Pierced: Pierced Trilogy Boxed Set (42 page)

“She’s not for sale,” I tell him with a small puzzled smile.

He looks me in the eye then and snorts. “Everything is for sale,” he says coldly. “Tell you what. I’m going to take my sons and walk around, have a look at all the other cars here. And then, I’m going to come back. In the meantime, you be thinking of a number, and we’ll talk.” He turns and walks away then, calling to his kids and I stand shaking my head as I watch him go.

“What was that about?” Sam says as I sit back down beside her.

“Some rich fucker who thinks he can buy anything he wants just because he’s got the cash,” I say bitterly.

“Rich bastards,” Sam says gruffly, trying to keep a straight face and failing completely. I can’t help but laugh with her. She is just so cute.

Taking her by the hand, we leave our chairs then and walk around for a while, venturing out to the other sections to have a look at some of the other cars, and I point out a few really nice looking restorations to Sam while Martin trails behind us at a polite distance.

Once we tire of that, we make our way back to the Charger and sit down, and we talk about all the different cars we can see from our lawn chairs and she listens intently whenever an interested show goer stops by with questions about the Charger or comments on how nice she looks. And Samantha seems impressed that so many people stop to look at her and want to talk about her.

At shortly before two o’clock, the judges begin making their rounds to present the show awards and Samantha is shocked that the Charger is awarded three prizes – first place for the Best All Numbers Matching car, second place for Best Restoration, and second place for Best in Show. Not too shabby. It’s nice to know that all my hard work on the Charger is noticed by people who love cars as much as I do but, I don’t really care about the awards. But it’s a fun gesture to end a car show, I guess.

“You hungry?” I ask Sam as we’re packing up our things to leave. “I thought we’d stop at Mallard’s for ice cream if you’re interested.”

“Oh, do you think we’d have time to stop in Fairhaven and have a look around?” she asks, her big green eyes imploring me to give in. I knew she’d want to stop there and I can’t help smiling to myself. I feel like I’m getting to know her pretty well.

“Whatever you want, baby,” I tell her with a small smile, leaning down to kiss her softly.

“Seems I keep interrupting your playtime,” an impatient voice says from behind us. I turn and see the same rich fucker from earlier, watching us. “Did you think of a number?” he says rudely.

“Yeah,” I tell him with a serious scowl on my face. “$75 million.”

He laughs slightly. “You must be out of your mind.”

“Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “Just trying to make a point. My car is not for sale.”

“I’m ready to write you a check for two hundred thousand dollars, right now,” he says smugly. “That’s a lot more than what she’s worth. Certainly enough to cover any sentimental attachment you may have.”

I smile slowly at him. I’ve had enough. From the corner of my eye, I see Martin standing by and I glance up at him and nod toward Sam, indicating that he should stick close for a minute. He nods in acknowledgment and moves in as I glance down at her. “Stick with Martin for a second, okay? I’m going to talk to my friend, here,” I say, slapping the gentleman on the shoulder.

“Okay,” Sam says, eyeing me questioningly.

I turn back to Mr. Dickhead and smile. “Let’s talk,” I say, leading him toward the back of the car.

“Guess I hit a figure you liked,” he says disdainfully.

I laugh slightly at him, keeping my hand firmly on his shoulder. “I’ve tried to be nice here,” I say quietly, keeping a smile on my face as we’re still in plain view of his sons and Samantha and Martin, not to mention all the other show goers still milling about. But the edge in my voice and the look in my eyes lets him know that I’m not joking.

“I’ve told you twice now that my car is not for sale. But you wanted to act like a rich jerk, you son of a bitch. And now you’ve pissed me off.” My voice grows more menacing as my hold on his shoulder tightens. “But because I’m with my girlfriend and having a nice day, I’m going to give you the opportunity to walk away quietly. Otherwise, I’m going to have to kick your arrogant ass right here in front of my girlfriend and your sons. And neither of us wants that. Do we?” I look him directly in the eye with an almost diabolical smile and wait for him to make his choice. It doesn’t take long. He smiles nervously back at me and shakes his head, saying nothing. I nod in response and pat his shoulder, releasing him. And I stand and watch as he calls to his sons and they walk away. Condescending fucker.

I head back to Sam and she’s standing with a slightly worried expression on her face. “What was that?” she asks.

“Just had to explain that the Charger’s not for sale,” I say with a shrug. “So, ice cream?”

We get underway then and make a pit stop at Mallard Ice Cream, where I listen to Sam tell me about how she wrecked her first car when she was sixteen as we share a sundae. And I just about split my side laughing when she goes on and on about how angry her parents were. I feel completely captivated by this woman; she is just so damned enchanting. No one has ever made me laugh the way she does. And as we climb back into the car, I feel almost bewitched by her.

Once we make our way to Fairhaven, we park the Charger on Harris Avenue and get out and walk for a bit, holding hands, as we go into several of the boutiques and art galleries. In one, there’s nothing but colorful glass works and Samantha goes nuts for it. Her eyes light up like Christmas as she takes in the multi-hued vases, ornaments, dishes, and jewelry – all made from glass. She falls in love with the glass picture frames and holds one up for me to look at.

“Isn’t it gorgeous?” she gasps. The frame is made of a bright green glass and, as she holds it up, her eyes catch the light reflected off of it.

“Actually, yes it is,” I answer her. “And it would look great with a picture of you in it.” She rolls her eyes at me and blushes slightly. “No, I mean it. That frame sets off your green eyes to perfection, baby. In fact, I think I want it,” I say, taking it from her. “I’ll put a picture of you in it.”

I turn to head for the checkout but she protests loudly.

“Hey! I saw it first!”

She is scowling at me, hands on her hips, and I laugh at her. Then she picks up the blue frame and smirks at me. “Fine. I’ll put a picture of you in this one. It’ll set off your blue eyes to perfection,” she says mocking my earlier words to her. I chuckle at her as I lean down to kiss her.

“Come on,” I say, taking the blue frame from her hand and head to the checkout counter. I pay for the two frames and we wait as the cashier places them securely in bubble wrap and tissue paper, and we exit the store.

We make our way back to the car with Martin trailing behind us and I let go of Sam’s hand and wrap my arm around her waist, tucking her into my side and softly kissing the top of her head. And as we near the Charger my mind drifts briefly back to my confrontation with that rich jerk and I realize suddenly that I referred to Sam as my girlfriend back there. I didn’t even think about it, the words just rolled off my tongue with ease.
My girlfriend.
And as I open the car door for her I find myself wishing that those words were true. But I know that they’re not. At least, not yet. They can’t be. Not until we catch whoever is stalking her and close Sam’s case. Then she and I really can date without having to go out of town, away from the prying eyes of my coworkers to do it.

I slide behind the wheel and start her up, still preoccupied with my thoughts, and we get underway. As we drive back to Seattle, Sam is quiet and I get the feeling that the closer we get to home, the more her spirits begin to fall. And I wonder if she’s thinking about this asshole who’s stalking her or if she’s still fretting over whatever had her so upset last night and this morning. All day long, I have tried my best to show her how I feel. To put to rest any doubts or insecurities that she may have about me. I even opened up a little about the old man. Surely she can’t still be unsure of my feelings for her, can she? And I’m not even certain that’s what was bothering her. I sigh in frustration as I mull it over.

When we reach the outskirts of Seattle I change lanes as Sam’s phone buzzes, cutting through my troubled thoughts, and she pulls it out of her pocket. As she checks her text, I look up into the rear view mirror and see Martin changing lanes behind us, and I know that a member of his security team is still sitting on Samantha’s apartment right now, even though she’s been with me all day.

“What time does your band play?” she asks quietly. “Megan needs to know when to pick me up.”

“We go on at ten,” I answer, and she responds to her text and puts her phone away. “So, you’re bringing your cousin tonight?”

“I thought it would look more believable than me showing up at a bar alone,” she says softly, and I nod my head. “I think her fiancé will be with us too.”

“I’m sorry you can’t just come with me,” I tell her.

“I know, me too,” she says. “But I understand why we have to do it this way.”

“I just hate having to pretend it’s a random, chance meeting,” I say quietly. And I know that to anyone paying attention, like Conner, our ruse will be obvious. But maybe he won’t be there tonight and I won’t have to listen to his lecture.

“I don’t know,” Samantha says with a coy smile, “sometimes pretending can be fun.” I smile at her but say nothing. She is quiet for a few minutes, and then asks, “So, what are you going to do in the meantime? It’s only four thirty.”

“Well, unless that ice cream filled you up, I figured we could get something to eat,” I tell her. “We can pick something up and take it back to your place. Unless you have a better idea.”

“I was hoping maybe we could go to your place,” she says softly.

“My place?” I can hear the surprise in my voice and I know that my eyebrows are reaching for the heavens.

Samantha nods slowly. “I’ve never seen your place before,” she says. “I don’t even know if you live in a house or an apartment.”

I smile slightly at her and turn my attention back to the road. “I live in a house,” I say quietly.

“Can we go there?” she asks, her voice small and hesitant.

“If you want to,” I answer softly. When I glance back over at her, she’s smiling shyly and chewing on her bottom lip. I take a deep breath and head for my place. And I have no clue why I’m nervous all of a sudden. I smirk to myself. Who am I kidding? I know exactly why I’m nervous. My place is nothing like Sam’s luxury apartment. It’s small and dreary and blah in comparison. It’s your typical bachelor pad with sparse, purely functional, barely matching furniture. Drab, boring walls with no pictures on them. It’s not so much “decorated” as it is “lived in.”

But it’s clean. My mother sees to that. She’s constantly letting herself in and doing things like dusting and washing my clothes, even though I’m always reminding her that she taught me how to do my own laundry when I was a teenager. But she just keeps on. And I know the only way to put a stop to it is to take away the extra key I gave her. But that’s pretty difficult to do when she’s always dropping off a casserole or something. A guy’s gotta eat. And it’s normal for me to come home and open up my fridge to find a strange dish in there, only to discover that Mom’s made something and brought it by for me. Another reason I don’t cook much – Mom won’t let me starve.

I pull into my driveway and wait as the automatic garage door opens, then pull the Charger slowly into her spot. And as the door comes slowly down behind us I spot Martin parking his Sedan across the street.

“Slide out this way, baby,” I instruct Sam. The car is a safe distance from the wall of the garage but, I don’t want to risk Sam opening the door too wide and dinging her. Sam does as she’s told and slides out the driver’s side door after me, carrying the bag with the glass picture frames, and I take her hand, leading her out the side door of the garage and locking it behind us.

“You didn’t cover her up,” Samantha says, her voice full of curiosity, and I smile at her observation.

“That’s because I plan to wipe her down later,” I tell her. “I don’t like to cover her up dusty.” Sam looks at me wide eyed and I think she’s trying to decide if I’m joking or not. Finally, she giggles at me. “You making fun of me, Miss Colby?” I ask her with a grin.

“No,” she says, trying to stifle her amusement. Only she can’t stop giggling and I can’t take my eyes off of her. I know that I’m staring at her with the goofiest grin on my face but, I can’t help it. She is so damned adorable! I reach out and weave my fingers through her hair, gently pulling her to me, and kiss her passionately for a moment. Then I take her hand again and lead her to the house.

I unlock the side door and open it for her, allowing her to enter ahead of me. As I close the door behind us, I get a ripple of butterflies wondering what she’s going to think of it. She sits her purse and the bag with the picture frames down on the kitchen table and looks around at the small kitchen and then back at me.

I take a deep breath and swallow nervously. “Would you like something to drink?” I ask her.

“Sure,” she smiles at me.

“I’ve got water or beer,” I tell her as I move toward the fridge. “Milk? I could make some coffee if you’d like.”

“Water’s fine,” she smiles again, and I reach into the fridge and pull us out two bottles of water, handing one to her.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She opens her water and takes a sip. Then I watch anxiously as she turns and walks slowly out of the kitchen and into the living room. I follow after her, my anxiety growing by the second. Why am I so nervous about this?

I watch as she slowly takes in the second hand, tan colored, fabric couch and the dirt brown recliner. The only two pieces of furniture in my living room besides the cheap wooden coffee table. And it’s a far cry from the plush white leather sofas and the marble tables at her place. The large, unruly stacks of Guitar Player and Car Craft magazines sitting on the floor against the wall don’t help.