Escaping Me (8 page)

“
Yeah, sis!  Why don't you give your
friend
a ride home?” Mal continues to try and push me out of my comfort zone of playing things safe.  I close my eyes and let out a deep breath.  I nod and walk away.  Cole is probably going to end up going home with his shots partner anyway.

Luckily, by the time I tap on his shoulder, the bartender is busy with another customer. He turns around and greets me with straight face.  “Done dancing?” he asks, not letting any expression cross his face.

“Yeah.” I shake off his indifference.  “So, apparently, Zeke is taking my sister home.  Do you need a ride?”

“
Sounds good.”  He swigs the last drink from his beer bottle and sets it down on the bar.  “Let's go.”

Chapter 10 – Cole

Once we are outside of the bar, I take in a breath and continue to try and calm my nerves.  It took everything in me not to lay that little punk out after he attacked Zeke.  We may have just met, but Zeke is the closest thing I have to a friend and sucker punches are a pussy move.  If you're gonna hit a man, at least let him know it's coming.  I saw the look in her eyes when I stood up and grabbed that kid.  At first, I thought she was afraid, which is what I would have preferred, but I quickly realized that was not the case.  I could see it in the way she sat up straight and clenched her knees together, fighting to send some kind of signal to the rest of her body that she was in the middle of a very public place.  Then, just when I thought she had it under control, I caught a glimpse of her in the mirrored wall behind the bar—her fingers mindlessly twirling a piece of her hair and her eyes clouded over with some mixture of fear and lust.  She was afraid, but she was aroused.  The last thing I need is for her to be turned on by the one thing I am trying to change about myself.

Lucky for me, Missy, the bartender, using her years of customer service experience, read me like an open book.  “I'm guessing the girl your buddy is dancing with has you all tied up in knots and that the little scuffle that just went on here has you even more wound.”

“
That obvious, huh?”

She laughed.
“I know your type. How about a shot?” She pulled up a glass and filled it full of caramel-colored liquor.  “Let Jack take a little of the edge off.”

“
Pour yourself one.” I picked up my glass and waited for her.  “I don't like to drink alone.”  After we finished our drink, I was thankful for her suggestion.  Not only did I feel calmer, but I think it cleared up whatever was going on between me and Whitney during our conversation. 
Friends, friends, friends,
I reminded myself.

“
Give me the keys,” I tell her as we walk through the parking lot.  I stop when she asks why and hold out my hand.  “For starters, you have no idea where we are going, and second, where I come from, boys drive, girls ride.”

“
Oh, well that's not sexist at all,” she sasses as she points the key fob toward a black Jeep and hits the unlock button.  She shakes her head and tosses me the keys before climbing in the passenger side.  “Where are you taking me,
boss
?”

“
I like the sound of that,” I chuckle as I turn the engine over.  She shoots me her best not-gonna-happen look.  The radio starts blasting out the country station she and her sister were listening to on the drive here tonight.

“
I thought country boys were supposed to be charming,” she muses as she leans over and turns the volume down.  I place my arm on the armrest, letting it brush against hers.  It is like every hair on my arm is standing at attention during the contact.  I've been doing such a good job of shutting down my reactions to her.  I even managed to shrug off her touching my arm when she was asking me about my tattoos, but here we are, alone in the dark, and it is getting harder and harder for me not to tell her that this friendship thing fucking sucks.

“
Well, there's your problem right there,” I sigh, noting the way her smile fades.  “You think I'm some charming country boy.”  I close the distance between us, leaving a good six inches of tense air. “I'm backwoods, baby.  The sooner you figure that out, the better off we both will be.”  I expect her to lean away from me or give me some smart-ass comment as a rebuttal, but she doesn’t.  She actually leans toward me, as if she is trying to coax me into kissing her.

“
What's that supposed to mean?” she whispers.  I can feel the heat of her mouth on mine. 
What the hell is she doing? 
She's the one who wanted to be just friends.  Friends don't kiss in parking lots.  The playfulness I just saw in her eyes is gone.  Now her blue eyes are darkly focused in on mine and I know what happened.  She saw the bad boy in me, and she, being the good girl she is, wants to see what happens when fire and ice collide.  As much as I want to melt her with my touch, I can’t.  She is too good for me. 

“
We're just friends, remember?” I remind her.  “I'm doing you a favor, trust me.”  I pull away from her and throw the Jeep in gear.  “Pay attention as we drive.  You'll have to find your way back home once you drop me off.”  I know what I said to her is the truth, and judging from her dedicated stare out window, she didn't want to hear it.  She doesn’t look at me the entire ride.  Not once when we drive out of town.  Not once when I turn down the dusty lane that leads to the riverbank.  And not even once when I climb out the Jeep and tell her goodnight.  If my warning to her to stay away from me was the right thing to do, then why the hell does it feel like I'm the one who has just been sucker-punched?

As I walk up the rickety steps to the small front porch of the house, I once again think about the feel of her touch on my skin when she reached out and grazed my tattoo with her fingertips.  Her small, slender fingers, with their fresh pink-polished tips moving slowly across my suntanned skin.  The way she did it probably wasn't meant to be suggestive, but goddamn if it didn't kickstart the images of her putting those sweet little hands all over me.  The devil inside me wants nothing more than to pull her out of the Jeep, toss her up on the hood, and do all sorts of wicked things.  It is better to just walk away.  We would never work.  She'd do the same thing Megan did and find someone better. 

I fumble with my keys in the darkness, pretending to unlock the door that isn’t latched.  I don’t have anything worth stealing so I’m not worried about anyone going in.  I am waiting to hear the Jeep reverse down the lane, taking her with it.  This is probably the last time she'll come around, and I can’t blame her.  I’ve done my damnedest to run her off.  When I don’t hear the Jeep move, I turn back to see her silhouette illuminated by headlights just as she is about to take her first step up toward the porch.

“What are you doing?” I ask as she purposefully makes her way to me.

“
I don't need you to do me any favors.”  With a determined smirk, she wraps her hand around my neck and pulls my head down to hers.  “And I sure as shit don't want to be your friend.”

As she crashes her lips to mine, every doubt I have about us vanishes.  The taste of her sweetness floods my senses as I circle my arms around her waist and raise her up off the ground, pressing her tight little body firmly to mine.  The way she bites down on my bottom lip and then flicks her tongue against mine has my attention.  This girl can kiss, and in this moment, it is all I want to do.  It is like I am committing a sin and receiving a miracle all at the same time.  In the back of my mind, I still know this will never work, but the ounce of hope I have is enough to cast a shadow over it.

“
Thank God,” I murmur against her lips. “I don't want to be your goddamn friend, either.”  She giggles as I set her feet on the ground and back her up to a wall.  After tucking her wild curls behind her ears, I cradle her face in my hand, taking in her wide-eyed grin.  “You sure you want to do this?” I ask, leaning in and pressing my forehead to hers.  “You're only here for the summer, remember?”

“
For once in my life, I want to do what I feel like and just enjoy the ride.”  She presses her lips back to mine and I can’t help but smile.

“
Well, you better hold on,” I laugh.  “It's going to be a wild one.”  I take her mouth with mine again and resume the kiss that I'm sure will be my undoing.  I've never kissed anyone and felt the way I feel at this moment.  She throws me for another loop when her hands slip under my shirt and she forces me closer to her with her hands on my bare back.  I am really liking whatever has gotten into her and turned her into the little vixen that is damn near pleading for me to take her to bed.

* * *

It would have been nice to wake up with her the next morning, and when her hand moved to the doorknob that night, I knew the she was thinking the same thing.  It almost killed me to stop her.  The way she was reacting to me with each kiss and the quiet moan she emitted when I pressed the rock hard bulge behind my jeans against her stomach let me know she was ready for more.  But, I wasn't about to take her in that shitty old house and expect her to want to take her clothes off.  I'd managed to get a little work done, and the place looked better, but it was nowhere near ready for Whitney Vandaveer.  At the very least, I needed new sheets and proper bed to lay her down on.

I told Hank about my plans.  For the house.  Not for Whitney.  That was my business.  I told him how I wanted to do a couple repairs, paint and clean it up.  He had no questions about it and even told me to take what I needed from the warehouse and use his line of credit at the hardware store to get supplies.  “You're doing me a favor,” he joked.  “That place needs a lot of work.”

I thanked him, and after work I put what I needed in the back of my truck and headed home to grab a shower.  Tonight is the first night of my summer with Whitney.  I planned on taking her into the city for dinner and she agreed to help me pick out some sheets at that overpriced bed and bath store.  I would have just as soon gone to Wal-Mart and grabbed them, but I know she deserves better than the sandpaper excuse for sheets they sell for $9.99.

I ripped the tags off and pulled on the khaki American Eagle shorts my grandma bought me for my birthday and a green Polo shirt that Finn handed down.  It wasn't my first choice, but I don’t look half bad.  A little preppy for my taste, but I think she’ll like it.  I even took out the small, black gauge hoops I usually wear in both ears and left my hat on the dresser.

After driving the old Ford over to her place, I can feel the thin sheen of sweat on my palms as I put the truck in park and step out into her drive way.  Wiping my hands on my shorts, I hope that Whitney hasn’t had second thoughts about us when she left two nights ago.  She took the two days to discuss what happened between us with her mom and sister.  What if they talked her out of it—told her I’m not the right kind of guy for her to be spending time with?

“
She's not ready yet,” her mother calls out from the barn behind me.  “She just yelled out the window for me to stall you.” She laughs and motions for me to come out to the barn.  “I could use a hand while you wait.”

As I walk into that old red barn, I expect to see tractors or cows or something farm related.  Instead it was like I stepped into a furniture show room.  Her mom is polishing up a table that appeared to have a fresh coat of varnish on it. 

“Can you help me move something?” she asks, tucking the rag she was using in the back pocket of her bib overalls.

“
Sure,” I comply, following her to the back.  She points to a dresser that has been converted into a bench.

“
Where are you taking my daughter tonight, Mr. Pritchett?” Her face remains steady as we carry the bench through the barn and set it next to the table she's been working on.

“
To dinner, ma'am,” I answer, noting the return of my sweaty palms.  “Then Whitney's going to help me with some shopping.  I'll have her home early,” I add quickly.

“
Well, I hope not.”  She cracks a smile and starts to laugh.  I’m not sure what is happening, but her laugh is contagious. 
Why am I acting like a nervous teenage boy picking up my prom date?
  Whitney and I are both consenting adults, and we don’t need her mother's blessing to see each other.  I do kind of like the fact that her mom seems to like me.  Megan's parents hated me and had no qualms about letting me know.  “And enough with the ‘ma'am’ crap,” she says.  “Call me Leanne.”

“
Right,” I reply.  “Leanne.”  We carry on a lighthearted conversation while I wait for Whitney to show herself. 

“
So, Whit tells me that you’re staying at Hank Tillman's place down on the river.”

“
I am.  Actually, Hank just gave me the okay to do some work on it while I'm staying there.”

“
It could use it.  I can't remember the last time someone lived there.  Been years.”

“
Place didn't even have a bed in it.  Just an old mattress and box springs that were tossed down on the floor,” I joke.  “It's got running water though, so I can't complain too much.”

She wrinkles her nose with a grin.  It is the same face her daughter makes when she thinks I said something funny.  “I think I can help you out,” she beams as an idea strikes her.  “Follow me.”