Loving Lucas (3 page)

His heated gaze sweeps over me, his lazy smile replaced by something sexier. My knees instantly weaken.

“Do I detect sarcasm?” he asks. “Or don’t I want to know?”

“Oh, you’d want to know.”

That elicits a roar; his whole body is convulsing at my expense. “Are you always that spontaneous, Ms. Augustine? Because if you are, you should see the look on your face right now.”

“Let’s just say I’ve always gotten into trouble for speaking my mind so freely.”

“I rather admire it,” he admits. “But I also understand the hazard of being so honest. You’d make a shitty poker player.”

“I’d make a shitty
lots
of things.”

“Hey.” He snatches my hand, his thumb caressing my palm. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Didn’t your parents teach you self-respect?”

“I don’t have parents,” I say, matter-of-fact. “You’re looking at a foster system kid, raised by the State of Texas.”

His features soften. “Sorry, darlin’.”

“Don’t be,” I say, finding my confidence again. “Taxpayers are funding my college tuition.”

He studies me for a long moment in silence; somehow he manages to weave his fingers through mine. “You have delicate hands.”

I nod. That’s always been one of the physical disadvantages holding me back from being a better racer—weak wrists. And my height. “I
think
big.”

Our gazes meet. “I bet you do,” he says.

Chapter Three

Karlie’s eyes are infinitely sad, and now I know why. I spent two weekends a month mentoring teenagers at Big Brothers Big Sisters of America in Lake Jackson. I know her type. I’ve attended dozens of high school graduations over the last few years, celebrating every time one of my kids manages to pull him or herself together enough to earn a diploma. The ones that continued on to college possessed certain advantages over kids from stable households. Perhaps an obsession with overachievement or a hunger to find their place in the world.

It doesn’t matter. Since Karlie has revealed her past, I fully understand. It explains why she’d put up with an asshole like Connor. It also makes me despise him more. He’s a goddamned predator that took full advantage of a girl who didn’t have a
 
family to protect her. It also makes me rethink my present course of hooking up with her.
Please be twenty-one . . .

“Are you old enough to drink, Karlie?”

She places her hand on her hip and gives me this look. “Would you issue a ticket if I weren’t?”

I reach in my back pocket and pull out my handcuffs, dangling them in front of her. “That’s an arrestable offense.”

Her eyes grow wider. “Do you carry those everywhere?”

“Of course.”

“And a sidearm?”

“No.” I lift my shirt so she can see for herself. I’m not even wearing a holster. “I prefer talking a perp down instead of relying on brute force.”

She retreats a step. “That’s good to know.”

“But I’m always willing to give live demonstrations on how to cuff someone properly.” I’d love to wrestle her little body to the ground. She gives me a dumbstruck stare.

“That’s not necessary.” Her lips twitch as she gazes at the metal wristlets, then at me.

“A joke,” I clarify, then stash my handcuffs again. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Twenty-one last week.”

I sigh with relief, grateful she’s legal—thrilled she’s a woman. “Happy belated birthday, Karlie.” I smile.

“Thank you.” She relaxes again. “You shouldn’t showboat like that.”

“Never have before.”

She rolls her eyes, obviously unconvinced. “I bet most women are impressed with all that cop stuff. Flash a badge, instantly naked.”

Is she offering? Or does she actually think that? “Some,” I admit. But it’s more than she ever needs to know. Temptation exists, and I’ve learned how to walk away. My uniform isn’t always a positive factor.

“You’re arrogant.” She laughs.

“Confident. There’s a difference.”

“Maybe.”

“Tell me more about school,” I say, genuinely interested.

“I’m a political science major with a minor in religious studies.” She keeps her eyes down when she’s talking about herself.

“You like politics?”

“A necessary evil.” Her head snaps up. “I generally dislike politicians. But I believe in the democratic process. Maybe someday I can make a difference working in journalism or advocacy.”

I’m impressed already. She’s beautiful and smart, a combination I’m not accustomed to. Most women that I’ve been involved with, including my ex-wife, have more body than brains. I rub my chin, taking in every inch of her tiny frame. “Where will you go now?” She can’t leave with Connor.

“I don’t know.”

I’m instantly annoyed with myself. I’m not at work and don’t have the right to ask so many probing questions. “Sorry—”

“She’ll stay with us,” Marie says, appearing again. “You ask a lot of questions, popo.” She gives Karlie a squeeze.

“I can’t impose on you and Brandon,” Karlie refuses. “You guys live in a six-hundred-square-foot efficiency apartment. Where am I going to sleep?”

“With us,” Brandon interjects with a grin. “The more the merrier.”

“Nice try.” Marie tweaks Brandon’s nipple. He jumps.

“Ouch!”

“You deserved it,” Marie says. “Seriously, girl, we have a sofa. It’s better than sleeping in your truck.”

I listen intently, wondering why she can’t get her own apartment. “What about campus housing?”

“There’s a waiting list,” Marie complains, crossing her arms over her chest.

“And I don’t have a job.” Karlie eyes me.

“I know a few business owners. If you’re willing to work weekends . . .”
 

“My girl can’t work. She’s already bogged down with too much homework. And if she’s going to get into the graduate program, she needs to keep her GPA up. It’s too competitive to risk losing academic rank by taking a stupid job for minimum wage. She’ll stay with us.”

Karlie looks a little panicky, and I understand why. Sharing such a small space with a couple would be challenging at best. Grad school? Doesn’t the state provide extra money for living expenses? “What about grants or student loans?” I’m surprised by my deep interest and concern.

Karlie clicks her tongue. “I don’t qualify, because the state pays my tuition. As for loans . . .” She shakes her head. “I refuse to be indebted when I graduate. I get a few hundred dollars a month for maintenance. It hardly covers food and insurance for my vehicle. I can sleep in my truck.”

“And what about your bike?” Marie asks.

“Shit.” Karlie stares toward the RV. “I nearly forgot. We should go grab my Suzuki before it’s too late.”

“Where is it?” I ask.

“Parked outside the trailer.” She points.

I’d hoped to avoid another confrontation with her ex, but I can’t let her go alone. “Let’s get it over with now.”

“Really?” She looks completely stunned. “Why are you helping me?”

My breath catches—
because you’re fucking beautiful and a fighter.
“I’ve put too much time and effort into you already to just let you go.”

There’s a brief silence before she speaks again. “Thank you.”

Brandon and Marie follow us down RV alley. There are two dozen RVs parked in the area, illuminated by bright streetlights and surrounded by green space. Campsites with barbeque grills, a community shower, and outhouses are on the other side of the property. The park is pretty basic compared to others I’ve seen: a three-eighths-of-a-mile dirt oval, rickety grandstands along the start/finish straightaway, tires and bales of hay skirting the inside, and the pits along the back straightaway.

The last RV belongs to Connor. He’s outside with a group of friends, music blaring over his outdoor system. I smell marijuana and observe a guy sitting at a table snort a line of coke off a mirror. I frown at Karlie, wondering if she’s the type to party too.

“No,” she states flatly before I have a chance to ask. “And if I was ever tempted, living with Connor quickly changed my mind.”

“Good,” I comment, tight-lipped.

Connor meets us at her bike. “What the fuck are you doing here, Karlie?”

“I need to get my bike and equipment.”

He laughs. “Or what?”

I clench my jaw, already inclined to beat the shit out of him. “Where’s your key, darlin’?”

“In the ignition.”

I step forward. “Let the lady get her things.”

“Lady?” Connor looks around. “Where?”

I count to three inside my head. “Back the fuck off.”

“You’d better listen to him,” Marie adds.

Connor is a smug bastard and doesn’t seem to care about anything but his own pride, but he’s underestimated my determination. He blocks our way. “Consider it payment for back rent.”

“Rent?” Karlie pipes in. “I’ve never . . .”
 

“Now you have.”

“Connor.” Karlie advances on him. “That’s all I have in the world.”

“You
had
me.”

“No,” she shoots back. “I didn’t.”

I’ll let this play out for a few more minutes; she may need to express herself a little more to find closure.

“I offered you a second chance, Karlie.”

“Only after you knocked me down and nearly broke my foot.”

“What?” I clutch Karlie’s arm and drag her back a few feet. She spins around, her shoulders sagging. “He physically assaulted you?”

“Please,” she whispers. “Don’t make me relive it.”

Rage swells inside me. It has nothing to do with the overwhelming attraction I feel for her. I fist my hands at my sides. “All right,” I concede against my better judgment.

She nods, then faces the asshole again. “The trailer is open, Connor. Please grab my equipment bag and let us get out of here without any trouble.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “And if I don’t?” he slurs.

“I’ll break your face.” Someone touches me from behind and I gaze over my shoulder, ready to land a punch. It’s Brandon. I take a deep breath.
 

“He’s posturing,” he says to me.

I nod and concentrate on Karlie again. She tries to walk around Connor, but he snatches her arm, squeezing so hard she yelps.
Son of a bitch
. . . I grab his T-shirt, giving him a violent shake. I notice he reeks of pot and alcohol, and then our eyes meet. “Touch her again . . .”
 

“Gonna call the cops?” he spits.

Marie takes up a position next to me. “He
is
a cop, jackass.” She jabs him in the chest with two fingers. “Now maybe you’ll listen.”

Connor goes limp in my grasp and the music stops—everyone freezes.

A smile tics at the corners of my mouth. Karlie has a formidable friend. “Grab your bike, Karlie.”

I watch as she drags her feet, disappears inside the enclosed trailer, comes out with a large bag draped over her left shoulder, then quickly shifts her RM-Z250 to neutral and starts wheeling it away. Brandon takes her bag for her, then gestures with his head, indicating we all move on.

Time to go.

I tug Connor closer, so only he can hear me. “If you
ever
touch Karlie again, I’ll forget I wear a badge.” Then I give him a shove and he stumbles backward, catching himself on a nearby table.

“Can you believe that asshole?” Marie asks, trying to keep pace with me.

I stop and look down at her. “I deal with his type every day. I just can’t believe she’s stayed with him this long.”

“Karlie doesn’t have any family.”

“I know.”

“She told you?” She appears shocked.

“Yeah.”

“That’s why she put up with Connor and she bonded with his mother, really liked her. They lived in the same house. But once he started hitting her . . .”
 

I close my eyes, helpless against the images that flash through my mind. “How long?”

“Months now.”

“Goddamnit.”

“Hey.” Marie tugs on my sleeve.

I open my eyes.

“Why do you care, popo? You don’t even know her.”

Good question. Instinct tells me to separate myself from this situation immediately. I’ve done everything I can to assure Karlie’s safety. She’s not alone and has a place to go. But there’s something about her . . . All I know is every time I envision her living with Connor, my heart crashes. “Hell if I know.”

Marie studies me for a minute, then laughs. “You got it hard.”

“Nice play on words.”

That earns me an arm slap. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Can’t,” I admit. “That’s where it always is.”

“Hungry?”

I thought she’d never ask. “Starving.”

“Come on.” She takes my arm. “Let’s grab some burgers.”

Chapter Four

Marie likes to park her RV close to the track. There’s a streetlight twenty yards away, but it’s cozier on this side of the park, less congested. And now my usually overprotective best friend is acting like a stranger, clearly impressed with Lucas. Not only did she just serve him a plate of food, now she’s seated next to him at the picnic table. What are they talking about? Every few seconds she looks back at me. I don’t even think she realizes it, which clues me in to what the topic of conversation is.
Me.
The last thing I need is for Marie to interrogate him or try to set us up. She’s already pointed out three or four guys at school she thinks I’d be compatible with. Of course I refused every time, honoring my commitment to Connor. Some good it did—I’m alone again.

Meanwhile, Brandon and I are busy flipping burgers and toasting buns on the hibachi grill. I refuse to eat regular ground beef, so my buffalo patties get a special corner.

“Sure you don’t want your own spatula?” Brandon jibes. “Wouldn’t want to cross-contaminate your meat.”

I give him a little push. “Funny.”

He shrugs. “Glad you’re safe.”

“Thanks for everything,” I say. “I don’t know what I’d do without you and Marie.”

“Well, we’ve both known for a long time the sooner you got away from Connor, the better.”

“It feels so strange.”

“What?”

“I’m single.”

Brandon ogles Lucas. “Not for long.”

“Hah!” I sigh heavily, following his gaze. Lucas’s back is facing us. I’m fascinated by his expansive shoulders and narrow waist. “I’m never getting involved again. Life of a nun for me.”