Next to Never

by Penelope Douglas

  You’d be surprised how another woman can . . . Can what, Dad? Can tempt me like this? Can distract me from everything I hate in my life and make me feel alive again? For just a few minutes?

  It was a bitter fucking pill to swallow that he might’ve been right. Everything had become paint-by-numbers in my life, and for the first time in a long time, the lines were blurred. I felt like I could stretch out my arms and not run into a boundary.

  And for the first time ever, I felt dangerous to someone. I liked it.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  A male voice to my left spoke up, and I turned my head. It was a young guy with red hair and a dark blue mechanic’s shirt. His name patch read “Josh.”

  “Yes. I’d like you to pull my car into the garage.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out my keys, handing them over. “I’ve only been waiting forever.”

  My tone was curt, but only because I knew it would fluster him and send him on his way. I was dealing with the girl, not him.

  “Uh . . . ,” he stammered, wide eyed, but I wasn’t interested in conversation. I looked away, telling him we were done.

  “Sure, absolutely,” he finally responded.

  He took the keys from me and darted outside, probably knowing he wouldn’t have a hard time determining which car belonged to me. Not every person who drove a German car was a dickhead, but every dickhead drove a German car.

  Hutcherson moved on, and I stepped up to the counter, staring at the girl as she stapled more papers and tucked them into a plastic sleeve with a set of keys.

  “Hi,” I said, keeping my voice low and calm even though my heart was jackhammering in my chest.

  “Hey,” she replied, not looking at me. “Just a minute, please.” And then she spun around, pushing a button and speaking into an intercom. “Can someone pull that Honda out? Pickup’s here.”

  And then she slid the plastic sleeve onto a hook on the wall and twisted back around, finally looking up at me.

  “Hey, I’m sor—” She froze. Her eyes widened, and I held back my grin, feeling the pulse in my neck throb as I waited for what she’d do now. She recognized me. The thin fabric of her T-shirt moved up and down as her chest rose and fell in heavy breaths, and I simply watched her beautiful skin turn a delightful shade of pink.

  She finally blinked, finding her voice. “Hi,” she said breathlessly, looking down and fidgeting with something on the counter. “Um, we’re actually about to close, sir. I’m sorry. One of the guy’s daughters has a birthday party tonight, and the other mechanics are leaving with him. We can schedule you for tomorrow if you like.”

  I studied her, wondering how she thought she was going to just play this off. We both knew why I was here.

  I knew I should take the out she was offering. I should leave and go home to wait for my wife and son.

  But that wasn’t what I found myself doing.

  “What about you?” I tipped my chin at her. “Are you a mechanic?”

  But she just shook her head. “No. I’m sorry.”

  I gave her a knowing smile and looked down at her hands, dark grease caked around her nails.

  She followed my gaze and fisted her fingers, hiding them. “Maybe on a Buick or a Toyota,” she replied, “but you don’t want me messing with your fifty-thousand-dollar engine. Trust me.”

  I smiled to myself, because she didn’t realize that she’d just given herself away. How did she know which car was mine? Had she seen me drive up?

  Or rather, did she remember that she’d tried to steal it the other night?

  “I just need an oil change.”

  “Well, like I said . . . we’re closing early.”

  “I’ll pay,” I insisted. “Double your rate?”

  “She’ll do it.” Someone spoke up behind her, and I looked to see a middle-aged man rolling a tire past her.

  “What?” she burst out, spinning her head around to glare at the man. “I have to get home.”

  “Do it,” he ordered, continuing out to the garage, away from any further protest.

  Must be her boss.

  She turned back to me, a scowl marring her once-sweet face. And I finally saw the same temper I saw the other night when she hit me. I pulled out my wallet from the inside of my suit jacket and doled out three one-hundred-dollar bills onto the counter, not taking my eyes off her.

  “Is that enough?”

  She stared at the money—the money I knew she needed—as she no doubt weighed the risk of what was happening here. She didn’t know what I wanted—neither did I—but she knew I hadn’t called the cops yet, so there was a chance to get out of this. She also knew that if she sent me away, she lost control of the situation. Or whatever control she now had.

  Her eyes finally rose to meet mine, and I saw a hint of mischief cross her pretty, young face.

  She leaned forward, nearly whispering. “How bad do you want it?”

  My fingers tightened around the wallet, and my stomach dropped a little, catching the taunting edge to her words.

  Was she playing with me?

  And I watched in awe as she reached over, smoothly swiped the three hundreds off the counter, and then plucked another hundred out of my hand, making it four. Stuffing them in her back pocket, she left me there and headed into the garage.

  I didn’t even try to hide my smile. She had my complete attention.

  Just for a while. Just for tonight.

  • • •

  I stood outside the garage, half-in and half-out, smoking a cigarette as the darkness shrouded the road and the surrounding woods, and watching her out of the corner of my eye. She raised my BMW up on the hydraulics and tucked a couple of tools into her back pocket as she walked underneath the car and bent her head back, loosening the plug to the oil above her.

  A tune played on the radio, and it was hard to keep my eyes off her. Especially when she kept swaying ever so slightly to the music, probably without realizing it.

  I was impressed, though. I half expected her to call for help. She and I were alone here now, after all. Maybe that loser guy she was with would bring some friends over to send me on my way with a few threats? But no . . . as far as I could see, she hadn’t called anyone. She just got to work on my car.

  Smart kid.

  I nodded to the bulletin board, which had a five-by-seven portrait of a brown-eyed boy—about six months old—pinned to it. “Is that your son?”

  She jerked her head back down at me, as if just noticing I was there. Her expression turned guarded, but she glanced at the picture before quickly turning back to her job under the car. “That obvious?”

  I watched her, thinking about how hard it must be to raise a child at her age. I couldn’t imagine whoever the father was being much help. Especially if it was that piece of shit from the other night.

  “He has your eyes,” I said.

  “And my ex’s temper,” she stated in a clipped tone. “I can tell already.”

  Ex. “You’re too young to have exes.” I blew out a stream of smoke and dropped the butt, grinding it out with my shoe.

  But she just ignored me.

  I stepped into the garage, my suit coat open, and my hands in my pockets. “Do you go to college?”

  She glared at me. “Customers aren’t supposed to be in the garage.”

  But I ignored her and keep pressing. “You don’t want to work here for the rest of your life, do you?”

  “I have to work, College Boy,” she bit out. “With a kid to support, I don’t have time for school.”

  I wanted to laugh at her spunk, but I held it back.

  She came out from under the car, tossed down some tools, and pressed the hydraulics button, lowering the car again and looking impatient.

  “My son is about the same age,” I told her.

  “At home with the
wife?”

  And I held her gaze, all humor gone from my mood. She was smart, I’d give her that. Strolling slowly over to her, I pulled my hand out of my pocket, taking her license with it, and tossed it on top of the toolbox in front of her.

  “Talking to a woman who isn’t my wife isn’t a crime,” I said, stating it like a threat. “Trying to steal my property is.”

  She stood there, staring at the license with her name and address on it, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. Now you’re scared, aren’t you?

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “What do you think I want?”

  Her breath shook for a moment, but then she turned her face to me, clenching her teeth so hard, I could see her jaw flex.

  “An apology, of course,” I said as if what else could I possibly want from her.

  “I want you to leave.”

  “Then you need to finish my car,” I shot back, my eyes falling to that little black smudge on her slender neck.

  Her eyes turned angry, and she hesitated. But she popped the hood and got back to work. I turned and headed for the other side of the car, leaning against the toolboxes and crossing my arms over my chest.

  I knew I should just leave. She was scared, and she already had it rough enough.

  Just get in your car, go home, and leave the kid alone.

  “What are you going to do?” She leaned over the car, upending an oil container into the engine and letting it empty. “Why are you here?”

  “How long have you been married?” I asked, ignoring her question.

  I saw her swallow and then answer quietly. “A little over a year. But I’d barely call it a marriage anymore. I’m trying to get a divorce.”

  “Trying?”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  No, it wasn’t. But I was making her my business.

  “And you thought what you were doing was healthy?” I charged. “Letting him get you caught up in criminal activity, so he can get money to get high?”

  She shot me a scowl while leaning over the car and pouring in another bottle. “And you’re any better?” she replied, her tone getting harder. “Don’t think I don’t know what you want. You would’ve called the police already if justice was what you were after.” She stood up, grabbing a cloth to wipe off her hands. “No, you think I’m vulnerable and you can take advantage.”

  No. That wasn’t what I wanted. I wasn’t trying to prey on her.

  So why the hell was I here then?

  “Isn’t that it?” she taunted, walking slowly toward me with a look in her eyes. “Does it turn you on—the dirty trailer park girl? You think I’ll be wild, don’t you?” She stepped up to me, her breasts brushing against my crossed arms. Leaning in, she dropped her voice low and sexy, and I could feel the heat of her body. “That’s what you’ve been thinking about, isn’t it? At church on Sunday, giving your clean wife a clean kiss on the check”—she offered a small smile—“you were thinking about my ass and how dirty and good and naughty I’m gonna feel . . .”

  My breathing sped up, and I stared at her full bottom lip, feeling like I’d suddenly gotten myself into trouble.

  Licking her lips, she leaned in further, whispering, “Pathetic fucking college boy. You wouldn’t know what to do with this ass.”

  And then she rolled her hips, barely brushing mine in a little tease, and I groaned, my breath shaking. The contact sent my body reeling, and I was fully hard and hot with need.

  She pulled away slowly, a smirk on her face, because she knew what she was doing to me. She might be a tough little scrapper most of the time, but the girl could be sexy as fuck.

  And she’d just issued a challenge.

  I watched as she took the oil can out, replaced the dipstick, and closed the hood of the car.

  “Keys are in it.” She turned to me, the gloating look in her eyes still there.

  Keeping my gaze on her, I reached into my jacket and pulled out my billfold again, taking out a business card. Not breaking eye contact, I placed it on the toolbox.

  “Whenever you’re ready to give me that apology,” I told her.

  Please don’t lose it.

  And please don’t use it.

  Chapter 3

  “Oh, wow.” Dylan lays down the book on the bed and turns her wide eyes on me. “That was hot. What do you think is going to happen when he sees her again?”

  She giggles and turns the page, but I grab the book out of her hand.

  “You can’t be serious. He’s a jerk.”

  “He is not,” she argues and tries to take the book back. “He’s awesome.”

  “Whatever.” I laugh, rolling onto my back and holding the book away from her. “He’s trying to pay her for sex.”

  “No, he’s not.”

  “All those hundreds?” I remind her. “Then what’s the money for?”

  She shrugs, reaching over me to try to grab the book back. “Maybe he knows she needs it. I don’t care. I want to know what happens next!”

  I hug the book to my body, laughing when she tries to pry it away.

  “Oh, come on.” She pouts and gives up, lying at my side on her back. “Think about if it were Lucas, and you were . . . changing his oil.”

  I roll my eyes and mumble, “Shut up.”

  Of course she doesn’t.

  Propping herself up on her side, she rests her head on her hand and looks down at me, her voice turning sultry and playful. “Alone in the shop at night,” she taunts. “An older man in a hot suit who knows what he’s doing . . .”

  My stomach flips, and I can’t stop the image that springs into my mind. Lucas . . . seeing me for the first time in so many years . . . and everything’s changed.

  “Think about him looking at you that way. Like how Jase looked at Kat,” Dylan says, “Like you’re a woman and he wants what a man wants from a woman, because his body’s on fire and he needs his hands on you.”

  Lucas’s eyes fall down my body, like all of a sudden he can’t stop himself, and my breath escapes me, my lungs emptying at the thought of his gaze turning dark and possessive like Jase’s did with Kat.

  An electric buzz runs under my skin, but I shake my head, clearing it.

  Jase and Kat. My parents, Jason and Katherine, could easily have gone by those nicknames in another life.

  But I’ve barely ever heard anyone ever call my dad Jason, let alone something as informal as Jase. It’s “Dad” to Madoc and me. “Jason” to my mom only. And “Mr. Caruthers” to everyone else.

  “Yeah, well,” I say, pushing the fantasy of Lucas away, “I’m not like her.”

  “Like what?”

  “Hot.” I let out a sigh. “I’m not hot. I’m just sweet and kind and boring.”

  Dylan falls back again, and we both stare up at the ceiling. “Yeah, me, too,” she breathes out. “I wear a tank top, and my dad tells me to go put some clothes on.”

  We both laugh, because with a dad like Jared, she has it just as tough as me. Jared doesn’t parent his kids based on what’s right or wrong. Quite simply, if it makes him uncomfortable, he isn’t having it and that’s that.

  But Dylan is better at sneaking around her father’s hang-ups and getting away with more. I’m not used to pushing the boundaries with my parents.

  I want to be, though. I want to be like what Jase said. Dangerous to someone.

  I gaze straight above me and slip my hand behind my head, whispering slowly, “Pathetic . . . fucking . . . college boy.” And then Dylan’s voice joins mine as we both say at once, “You wouldn’t know what to do with this ass.”

  Heat pools in my belly, and Dylan and I both start to laugh.

  “I kind of feel hotter now,” she tells me.

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  “Okay, then.” She takes the book
from my arms and flips onto her stomach, opening it up. “Let’s keep reading. Learn some more dirty talk.”

  • • •

  Jase . . .

  I shouldn’t have left her my card. What the hell was I thinking?

  I’d met the girl twice, and in that time, there were already a dozen moments when I should’ve done something differently, like walked away.

  I knew what I should do. I knew what I shouldn’t do. I knew the difference between right and wrong, but if, by some miracle, I saw her again, what I knew wouldn’t matter in the face of what I wanted.

  And that couldn’t happen.

  It had been a week since I’d left her my card in the garage, and thankfully, she hadn’t called. I wouldn’t seek her out, so as long as she didn’t call me—which she wouldn’t, since she probably thought I was a piece of shit, anyway—then everything would be fine.

  I had the strength to stay away from temptation.

  And then the fucking money. Throwing my weight around like I could buy anything I wanted. I hadn’t really been trying to buy her. Just a few minutes with her.

  Walking into my house, I heard the clock chime nine as I closed the door behind me and made my way across the dark foyer. Maddie was still at her parents’ with our son, so the house was deathly quiet. The baby was only a few months old, but he already loved music, so I was used to walking into the house on any given day with a wide range of tunes playing loudly: classical, oldies, eighties rock . . .

  Now, nothing. I was missing him, and Madeline had called earlier today to say she’d be staying an extra week on top of the time she’d already been away.

  She was avoiding me. And as much as I missed my kid, I was kind of glad she was gone. In her absence I didn’t have to put up a front while I was at home.

  Until she returned, anyway, and I was forced to deal with the stalemate we were in. Would she want to keep the house? Would I stay in the city permanently, so far away from my son every day? Our family’s firm handled everything for her father. What would happen to those accounts now? The thing about our marriage was it wasn’t just us. There were a lot of people who’d be affected.

  I set my briefcase down and unbuttoned my jacket, walking upstairs to change. I threw on some jeans and a T-shirt and came back downstairs to rummage through the refrigerator. Finding a large bowl of chicken salad Maddie had left, I fixed myself a sandwich and took it into my office so I could get right back to work. I wanted my own firm in the next five years, so if I worked hard enough, built up my clientele and my reputation, I’d be able to be my own boss and set my own pace by the time my son was in school and started to remember what kind of father I was. I’d failed Maddie, but I’d make sure that kid was never sad.