Hook Up (A Bad Boy Sports Romance) (4 page)

D
id
he just say what I thought he said?

“Excuse me?” I said, turning to look at him. I was hoping he’d repeat it, because I sure as hell didn’t think I just heard him offer me a ride with him as far as Baton Rouge.

“Okay, maybe that was hasty. Sorry I said that. Must be the heat.”

I turned to face forward again. “Good, because I’d never hitchhike, let alone ride all that distance with a stranger.”

“A stranger whose dick you were happy to mount and ride in a public men’s room less than twenty-four hours ago, doll face. Did I mention how good it felt? And just in case you weren’t sure, you taste like strawberries and silk.”

I didn’t have an answer for that comment. Not for a while. Damn, he sure knew how to drive a point home. “That was a completely different situation.”

He was grinning now. I wish he didn’t do that. He had a smile that could probably win me over for that offer to drive me as far as Baton Rouge. “That time in the restroom wasn’t a situation, lovely. That was a real pleasure…besides, I’d never offer to put all that stuff you own in the back seat of my car, never mind what you’ve got in the trunk, so we’re probably even.”

“There’s nothing in the trunk.”

“What?”

“The trunk lid can’t open,” I explained. “The hinges from the original car rusted over. Then, when my mechanic friend replaced the lid with one from the junkyard, my key wouldn’t work. It was better than getting pulled over for driving without a trunk lid, so I lived with it.”

“So all your worldly possessions fit in the back seat of your car… why does that sound like it would make for a damn good country western song?”

“Fuck off,” I said, but he let me off the hook because I said it with a smile on my face.

He shook his head. “Seriously though, your predicament really sucks ass. Tell me something. Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

He looked out his driver side window again. “Actually, never mind.”

“No, go on. What were you gonna ask?”

“You sure you won’t start crying again?”

I rolled my eyes at him. “I won’t. Like I said, I was having a moment back there. Crying isn’t something I indulge in very often.”

“Okay. Why were you driving this trash heap all that distance? It’s over twelve hundred miles to New Orleans. Why would you risk it.? Honestly with the gas mileage that car has, you’d probably be better off boxing up and shipping your belongings, and jumping on a bus.”

“True. Packing up and leaving just made more sense. I thought the car could make it. Plus, if I left it here, what would I drive when I get out there?”

“That car’s a road hazard. You’re better off scrapping it and taking public transit. Speaking of which… I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Greyhound won’t let you on board with all that stuff in your car.”

She blinked in disbelief. “They’re gonna have to.”

“Contrary to what you might be used to, they don’t have to. The driver’s more likely to leave you standing by the side of the road, especially if you start with the cussing and carrying on.”

“It beats bumming a ride with a stranger.”

“First of all, you’re not bumming a ride. I was the one who offered, and don’t ask me why I’d want to put up with the torture of having you ride shotgun for fifteen hours, because I have no idea myself. Secondly, I’m not a stranger anymore. I just may be your white knight, Miss Jo.” He winked at me and I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to slap him hard in the face or spread my legs and let him go down on me again.

“Geez, you’re such an ass.”

“Oh, right…and the bonus for you is you’re sure to learn some manners by the time you get to your destination. I think the world will thank me for that one.”

Slap him.

Yes.

I wanted to slap him so hard it’d leave a mark that wouldn’t go away for fifteen hours. That’s what I was ready to do, but I wasn’t in a position to turn away the only generosity anyone had shown me in a really long time. Plus, if he was right about the bus not accepting my things, I needed an alternative to get to my sister’s. As it stood, even with the cash I was carrying, I couldn’t rent a car. I didn’t have a single credit card. And shipping my stuff out to New Orleans probably meant I’d have to wait until Monday to do that. I didn’t want to spend another night in El Paso. So I balled up my fists in my lap, tamped down the impulse to hit him—for now—and did the one thing I was sure would shock the hell out of him.

“Fine, Mr. White Knight. I accept.”

“Wait, what?”

“I accept. You can rescue me and I’ll just sit here and look pretty while I let you.”

“But, uh…er..” he sputtered, and I could tell he was ready to backtrack.

“What are you doing still sitting there? What you should be doing, Mr. Hero, is rushing over to my disabled vehicle and putting those chiseled bicep muscles to work. Go on. Unload everything and repack it all in the trunk of your car.” I relaxed back onto the headrest and started watching my nails, just to make it believable.

“Christ almighty,” he mumbled, swearing under his breath as he pressed the button to pop the trunk, got out of the car, and started walking over to mine.

I got out and followed him. “Man, you need to lighten up. I was kidding…well, I was mostly kidding.”

He opened passenger side back door of my car and turned to look at me. “Exactly what part were you serious about?”

“The accepting your offer for a ride part. If you’re still offering?” I gave him the sweetest smile I could gather up, and batted my eyelashes a bit. I hear that shit could make a guy do anything, if he’s smitten, which my gut told me Chris was.

“Aww hell. Fine. Serves me right for letting my dick run the show.”

“Thanks! I mean,
thank you, Chris
. Wait, did I get that right? Or do you prefer
much obliged, Chris
?” I had to rub it in a little. “I’ll get my stuff moved into the trunk, soldier. You relax. I wouldn’t want you damaging any of my things.”

He lifted his hand to his forehead, clearly frustrated with me, but something told me he wasn’t as upset as he made out to be. “I’m not gonna stand here and let you carry all that. Plus the tow truck will be here any minute now. You unload what you have and set aside whatever is fragile. Those can go in behind your seat. I’ll pack the rest in the trunk.”

“Great!”

I got to work sorting out stuff. Really, all I had were two banged up old suitcases of clothes, four medium-sized stackable plastic containers, two framed pieces of my artwork and a cardboard poster tube. That, my purse, and the food I’d packed. God, it was pathetic. He was right. That was all I had. That was my life.

I’d promised him I wouldn’t cry so I took a deep breath. I leaned the framed pictures against the side of the car and placed the food bag on the hood, passing him the rest of the stuff one by one. He made each trip with his arms full and got the big stuff put away in three trips to his trunk. Nothing seemed too heavy for him. Then again, he was a jock.

“These two picture frames are all that’s going in the car?”

“Yes. I can grab something from the suitcase to wrap the corners so they don’t scratch your interior.”

“Not to worry. I’ve got something.” He was carrying them over when he stopped and looked at them closely then turned back to me. “Okay. Dumb question. Don’t get mad, but why would you transport these pictures all the way to New Orleans when you could just replace them at a Walmart when you get there?”

For the sake of not losing it, I simply answered with, “I painted those.”

He laughed as though it was a joke. I was rearing to throat punch him until he finally said, “You painted these. I don’t even know if I can believe that, darlin’. These look like still shots. You really did these?”

Because he was just ignorant about art, I didn’t end up throat punching him after all. “Yes. I really did paint these. You’re a jock who hasn’t seen much art, so I’ll give you some slack. This style of painting is called photorealism. It’s where we study a photograph and try to recreate it as close to identical as possible using artist tools and techniques.”

“Wow. It’s amazing. You had to have spent a ton of time on those.”

“I sure did. It’s painstaking work, but I love it.”

“Where did you learn to do all that?”

“Art class. It’s the only thing I liked about high school.”

“Well you’re great at it.”

“Thanks, but it doesn’t pay the bills. It’s just a hobby.”

“You’d have to have serious talent and skill to finish one of those. Hey, wait…” he walked over to the passenger side rear door and put them behind my seat, then he pulled out his wallet. “What do they usually cost?”

“These are not for sale, buddy.”

“Geez, that’s not what I mean. Here. Take a look at this.” He passed me a photo with what was most likely his family. “What would you charge to do a painting of this family photo? My mom would love something like this for Christmas.”

I looked at the picture and realized the best decision I’d probably made all year was accepting a ride from this guy. He was a normal dude. Standing there beside his parents and what was undoubtedly his sister and brothers, he had to be normal. They all looked happy and well-adjusted. The polar opposite of my reality.

I passed the picture back to him. “To be perfectly honest, Chris, you couldn’t afford it if I told you.”

“
M
aybe you should spend less
time sizing up people and more time just giving a simple answer. Hell, you don’t even know me and you’re telling me I can’t afford stuff?” I think I was at the point where I was ready to call the whole thing off. There seemed to be no limit to this chick’s rudeness.

“Look, I didn’t mean to piss you off, okay?”

Well at least she had enough self-awareness to see she’d actually offended me this time.

“Then what the heck did you mean to do?”

“My art is a hobby, okay? I’ve never made anything and sold it.”

“Why? That mouth of yours has got to be perfect for sales.”

“Cut the sarcasm, Chris. I never tried selling any of my work.”

“Why the hell not? You’d probably make enough to have a decent car if you did.”

“I’m not good enough. Like I told you, I just do this for the enjoyment I get out of painting.”

“Okay. All I’ll say to that is whenever you change your mind, you’ll be rolling in dough. And you can quote me on it when I’m right.” I checked my rearview mirror and saw one of Dad’s tow trucks. “Great. They’re here. I’ll give him the rundown on things.” I paused and smiled, clearing my throat to get her attention. “You just sit there and look pretty…your words.”

I didn’t give her a chance to answer me. I hopped out and gave the worker the address she’d mentioned, just before she got out of the car with her purse.

“How much do I owe you?” she asked the driver. He was new in my Dad’s company so I didn’t know his name.

“It’s taken care of,” I told her.

“No, no, no. I pay my own way.” She dug into her purse. “How much?”

I nodded to the guy and he headed back to get the car hitched up. “Jesus, Jo. You’re mouthy, you’re feisty and you’re getting under my skin. Can you at least not be stubborn too? I said it’s fine. Let’s go.”

“I hate owing people.”

“Did I ever say anything about you owing me anything? You don’t owe me shit. Now get in the car and let’s go while we still have a shot at making it to Louisiana before tomorrow night.”

“Okay.” She looked back at her car as the driver hooked up the chains and I was almost sure she’d be crying anytime now. “I’ll miss that car.”

I shook my head. Who the hell knew why. Still, I didn’t ask that out loud. For all I knew that rust bucket had sentimental value. She’d said her mother died and I wasn’t about to walk into another blunder like that. Instead, I stepped out of the car and took a few pictures of it with my phone before getting back in. “I’ll text you these pics when we stop for gas, okay? Then you can do one of those photorealism paintings of it, just for fun.”

Awww hell.

I did it again.

She started bawling again. I found her the last of the paper napkins my mom had packed, and I drove off. I had to admit, the crying was slightly more appealing than her mouthing off.

* * *

I
stopped
for gas in Junction, at the station opposite where my Dad’s shop was located. It was about five hours later, and Dad had promised Mom he’d be home for dinner tonight, so I was sure he wouldn’t be around. Damn straight I wasn’t going to stop there if he was still working. Not with Jo in the car. He’d be grilling her nonstop and asking if we were a couple. Thankfully, it was after eight-thirty. The sun was setting and the shop was already locked up tight.

After I had filled up the tank, I ducked my head in to check on Jo. Poor thing. All that weeping had her tuckered out. She fell asleep about twenty minutes after I’d driven off from the spot where her jalopy broke down, and had not woken up or said a peep the whole time. It kind of reminded me of taking little Chandler out for drives last year when he was one.

It was what I liked to call a win-win.

I hesitated about waking her up, but as I was planning to drive for another five-hour stretch, and as women usually hated peeing by the side of the road, I tapped her shoulder and woke her up. She slowly opened her eyes, jolting a bit when she saw me. After a second she remembered me and whose car she was in.

“Oh, hey,” she said, stretching her arms as far as they’d reach inside my car.

“Hey. I stopped for gas. You might want to use the facilities while we’re here.”

She looked around. “Where are we?”

“Junction.”

She grabbed her bag and got out. “Wow, already?”

“Yes. And I’m guessing you’re fine if we keep driving tonight. I slept in so I can probably go another long stretch before I need to rest.”

“Sure. I’ll be right back.”

She hurried off with her purse tucked tightly under her arm and disappeared inside for a bit, then she emerged again and went around the side of the building where the restrooms were. Locking up, I went in to pay. I figured I’d use the facilities myself, so I asked the cashier for the key to unlock the men’s room and went around back to relieve myself. She stepped out of the other door when I got there.

Christ, I’d forgotten I’d been sitting next to one of the sexiest ladies I’d seen in a long time. Seeing her there almost got my chest all wound up tight, God knows why. And I had to turn to the side a little and adjust my dick in my pants just to make sure it wasn’t pointing right at her.

“Hey. Uh, the door’s locked.” I handed her the car keys. “Be there in a second.”

She took them and kept on walking. “Cool.”

I did my business, washed my hands, and cursed my mouth off when I got around front to give the keys back.

My car was gone.

Jo was gone too.

“Jesus fuck!” I looked in every direction, then I frantically felt my pockets for my phone. No fucking phone. It was in the car. “I’m gonna kill the bitch.”

I ran inside in my panic and begged the gas attendant to call 9-1-1. He was already dialing when Jo rolled up from God knows where, driving my fucking car.

“Woman have you lost your fucking mind?” I screamed when she stopped and rolled down the window with the widest grin on her face.

“Can’t take a joke, I see,” she said, revving the engine like she was fixing to drive off again.

“Turn. Off. My. Car.”

“Ooh, who needs to lighten up now?”

I may have been seeing red right then as I pulled open the driver side door. I reached in and unbuckled her seat belt before turning the key in the ignition and shutting off the engine. Then I gripped her arm. “Get out. Now.”

“Jesus. Relax already. I was just messing with you.”

“Two rules. One, you do not mess with a stranger’s car when he’s doing his business. Two, you do not, under any circumstances, ever, drive this car. You don’t drive off, hell you don’t even touch my stereo.”

“I thought I wasn’t a stranger anymore?”

“Don’t get smart with me. You know what I mean.”

“By the way, that was more than two rules. Oh yeah…you’re a jock. You probably can’t count for shit.”

Now that I had my car keys, I returned inside and made sure the cops weren’t already on their way here. Given the mental state she’d just put me in by sneaking off with my car like that, I was pretty sure I’d end up getting arrested if Jo said another word.

She was in the front passenger seat by the time I got back. Certain that if I said anything more I’d end up shouting my lungs out, I silently started the car and drove off.

“I’m sorry—”

“Not another word.” I said calmly, cutting her off.

Inside, I wasn’t calm at all. I was agitated as fuck. If I didn’t have a sister of my own, I’d have unpacked her shit back there in the middle of the gas station lane and driven off. So I wasn’t up for her making a sound. Not until I talked myself out of it. She had to have gotten a clue about where my head was at, because she folded up a blazer she’d probably pulled out of her suitcase when she went joyriding with my car—my universe. She rested it on the door beside her and leaned her head on it, closing her eyes.

At this point I was ready to drive all night and all day to make it to Baton Rouge and to get her the hell out of my life.