Vivienne

  BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

  Noooooooo! My brain protested as I struggled to find my phone in the mess of covers and blankets on the bed. I was always losing that damn thing.

  Scrambling around, I finally found it and shut the alarm off. The sun shone brightly on me through my big bedroom window as I stretched languorously across the bed. Parts of my body still protested with soreness from my extracurricular activities of the past weekend.

  It was a good sore, a delicious all-over ache that pleasantly reminded me my long dry spell was over. The sun warmed my bare leg while I lamented the fact that I was here alone. Too bad Jason had to leave.

  As I sat up, I was surprised that my tattoo still hurt. I tried not to give it much thought. Right then, I needed coffee. Looking over to my side table, I saw a cup of hours-old brew sitting there. The sun reflected off the formerly hot, soothing liquid reduced to a sad shell of its previously great self.

  I picked up the cold blue cup and carried it to the bathroom and dumped its contents into one of the two sinks. The dark liquid swirled around the edge of the large square, staining it temporarily. As desperate as I was for coffee, even the stale smell enticed me.

  In the beginning, I wanted to keep the bathroom as original as possible to the rest of the house, but it soon became obvious I wasn’t going to get my way.

  Severe water damage. Three words that were a bloody nightmare for a new homeowner. Of course, I wasn’t going to risk more damage or mold. I gave Gerry the go-ahead to rip everything out. What a freaking ugly mess that was. I almost cried—okay, I did cry a little when I came in and saw my dream bathroom gone, replaced by horrible exposed walls, with wires and rusty pipes sticking out here and there like some kind of disaster zone.

  That’s when they told me the pipes and wiring weren’t up to code—three more horrible words I didn’t want to hear. The worst word of all—delay. If only I had a dime for every time I’d heard that in the last year.

  Anyway, I decided if I couldn’t have the original bathroom that I wanted, then I absolutely needed a huge spa retreat instead. Needless to say, I went all out with a gorgeous white tile shower beside my newly coveted sauna. The sauna was small, but it wasn’t like I had to fit an army in there. I couldn’t describe to you how relaxing it was to jump in there at the end of a long day and just veg right out. The heat killed any anxiety floating around in my brain and the steam cleared everything else out, like asshole clients trying to take advantage of me because I’m a woman.

  Nothing physical. Not really anyway. Just the general, “You must be stupid because you have breasts” assumption. After speaking with me, most men soon realized I was damn good at my job. I knew how to talk to put people at ease, and I genuinely loved and believed in our company, so selling our product was easy.

  Occasionally, I’d get hit on. Maybe more than occasionally, but I learned how to deal with those situations without offending the men too badly, usually saving the deal—and their pride—in the process. I had years of practice, after all. My large attributes came in during my sixth grade year. You never saw anyone so suddenly popular with the boys overnight. My granny told me I was lucky to have them, but also guaranteed me that boys would behave like idiots for many years to come because of them.

  Like always, she was right. I was still waiting for males to stop acting like morons. However, due to years of dealing with them staring and making assumptions about me that were far from true, I’d learned to handle the little bastards with a deft hand. Get in, be charming—yet matter-of-fact, attain the upper hand quickly before they caught wind of what was really going on, then hit them with the information they needed to hear from me to seal the deal.

  Sometimes that was when a wandering hand ended up on my thigh or an arm hooked around my shoulders. I really was good at fending them off, but if I said I hadn’t lost clients because of the way I looked, I’d be lying. My boss, Dean, was always understanding, not to mention apologetic. But I still felt bad even though I did nothing wrong.

  That was when I’d get down on myself and mutter, “If I were a man, we’d still have that
client...” Dean wouldn’t stand for that. He’d shut me right down and tell me what an asset I was to the company, making me feel better about failing. But truth be told, I still felt like shit afterwards.

  I turned on the tap and quickly washed down the coffee dregs left clinging to the basin. A wet towel beside the sink caught my attention. Jason must’ve used it. Smiling at the thought of him naked in my shower, I took off my robe, wishing again that he was here.

  After my shower, I let my tattoo air dry for as long as possible. It sucked, but because of where it was, I had to keep it covered for now so it didn’t scratch and get even more irritated against my clothes. The burn on my arm never did blister, thanks to Jason’s quick thinking. Done with my daily first aid, I headed downstairs.

  I knew it sounded geeky, but every time I walked down my staircase, I felt like I was entering a grand ballroom the way the steps flowed and curved at the bottom. It was both magnificent and luxurious.

  As I entered the kitchen, I noticed a piece of paper by the coffee maker.

  Morning Fancy Girl,

  I had a great time. Want to get together tonight? I’ll call you later. Have a great day.

  P.S. Thanks for the care package.

  Jason

  Not sure why, but my heart squeezed at the thought of him writing this note for me, taking the time to express his gratitude on paper and not just grabbing the food and running off. He really was a great guy.

  The coffee maker sputtered and spurted out a hot stream of dark coffee as steam rose above in puffs. It wasn’t the greatest coffee, but it was fast and convenient. I fixed my to-go cup and gathered the laptop and other work detritus before scampering out to the office.

  Once in the car, my phone bleeped with a text message.

  Jason: You up yet?

  God, he was thoughtful, making sure I didn’t sleep in.

  I responded quickly.

  Me: Just leaving for work now. Thanks for checking.

  Jason: Great. See you later.

  He kept saying and insinuating that he wanted to see me later. The thought made me smile like a fool to myself in the car.

  A few miles into my trip to work, the phone rang. My Bluetooth picked up. “Hello, you’ve got Vivienne.”

  “Ms. MacIntyre?” the voice on the other end questioned.

  “Speaking,” I replied, frowning at the formality.

  “This is Dr. Kavacoli’s office calling to remind you of your appointment today at two.” Shit, I’d been trying my best not to think about it. Did I still want to go?

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. And just an added reminder to drink four, eight-ounce glasses of water an hour before your scheduled appointment.”

  Already familiar with the bladder torture, I nodded my head to no one in particular. “Thank you. Yes, I remember.”

  I was barely through the front doors when Harper started in on me. “How was the rest of your weekend? None of us heard a word from you,” she said, looking accusingly at me while she stapled and sorted a variety of papers on her desk.

  The instant smile on my face gave me away.

  “I knew it,” Harper screeched as the stapler bounced unceremoniously on her desk. “The way he looked at you, we knew something was going on.”

  “Uh-huh, I figured as much by the way you three hightailed it out of the tattoo shop and left me stranded.” I gave her a suspicious raised brow.

  “Pfft, yeah, like you wanted us around. Besides, Audrey practically threatened our lives if we didn’t leave,” she said, recommencing stapling.

  “Guess I owe Audrey one,” I said, laughing.

  “So? Are you guys a couple now or what?” she asked, sounding a bit annoyed at my lack of openness.

  “Or what,” I answered snidely, as she rolled her eyes.

  “How’s your tattoo?” she asked, sighing while she got up to retrieve more papers from the ever-running printer.

  “Burns like a mother. Never felt that kind of pain before,” I said, lightly touching the hidden outer edges of the bandage tape. “But it was worth it to have that hot driver holding my hand the entire time.” I laughed. Of course, Dean took that moment to enter the office.

  “Morning, Harper. Morning, Vivienne. What’s going on today?” he asked us with a grin, like he already knew I had been up to no good.

  Harper gave me the side-eye. “Not much yet, but Vivienne has a souvenir from the weekend.” She snorted loudly. That little snitch.

  “I’m on the Anderson account today, Dean. Headed out their way soon,” I said, trying to recover after Harper’s tattle-telling ways. “Just have to go over a few things with you before I leave, if you have time?” Dean smiled knowingly and waited for a minute, almost like he hoped Harper would spill further beans.

  “Sure. Harper, hold any calls until we’re done, please.” I followed Dean. As I passed Harper, I lightly swatted her. “You bad girl.” She pushed me back, giggling.

  We marched into his office before he shut the door behind me. “You good?” he asked in the way a big brother would.

  I sighed loudly, knowing I wasn’t going to get out of this one. “I’m fine, but you should put in an ad for a new office administrator because I’m going to kill Harper.”

  He chuckled loudly, and it was music to my ears. Dean didn’t laugh much, so when he did I considered it a massive victory. Throwing his briefcase, he sat down on his desk facing me. Arms crossed, he gave me the look. I folded immediately.

  Dean was hot. I couldn’t deny that. He was tall, dark, and handsome but also off limits.

  “I’d rather you didn’t kill Harper, if possible. The woman is the best office admin I’ve ever come across,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Fine then. I’ll have to find some non-lethal way to get her back,” I told him, sitting down on the comfy black leather chair in front of him.

  He studied me with his eyes that never missed a thing. “What’s different about you? Something happened.” Thanks for letting the cat out of the bag, Harper. I really owed you one.

  There was no sense trying to evade his questions. He wouldn’t quit until he got what he wanted. Exhaling loudly, I spilled the beans, giving him a brief version of what went on this weekend, hoping he’d be satisfied with that.

  After my long story made short, he pushed off the desk and crouched down to take a better look at my new tattoo. “That’s beautiful, honey. Does it hurt?” he asked, contorting his face as though he were in pain.

  “A bit. Not as bad as the first night, though. I can’t believe I did such a stupid thing,” I said, shaking my head as I carefully put the gauze and tape back in place again. Luckily, the tape was still sticky enough to hold.

  He straightened up and sat down beside me. “It wasn’t stupid. I love it. You had fun and I’m betting you’d have gotten the tattoo anyway. Eventually.” Hmm, he was probably right, but I wasn’t in the mood to concede.

  “At my age?”

  “We’re close to the same age, woman,” he replied with a fake frown. “You getting serious with this guy? The driver?”

  Was I? “Um, maybe?”

  Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “He fit into your plans?” he asked, opening his eyes, staring at me with a dead serious gaze.

  “Not sure yet,” I replied, because I wasn’t.

  “Jesus, Vivienne.” He shook his head. “Your appointment is today, right? Does he know?”

  “Well, how exactly do you tell someone you hardly know about that?”

  “Fuck.” He breathed out a long, exasperated breath. “You gotta be straight with him. He’s young.”

  “I know he’s young, Dean.” I felt my blood pressure rising. He was pissing me off.

  “You don’t think he deserves to know? Before you guys get more involved? I hate to say it, sweetheart, but not a lot of guys his age wanna sign up for that kind of commitment right off the bat.”

  Tears sprang up from I don’t know where. “Of course, he de
serves to know. I just don’t feel like telling him. Yet.”

  He cleared his throat. “You want me to come with you today? I can clear my afternoon.” His large hand picked up a pen. It was his favorite. Without even looking, I knew what was etched into the side of it: Betsy and Dean, June 25th.

  He examined the pen carefully, absorbed in memory, slowly running his fingertips over the words as if it would bring Betsy back. The pain in my stomach felt like he had stabbed me in the gut with the writing implement. What loss this man had suffered. It was mind-boggling. Incomprehensible.

  How had he managed to get up each morning for the last year and a half? If it were me and the love of my life was gone, I think I’d stay in bed forever and never get out.

  Before I could depress myself any more, Dean repeated his offer to take me to my appointment.

  God, this man was great. “Thanks, but it’s my problem.”

  “How many fuckin’ times do I gotta tell you it’s not a problem? You want me there, I’m there.”

  Again, tears came to my eyes. “I’ll be all right. If I change my mind, I’ll let you know.”

  Dean stared at me for a long time. “How many years between you two?”

  “In age? Ten? Maybe fifteen.”

  He nodded and bowed his head.

  “You think it’s weird, right? Me dating a younger guy?”

  He moved closer to me, then picked up my hand. “Is it weird when you’re with him?” he asked quietly.

  “No, I don’t even notice a difference when we’re together. It’s just after he’s gone that I have some doubts. He’s really smart. And funny.” I smiled, remembering some of the things he’d said to me. “Talking to him is great. Being with him is wonderful,” I said, picking a piece of fuzz off my black pants to avoid eye contact with Dean. “It’s just so strange to be the older one.”

  “Vivienne, I don’t need to tell you that’s bullshit,” he said, letting go of my hand. “You like someone, you like them. Not their age. Fuck his age. You want to be together, be together. Don’t let other people’s hang-ups get in the way. He can’t help when he was born. That’s a stupid thing to hold against someone. However, I don’t want you getting crushed. You need to be upfront with him, now. Not when it’s too late.”