The Infamous Ellen James (Infamous Series) (8 page)

"If you're a good boy, I might let you take her for a spin someday." I glance over at Trent before turning left onto Main Street and head towards the bar.

I can't even believe the words that are just flowing out of my mouth. I never let anyone drive my baby. Amy begs me on a daily basis to take this car for a drive and I always say no without hesitation. Trent seems to have a secret key to my brain or something. He seems to unleash a side of myself I didn't even know was there. I've known this guy for a hot second, and in this short span of time, I've already dry humped him in a supply room and given him hope that he can drive my Mustang.

If he is managing to unleash a hidden part of my mind, what will he do with my vagina?

"A sexy girl like you is driving around a badass Mustang. This should be illegal."

I make eye contact with Trent in the passenger seat and let out a girlish giggle. This man just oozes sex. I decide now is the best time to hook up my iPod and turn on the stereo in hopes that music will distract me from pulling over and showing Trent just what his unadulterated sex appeal does to my now very horny snatch.

You will not dry hump the surgeon again. You will not dry hump the surgeon again.

I keep repeating this silent mantra in my head.

Since it's almost ten o'clock on a Sunday evening, most of downtown Charlotte's streets are empty. I pull up to a stoplight and notice a young kid, probably eighteen or nineteen, revving his older Camaro's engine and looking over at my tinted windows.

He gestures for me to roll down the passenger window. This kid is kind of adorable, with his shaggy blond hair and dimpled grin. Trent just looks over at me with an entertained expression. I bet he can already figure out that
this
is a common occurrence when you're driving around in this car. Young guys love to race, and I'm not going to lie, I indulge their competitiveness frequently.

Once the window is down, the kid looks into the car and seems a little shocked. I'm guessing it's because a woman is actually driving. This is also a common occurrence, one that I get a huge kick out of. Trent just sits back comfortably with his arm resting on the outside of the door, his fingers tapping to the beat of the The Rolling Stones playing on my iPod, and of course, he's still managing to look sexy as hell.

"Can you handle this car, little lady?" The kid bellows over to me before nodding his head towards the road.

Little lady? Is he for real?

"I'm not sure. How bad do you want to find out?"

"When the light turns green, I'll race you to the next light. It's about a mile from here. Think you can handle it?" he asks as he's revving his engine. His confidence is endearing, and I can't wait to give him a reality check.

The song switches over to Led Zepplin's Whole Lotta Love, the bass pumping through my speakers, vibrating deep in my chest.

Fucking perfect
.

"Yeah I think I can handle it." I rev Shelby up a bit.

Green light.

I put Shelby in first gear, press the gas pedal to floor, and quickly release the heavy clutch.

After spinning the tires and leaving a little smoke, I switch to second gear so I can leave this little cocksucker in the dust. Shelby's horsepower pushes Trent and me back in our seats.

Damn, I love that feeling.

The initial rush of adrenaline that fills my veins, coursing throughout my body, practically pulses through my chest. That in combination with the feel of the engine vibrating my ass could quite literally bring me to orgasm. That feeling is the exact reason I bought this car, the exact reason why I love this car. I hear people joke about marrying inanimate objects, but I honestly think I would consider marrying my Shelby.

By the time I switch to fifth gear, we are coasting at around 110 mph and the kid in the Camaro isn't even close to us. I gradually slow down and come to a complete stop at the next light. The young kid in the Camaro finally pulls up next to us, and he is just shaking his head with a slightly embarrassed look on his face. "I guess you can handle that car, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess so," I respond with a confident laugh. The light turns green and I give the kid in the Camaro a slight wave before turning left and pulling away. I look over to the passenger side and see that Trent is looking at me with intensity in his eyes.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" I can't hide the shy tone in my voice.

The look on his face is making me feel slightly self-conscious. I'm wondering if I've pissed him off. Doing something like that would have made John angry with me. He hated riding bitch in my Mustang, and if he was riding bitch while I was street racing some young guy, hell would have probably frozen over. And honestly, John never really let me drive him around. His ego is far too big for that. He came up with every excuse in the book to avoid sitting in the passenger seat.

"Ellie girl, you really are a little spitfire. I don't think I've ever seen a girl handle a muscle car like you just did. That was hot, Elle. Really hot."

I can't hide the smile that has taken over my face. “I like it when you call me a spitfire and give me compliments about my hotness.” I give Trent a suggestive expression as I pull into a parking spot at Murphy's and turn off the engine. "How about we go get that drink?"

"I think that's a damn fine idea, little spitfire," Trent says before opening the passenger door and getting out of the car.

I take the time to watch his fine ass exit my vehicle, and my assumptions were correct—his tight ass looks fantastic in those jeans. If I could sink my teeth into those muscular cheeks, I would.

I'm starting to think that this night isn't going to be so bad…

Chapter Twelve

“If you find yourself willingly enjoying getting sexed by a man with a fetish for dressing up in a bear costume and fucking in the woods because you dig him that much, then I'd say you have just found your soul mate.”

Trent and I stroll into Murphy's and manage to find two seats at the bar. The crowd seems to be bigger than normal for a Sunday, but I'm sure this has everything to do with all of the college kids that are enjoying their summer break.

Johnny, my favorite bartender, heads our way with a big, dimpled smile across his face. I've known Johnny since I started coming to this bar a few years ago with Amy. He is a bear of a man. He stands at well over six foot and has to weigh at least two hundred and eighty pounds. His bald head and numerous tattoos make him appear extremely intimidating, but the man has a heart of gold and is a complete sweetheart.

"My favorite girl! What can I get you to drink, Elle?" Johnny is leaning against the bar, chocolate eyes grinning at me.

"Just give me a Corona. Johnny, this is Trent. Trent, this is my favorite bartender, Johnny."

Trent shakes his hand. "Nice to meet you, man. So how long have you known this little firecracker?"

Johnny lets out a loud laugh. "I've known Elle for years now and have all kinds of stories."

"Hey now! Let's not get into those stories. I'd like to have a night where I'm not reminded of how easily I can embarrass myself." I poke Johnny's shoulder. Johnny dramatically feigns injury while Trent smiles at my remark.

The very last thing I need is for Johnny to start dishing out my crazy drunken stories. I'm obviously notorious for shenanigans, and Murphy's bar has seen a lot of them. Trent orders a beer and hands Johnny his credit card, instructing him to put all of the drinks on his tab—mine included. I try to refuse, but the man is stubborn and insists that he cover my drinks since I drove him here.

We make small talk about random things, and I'm finding that conversation with Trent comes easily. There are never any awkward silences or uncomfortable chitchat. Things just seem to flow between us, and I find myself loving this fact while simultaneously hating it. I'm scared shitless to get attached to someone, to risk my heart and fall in love again. My heart was battered just a few short months ago, and I just can't fathom experiencing that for a second time. I'm nearly one hundred percent certain that if another man breaks my heart I will start working on my muff-diving skills.

Trent and I are enjoying each other's company immensely. He is witty and adorable, and somehow he manages to maintain this sexy-as-hell demeanor that has my insides clenching with each husky laugh. He keeps brushing my hair out of my eyes and tucking it behind my ear. I find myself thinking about how much I enjoy feeling his touch.

His skin on my skin.

This man makes chill bumps appear all over my body. The more drinks I get in me, the more my vagina is starting to call the shots. This night is either going to end really badly or
really well
. I don't want Trent as a one-night stand though. I find myself wanting more than that.

How can I already want more than that when I've known the guy for all of a few days?

These are the incessant thoughts that are racing through my brain. I'm having a hard time wrapping my brain around the fact that I'm digging Trent Hamilton—
a lot
—and I barely know the guy. He's turning me into a flaky, emotional, involuntary vagina-clenching, constant nipple-hardening mess.

Amy taps my shoulder and sits on the bar stool next to mine. "Well, I'm here and it only took an extra hour to finish charting."

"I was wondering when you were going to get here!" I grab her shoulders and give her a quick hug.

"Uh huh. Suuuuuure ya were." She gives me a pointed look before nodding her head in Trent's direction.

I discreetly roll my eyes. "Stop being so damn ornery."

"Well hello there, Dr. Hamilton. Fancy seeing you here. I hope you're keeping my best girl entertained." Amy puts her arm around my shoulder and smiles sweetly in Trent's direction.

Trent's blue eyes are completely mesmerizing, and I find myself zoning out of their conversation as he engages Amy in a discussion about our drive over here. This man, this too-hot-for-my-own-good man, has me grinning from ear to ear like an idiot. I can tell he's aware that I'm gawking at him, but I just can't seem to pull my eyes away. I'm blaming the alcohol.

Yes, blame the alcohol. That seems like a damn good plan.

Amy, Trent, and I continue to enjoy a few beers and several laughs. He seems to find our stories and sarcastic banter back and forth amusing. Trent is the complete opposite of my ex-fiancé John and I find myself loving…I mean…really liking him.

The alcohol. Keep blaming the alcohol.

John was a complete douchebag when it came to Amy and me spending time together. Eye rolling and annoyed sighs were common occurrences whenever we graced him with our sometimes rowdy presence. I'm sure there are times when Amy and I can be quite overwhelming, but John never seemed to enjoy us together.
Ever
.

Sometimes I wonder how I was ever able to get past how much of an asshole he could be at times. I think it was the quiet moments, the moments we spent together in the privacy of our old apartment. The moments when he wasn't such a dick and actually showed glimmers of being kind, caring, and most of all, loving. Those moments were what kept me invested in our relationship and able to move past the times where he would rather appear uptight and cold than risk people seeing him carefree and letting loose.

And speak of the devil.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" Amy interjects a little too loudly. She's glaring toward the front of the bar as John strolls in with a few of his buddies.

"It's okay, Am. Just ignore him," I say as I peek over my shoulder. Of course John is going to start coming to this bar. He never showed any interest in grabbing a drink with Amy and me after work when
we were actually a couple
. I wonder what caused him to lower his standards and slum it at Murphy's tonight. And for the first time in a long time, I find myself not even really caring about John. Trent is looking at both Amy and me inquisitively, and I decide I need to lighten the mood a little.

"We're here to enjoy ourselves so let's do just that. Shots?!" I look eagerly at them.

Amy smiles at me "Anything for you, sweet cheeks. You in for some shots, Trent? "

"Let's do it, ladies. Hey, Johnny! Bring three shots of Patron, salt, and a few lime wedges."

Trent is obviously game with our plans of getting a little shitfaced tonight, and I love the fact that he chose tequila as his shot of choice. Tonight, we will most likely be cabbing it home. After we down our first tequila shot of the night, I can slowly feel myself relaxing into oblivion.

"I'm gonna go play some tunes on the jukebox. Any suggestions?" I get up from my barstool and pull a few singles from my purse.

Amy shakes her head. "You all right?"

"Yeah, I'm good. I just want to hear something else besides Lynard Skynard and Kid Rock."

Amy laughs loud enough for the entire bar to hear. "Yes! Please save us from awful rock music selections! And no country or my ears will start to bleed!"

Trent smiles at me and motions with his finger for me to step closer to him. On shaky legs, I walk towards him and stand between his jean-clad thighs. His breath is warm on my skin and his smile feels like home.

The alcohol. Keep blaming the alcohol, Elle…

"I forgot to tell you something, Elle."

I'm looking back at him, softly questioning him with my eyes.

"I forgot to tell you how beautiful you look tonight." He takes my face in his hands and kisses my forehead softly before slowly brushing my hair away from my face, tucking it behind my ear. This little intimate encounter, brushing my hair away from my face, has become his signature move, and I find myself loving every second of it. I give him a warm smile and whisper, “Thank you,” into his ear before turning around and walking away.

Standing in front of the jukebox, I'm doing my best to ignore the fact that John is literally six feet away from me. I can feel him staring at me. He is practically eye-fucking my skull, and honestly, I feel nothing but annoyance and aggravation. I'm sure he just witnessed the fact that I'm here with Trent and I hope it's driving him insane.