Chasing Rhodes (Rock Falls #1) (4 page)

W
E PULL UP
to my condo and it’s impossible not to notice the massive, blacked-out Dodge Ram in the driveway.
That’s weird. I don’t know that truck.
Like I said, it’s a pretty small town and we like big vehicles. I happen to usually know most of the ones that like to park themselves in the driveway.

Jami pulls up behind the strange truck, and I hop out, letting him know that I’ll be back in a minute. I’m jogging up the steps, making sure to keep my eyes down so I don’t slip on any ice, when I slam into a brick wall.
Well, it’s not a brick wall because a brick wall wouldn’t be in the middle of my stairs and it also wouldn’t smell this good
, I think to myself as the brick wall in question reaches out and wraps an arm around my waist to steady me
.

At this point, I have my hands wrapped in the brick wall’s shirt and I’m almost drunk on how fantastic he smells. Someone clears their throat behind me and I detangle my hands from the brick wall in question.
I can’t imagine this stranger takes too kindly to strange women smelling him like he is the last flower on Earth, albeit a sexy flower.
I go to step back, but his arm is still wrapped around my waist, leaving my body pressed against his.

I look up, and through my eyelashes, I see his handsome face. It’s my Hunnam lookalike and he looks righteously pissed off.

“Who the fuck is this asshole?” he growls.
He actually fucking growled.
He growled and it sent a straight shot of heat between my legs. I shiver, and not because I’m cold.

“Who the fuck are you?” I hear Jami snap back behind me. I’ve known him long enough to know that his voice is laced with anger. He’s a fun-loving guy, but he’s extremely protective.

“I’m the guy whose bed she slept in last night.” He tears his pissed-off glare from Jami and looks down at me. “I’m going to ask you one more time, sweetheart. Who the fuck is this asshole?”

It takes my brain a few seconds to catch up. I’m still getting over the growling and sensation of having him pressed up against me when I finally take in what’s happening. I pull myself out from his embrace rather harshly and glare up at him.

“He’s my fucking friend. His name is Jami. I’d introduce you, but I don’t even know your goddamn name. So why don’t you tell it to me before you go strutting around like a peacock thinking you own my bloody driveway,” I huff. I’m angry now.
Who does this sexy jerk think he is? We had a one-night stand, and now he thinks he can be an asshat to my friends? No bueno. Not happening.

He cocks his eyebrow at me and smirks. “Holt. Greyson Holt.”

“What are you, fucking James Bond or something?” I hear Jami mock from behind me.

I’m currently standing between the two of them because the amount of testosterone flying around is making my head spin.

“Well, Greyson Holt. I’m Hannah Rhodes, and this is my friend, Jami Henley. And now that the introductions are over, I suggest you get going. Jami and I have plans for the afternoon.” I don’t know what I said, because now his eyes just went from angry to furious.

“I know who you are, sweetheart.” His eyes are shifting between Jami and me again. His hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. It’s making me nervous, so I move to stand in front of him. These two are so busy being macho idiots they don’t realize how ridiculous they’re being right now. It’s laughable. Well, except for the growling. I liked that a little too much. It was no laughing matter. “Can I talk to you for a minute? Privately?” he says, glancing up towards Jami again.

I sigh. “Jami, I’ll meet you back at the Jeep.”

He starts to say something but I wave him off. Once he’s almost back at the truck, I put my hand on my hip and give my Hunnam—or, since I guess I know his name now, I give Greyson—a glare.

“Okay. Talk.”

“You left this at my house this morning,” he says, picking up my Michael from the step beside him. I didn’t even notice it was there. Now I feel like the asshat for being so rude. He was just being nice. Or, well, he was—until he started being an ass.
Jesus, he’s exhausting.

“Thank you.” I take Michael, give him a once-over to make sure he looks okay, and slip him onto my shoulder. “How do you know where I live exactly?”

“I asked a friend. It’s a small town.”

I nod because it’s true and start to turn to walk back to the Jeep when he grabs me by the elbow. I look over my shoulder, and I’m shocked at the change in his demeanor. He’s looking down at the ground now, all the fight seems to have left him and he just looks hurt.
What the hell?
I raise my eyebrows to indicate for him to keep talking.

“Is that guy your boyfriend?”

“Jami? What? No. I just told you we’re friends. I wouldn’t have been in your bed this morning if I had a boyfriend. I’m not sure where you got your information from, but I’m not some kind of slut. Regardless of whatever happened last night.” I cross my arms and straighten my back to prove that I meant every word I said.

“I wasn’t trying to offend you, Hannah. I just wanted to know. Pass me your phone.” He reaches his hand out expectantly and I just stare at it. “Come on, sweetheart.”

I’m not sure if it’s the sweetheart that has me caving or the fact that he looks like a wounded puppy, but I hand him my iPhone. He punches in some numbers and then I hear a ringing in his pocket.
Goddamnit! Why didn’t it cross my mind that he would do that? I hate when people do that.

“I’ll see you around, sweetheart,” he says and stalks off down the stairs and into his beast of a truck.

Jami and I found Clifford at the first bar that Lennon and I had stopped at the night before. He didn’t mention anything about what happened with Greyson, and I was grateful. I wasn’t ready to talk about it and Jackson had been his friend too. I didn’t want it to be weird for him. Once I got back and showered, I spent the rest of Sunday night curled on the couch with the girls watching
Lethal Weapon
.

My brain is working on overdrive. The spot on my elbow still blazes from where he touched me, and my body is wrung tight with sexual tension. I am going to need my vibrator tonight.

What a fucking Sunday this has been,
is my final thought before I drift off to sleep.

I
WOKE UP
earlier than usual today, having not slept very well the night before—or any night this week for that matter. It’s Friday and it’s been five days since what I’m now referring to as
‘The Sunday.’
I spilled my guts to the girls over Monday night drinks at our favorite bar and told them about the scene that happened in front of Jami. I also told them that Greyson had taken my number. I also mentioned to them that he hadn’t called, not that I wanted him to call or anything. Like I said before, I don’t want to go running into that burning building, but nonetheless, a part of me was disappointed he hadn’t tried calling or texting at least once.

The clinic was packed this week with people needing treatments after being on the mountain all weekend. The busyness helped keep my mind distracted, at least during the day anyway. I’m a registered massage therapist (RMT for short), and I’ve been working at the same clinic since I finished school. I worked two jobs for a while, one at the clinic and one at The Earls in town, but that was only until I’d built up my clientele at the clinic. I now only work the one job alongside two other massage therapists and a receptionist. We each have our own room and book our own clients, but we’re young and get along great, which makes for a fun work environment. I’m just finishing cleaning up my room after my last patient for the day when I get a text from Jami.
He texts as often as a teenage girl!
I snicker to myself while sliding the lock button on my phone.

Jami
–
Jay and I are going to Bill’s tonight. You and the girls should come!

Bill’s is a local bar in town. It’s actually called Buffalo Bill’s. It sounds dumpy, I know, but it’s actually really fun. It’s a bar that is almost always filled to the brim with locals and turns into a killer dance party at around eleven. I let him know that I’ll talk to the girls and get back to him. I don’t know about them, but I for one could use a drink after this week!

The girls were just as eager as me to get their drink on tonight, and after two hours of primping, we’re all giving ourselves one last once-over in the mirror.

“We look hot.” I say and the girls giggle.

We’ve already been pre-drinking for about an hour. Beth is decked out in a tight, red dress that looks innocent from the front but leaves her back completely bare. It’s a good thing she has little boobs because mine would never stay in that thing all night. Lennon is wearing a navy-blue halter dress, which is about as close as she comes to wearing color. Lennon Montgomery does not do color. I swear, in our twenty-four years of friendship, I’ve never seen her wear bright colors. She’s styled her brown hair up in an elegant, messy bun, which I could never do, but then again, she is a professional.

I’m wearing a fitted, nude dress with black-lace overlay. It has thin spaghetti straps and the chest is styled like a bustier, which only helps to enhance my full breasts and narrow waist. Lennon has my auburn hair cascading in waves down my back, almost reaching my butt. I smile at her in the mirror and give my head a slow toss back and forth. I love my hair like this, loose and messy. It suits me.

We make our way back into the kitchen and toss back a couple more tequila shots while we wait for the cab to arrive.

“Can I borrow your black coat, Hannah?” my sister whines. “Mine doesn’t go with this dress.” She’s making puppy-dog eyes at me and pouting like a little kid. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that she’s two years older than me.

I just nod and wave her off. I wasn’t going to wear that coat anyway. This is one of the few downsides to going out in Rock Falls during the winter. It’s cold as fuck! Which means no matter how hot you look, you have to zip up a big ol’ ugly-ass parka over yourself unless of course you want to freeze to death waiting in line. Then by all means, don’t wear a coat.

Less than a twenty-minute cab ride later and armed with a solid buzz, the girls and I make our way into Bill’s. It’s ten thirty and the place is busting at the seams. We hand our jackets off to coat check and saunter in to find the boys.

“Where the fuck are they?” Lennon yells in my ear.

I pull aware from her and glare.
Jesus Christ, that hurt my fucking eardrums.
I’m just about to text Jami—it’s too loud in here to call—when I spot him across the bar. I point to the girls. It’s useless to try and talk to them until we get away from the dance floor.

I’m halfway towards the table when I stop dead in my tracks, causing the girls to stumble behind me. “I’m going to fucking kill him!”

The girls follow my gaze to the table, and when they see what I see, their eyes go as wide as saucers.

“We can go if you want,” Beth says.

Lennon flails her arms in the air. “Did Jami even tell you he was coming?”

I shake my head and I can feel my palms getting sweaty. This is always one of the worst parts of a breakup—the first time you have to see your ex in public and try to act normal. Sitting at the high-top table between Jami and Jay is none other than Jackson Steele.