Seven Years (8 page)

“I’ll get these,” he said in a rough, sexy voice.

And there it was. Something I was totally not expecting when he lightly pressed his body against mine.

Tingles.

“Where are your forks and knives?” he murmured.

“Drawer on the right,” I said in an embarrassingly breathy way. “But I can get them. Go sit down.”

He ignored me, taking everything into the dining room. I snatched the glasses and followed behind.

Naya was setting the table and using her spoon to dish out the food. “So tell me about yourself, Austin. Where are you from? What do you do for a living?”

I bit my lip and set the glasses on the table. Austin stood behind his chair and Naya sat down across from me, placing one of the candles in the middle. She did the infamous stretch that usually gave men a good whiff of her heavenly perfume and sometimes a peek through the opening of her blouse.

“I’m an investigator. I’m originally from around here, but I’ve been traveling for the past few years as part of my job. Decided I missed home and it was time for a change.” His eyes dragged over to mine and I continued arranging the silverware beside the plates.

“Have a seat, Austin,” I said. “Shit—I mean shoot. I forgot the napkins. Be right back.”

“I work as a dancer, but it’s just a temporary thing until I find something better,” Naya went on. “I know exactly where you’re coming from. We all want something better for ourselves. Is your family here with you?”

“My brothers are here.”

“Not married?”

I almost cringed as I grabbed a stack of paper napkins from the kitchen and returned. Austin was still standing beside the table. When I sat down and took a sip of wine, he pulled back his chair and relaxed in his seat. The legs creaked as he settled.

Austin stared at my finger as it tapped repeatedly against the wood table. If he remembered anything about me, he knew I was a finger-tapper whenever something was irritating me. On a table, on a wall, on my leg, on a keyboard—didn’t matter.

It was just my thing.

Naya and I had grown used to the music blaring from the neighbor’s apartment, but with company over, it was embarrassing. Apparently, the cop hadn’t put enough of a scare into them, so we sat there listening to the Who singing about a teenage wasteland.

“Naya, you left your phone over here last night,” I said conversationally.

Relief washed over her lovely face. “Oh, thank
God
. I was looking everywhere for it this morning. I get so many important calls and half of them don’t leave messages. That’s my biggest peeve.”

“Naya doesn’t have a home phone,” I pointed out.

She shook her head and savored a small sip of Merlot. “Who needs a home phone? You don’t even have a cell phone. Get with the times, girl. Where did you put it?”

“On the bar next to the deck of cards,” I said, pointing over my shoulder. “Hope you don’t mind that I used it.”

Lucky for me it didn’t break when I threw it earlier, thanks to the lawnmower man who hadn’t cut the grass in over a month.

“Damn, Naya, this is really good.” I took a second bite of creamy noodles and made an approving moan. Only Naya could whip up something decadent from a can of soup. “Naya’s a great cook,” I said to Austin, giving her a few brownie points with him. “If you ever taste her lobster, you’ll probably want to make babies with her.”

“Lexi,” Naya said with a giggle.

Austin twirled his pasta but didn’t take a single bite of it. That was his pissed-off look. I’d seen it plenty of times. He’d given it to a guy who called me a hot piece of ass when I was seventeen and walking out of a convenience store. Austin had left me in the car with my Popsicle while he and Wes got out, locked the doors, and yanked that redneck out of his green Ford pickup truck. They dragged him around the side of the building and when they returned, Wes had a bloody lip and Austin’s knuckles were bruised.

“Don’t you like it?” Naya asked.

The fork clicked against the plate and Austin stood up. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

He lowered his chin. “Stay here.”

When he left the apartment, Naya finished her wine. “He’s a beast of a man, Lexi.
This
is your old friend? Hot tamale, girly. You’ve been holding out on me. Any feelings still there?”

“I don’t even know him anymore,” I said with a pitiful sigh.

“Can I get to know him?” She lifted her hands defensively and laughed. “If you want him, Lexi, just say the word and I’ll take my dinner and go.”

“Nah. He’s practically family.”

“I thought you liked big, strong men?”

“Beckett was the exception. I don’t usually go for all the roughnecks,” I lied. Well, at least not all the time. “Remember Lance, the guy who worked at the coffee shop?”

“The painter?” she said with disdain. “Come on, Lexi. Aspire to something greater.”

“Muscles don’t make the man.”

“True, darling, but they give you something nice to hold on to,” she said.

“I just can’t be with a guy who worships his body more than mine.”

Naya raised her hand for a high five and we laughed.

Which abruptly stopped when the silence became deafening.

“The music cut off,” she said, stating the obvious.

I swiveled around to look at the clock. “That’s a first. It’s not even close to midnight.”

Naya chewed on a bite of spaghetti and froze when the heavy sound of footsteps came up the stairs. Naya got nervy about unlocked doors. We knew it was probably Austin, but when the knob turned, her eyes went wide.

But it was him.

Austin gave us a demonstration of swagger as he crossed the room to claim his chair. Naya did a little finger swirl around the rim of her glass. She must have been used to crystal, because mine was made of glass and barely made a squeak.

“You forgot to lock the door,” Naya pointed out.

Austin scooped a giant forkful of pasta into his mouth. “When I’m here, you don’t need a lock.”

His chiseled jaw worked hard, making Naya crumble like a cookie at the sight of a handsome man devouring her food. Austin was better looking than he’d ever been in his youth, even if it
was
mixed with a tough exterior like a street fighter looking for action.

“Did you confront my neighbors?”

After chewing his last bite, he put his tanned forearms on the table and leaned in, nodding with an arched brow. “I wouldn’t worry about them. Just a couple of college kids with a bong, some kind of black light, and all these posters and shit of Led Zeppelin and—”

I burst out laughing and when a snort escaped, I covered my face. The laughter couldn’t be contained any longer. On top of this crazy day of getting chased by a dog, sitting in a tree in a cemetery, having my best friend hit on my old flame—who by the way was in town to tell me he was a bounty hunter and shapeshifter—there sat Austin, pointing out how weird my downstairs neighbors were.

“God, I love her laugh,” he said to Naya, licking the prongs of his fork. “When she really gets going, she sounds like Beaker from
The Muppet Show
.”

Which made an embarrassing sound escape my throat. I waved my arm to get up and knocked over his glass of wine. Naya flew out of her seat and covered her mouth.

That sucked all the humor out of the moment. So much for sophistication at twenty-seven. I stood up and sighed.

“I’m sorry, Naya. It’s been a long day and I’ve had more to drink than eat. Let me get something to clean up the mess.”

“How about the shirt in your trash can?” Austin suggested.

The next day, I felt sick as a dog.
It was probably a combination of the alcohol from the night before and everything else going on that made my head spin and stomach churn.

Thankfully the shop wasn’t busy, and April kept the customers happy while I worked in the back, wrapping up gift orders. During the downtime, I’d sit outside in the sunshine on the wooden bench, listening to music until a customer wandered into the shop. It was slow on weekdays, which is why we desperately needed new ways to attract customers.

Truthfully, it only took one of us to run the shop during certain hours, but our boss wanted two workers on site during peak hours. We had two other girls who worked part time and rotated shifts as needed.

Charlie, our boss, frequently stopped in to see how things were going, but not so much lately. He spent a lot of his spare time reading if not telling stories about Greek mythology or the truth behind ancient Egyptian culture. It was riveting to hear his spin on things and it was too bad he never pursued a career in teaching.

Charlie wasn’t just the owner, but also the manager on call. He’d never hired anyone to fill that role because it would have meant paying out a higher salary, so I had become the designated lead. Whenever someone had a complaint and asked to speak to the manager, it was me they saw.

Luckily, we didn’t get many complaints. We sold sugar. That made most people pretty damn happy.

“You feeling okay, Alexia?” April came into the back room and sat on the bench beside me, patting my shoulder.

“Not really.”

“Want me to call Beth to come fill in for you today?”

Guilt crawled up and took a seat in my lap. I hated doing that to someone on their day off. In fact, I was notorious for taking other people’s shifts and Charlie made it a point to reprimand me for it. Not in a way that jeopardized my career in the candy field, but he didn’t want me to get burned out on work at a young age.

When my relationship with Beckett got serious, my private life had become more of a priority than work. Now that I was single again, work was starting to fill that void, and not in a good way.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” April dashed to the register, reached in one of the drawers, and returned with a slip of paper. “I got a call this morning from someone; he was trying to get a hold of you about your car. Did you advertise our work number in your ad?”

“Guilty. And don’t tell Charlie. I didn’t want my home number splashed in the paper for all to see, and I’m up here most of the time anyhow.”

April twisted her hair between her fingers. “I won’t say anything, but you could get us in trouble if someone calls when he’s up here.”

I took the paper from her hand and stared at a name and number. “What did he say?”

“To call him?” She laughed quietly. “Go see if he’s interested. I’ll cover for you if he wants to take a look at it today.”

“You’re a godsend,” I said in a miserable voice.

I sat in a very unladylike position in my white skirt, hugging my stomach, my legs spread wide. We were in a private back room with our very own vending machine and luxurious water fountain. April didn’t mind the enclosed space, but I preferred sitting on the benches outside during my breaks. She handed me her phone and I called the number.

***

Lorenzo (the potential buyer or hapless victim, depending on how you looked at it) didn’t converse much over the phone, but he did want to hear the specs. Manual transmission, new tires, ninety thousand miles, and semen in the back seat.

I left out the last part.

We agreed to meet at a mall I’d been to once before when I was twelve to have my ears pierced. Lorenzo stood next to a big black truck like he’d described to me. He wasn’t what I expected. He wore a pair of pale green khakis and a black tank top with writing on it. Something just didn’t feel right as I pulled into the parking space and looked at his expensive truck. But those moments are when you convince yourself that you’re overreacting and maybe he was purchasing the car for his girlfriend.

Lorenzo towered beside his sharp, heavy-duty truck with chrome wheels and tinted windows. His straight hair was as black as the truck and fell past his shoulders. He looked Native American with his tanned skin and high cheekbones.

I wiped my brow with my clammy hands, still feeling sick. When I turned off the engine, he slowly paced around the car and began appraising it. I stepped out and felt the scorch of heat from the asphalt.

“Hi, I’m Alexia Knight. You must be Lorenzo.”

“How does she run?” he asked.

“Like a dream.”

His eyes briefly darted to mine. I stepped back with my keys in hand so he could sit in the driver’s seat and check out the interior.

Lorenzo looked at every detail and then glanced at the back seat. I wondered if there was a sex aura back there that psychics could see.

“Has anyone ever worked on the transmission?”

“Nope. But the alternator was repaired, or replaced. Don’t ask me which; I didn’t handle that.”

“Let me see the keys,” he said eagerly.

I hesitated, looking around.

Lorenzo’s hands slid down his pants and stopped at his knees. “If I drive off in your car, feel free to take my truck,” he offered, tossing me his own keys. “Is this in your name or do you have a boyfriend on the papers?”

Was he asking me about my situation?

“It’s my car.”

“How are you going to get around without it?” He laced his fingers together and watched me carefully. “Is someone going to drive you, or do you have another car lined up?”

Had I been sitting, I would have squirmed in my seat. “Do you have an offer?”

Lorenzo pinched his chin, tassels swinging from the leather bracelet on his wrist. “Your asking price and dinner. You didn’t mention a boyfriend, so I’m going to take a chance and guess that you’re just as available as this car.”

I threw his keys and they hit the concrete with a jingle. “I’m not for sale. Get out of my car if you’re not going to buy it.”

“I’ll double the price for a date.”

“What the hell do I look like, a prostitute?”

Jesus, maybe I did
. His eyes scraped down my stupid miniskirt and tight-fitting orange shirt that said Sweet Treats on it. For anyone who wasn’t familiar with the area, he might have just assumed
I
was the sweet treat. I did a mental facepalm and tightened the grip on my keys.

“It looks like this was a waste of your time and mine. I drove all the way out here hoping I would get a serious offer. I don’t come with the car and this isn’t a sex transaction. Get out of my car or I’m calling the police.”

Lorenzo stood up and approached me. I nearly fled, but that stupid impulse was quashed by the logical voice in my head, once again, trying to convince me that I was overreacting.

Except the skull and crossbones tattooed on his arm caught my eye. As did the matching design on the back of his truck window. Men who had skulls on their bodies were usually trouble.

I backed up and he caught my arm. But gently. Not in the way that would make a girl throw her knee against a man’s balls. It was a soft touch with just the very tips of his fingers, and his features no longer appeared hard and unpredictable. Lorenzo’s brown eyes were as warm as his hands and melted me like caramel in the summer sun. To look at him, Lorenzo was a very handsome man, but I hadn’t made up my mind on his personality.

“My offer is serious. I won’t hurt you, Alexia. I just think you’re exceptionally pretty and I want to show you I’m interested.”

Well,
hell
. What’s a girl to say to that? I almost wanted to ask if he was still going to pay me double for the cootiemobile.

“Do you really want to buy my car?”

He glanced over his shoulder and chuckled warmly. “Not really. Sorry, it’s not what I’m looking for.” And then his eyes melted over me and my breath quickened. He really wasn’t so bad if you didn’t notice the skull inked on his left arm.

“I need to go,” I sputtered.

“Alexia, please don’t go without giving me your number. Let’s have one conversation and you can decide if I’m a bad guy or not. Unless you have a boyfriend.”

Maybe it’s the mouth-twist thing girls do when someone brings up a boyfriend who doesn’t exist, but he read my expression and a satisfied look glittered in his eyes. Lorenzo pulled a pen from his back pocket and held the tip to his palm. “Number?”

And like a freaking zombie, I found myself reciting my home number. Why not? I’d met the worst mistake of my life in a shop full of sugar. Maybe I’d meet the man of my dreams in a rundown parking lot by a shoe store and an overflowing dumpster.

“I’ll ask around to see if anyone I know is interested in the car,” he promised me. “I know what it’s like to have something you want to get rid of, but for some reason, it keeps hanging around like a curse.”

“Thanks,” I said. “The car needs to go, so if anyone you know wants to take a look at it, give them my
work
number. Tell them about the car before they show up and change their mind—you’ve seen it, so you’ll be able to sell it better than I can.”

He smiled. Not the kind with teeth, just a broad smile with his lips pressed together. “I’ll do that, Alexia. It was a pleasure to meet you,” he said, raising his hand in a wave. “And my name is Lorenzo Church. Friends call me Enzo, business associates call me Church, but you can call me anytime.”

He bowed his head, and I listened to his black boots tread heavily on the pavement as he walked back to his truck.

***

The next day, I called in sick. I’d caught a bug of some kind and it was slowly taking my body hostage. My fever hovered around one hundred degrees Fahrenheit for most of the day. Stuff like this happened a lot when I first started working at the shop. Kids collected germs, which is why I became vigilant about wiping down the counters with sanitizer. But lately, I’d been lucky with my health. I’d managed to accrue about twenty sick days, so I made the executive decision to use some of them.

I also handled food and giving our customers Ebola wasn’t high on my list for the top ways to earn a promotion.

It was the night of Naya’s party, but I’d already told her I wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be able to make it. I called April at work to let her know she was still invited, but she shied out and made up an excuse about painting her bathroom the color of lemons. I really wanted to see her cut loose and have a good time. She was too young to be sitting around the house and not going to parties and dating. The strange thing was how little I knew about her, but sometimes people don’t like to show all their cards until they’re ready to go all out.

All my blankets were piled on the floor so I could stretch out across my bed. I had turned down the air conditioning, but nothing soothed my fever and restless legs. The blinds and drapes remained closed, submersing me in darkness.

My skin crawled, sensitive to everything. I didn’t have any violent fits of vomiting—thank God—but there was a gnawing sensation in the pit of my stomach. Not hunger, but almost like when you’re at the top of the hill on a roller coaster, three seconds from going down a steep track. Odds are I had the latest bug going around, as the symptoms mimicked what I had heard about—minus the vomiting.

The music cranked up at Naya’s apartment as her festivities were in full swing.

Of all times to get sick
.

A knock sounded at my front door and I sat up, listening. Sometimes partygoers got lost and wound up on the wrong doorstep. My stringy brown hair covered my face and I flipped it back. Getting dressed wasn’t high on my agenda that day, so the only thing I bothered putting on was a long black tank top that fell just below my panties. I would have never worn a silly shirt like that in public because of the giant pair of red lips on the front in the shape of a kiss. Due to my fever, I would have preferred to sleep in the nude, had I not been afraid of an apartment fire and having to run naked into the arms of a fireman. Not that it would be a bad outcome.

But then the knocking sounded again.

“Dammit,” I murmured, dragging my bare feet across the carpet. Too tired to look out the peephole, I pressed my cheek against the painted wood. “Who is it?”