The Girl He Needs (23 page)

“Guess what, Dad, the brakes aren’t working.” There’s a patch of gravel ahead of me.

“Seriously?” He hands his shades to Zach.

“Seriously. Get ready to catch.” I weave around the patch of gravel and make a large arc, turning back toward Brinn.

“Catch what?” he calls while walking toward me. Goofball doesn’t think I’m serious.

“Catch me, dumbass.” Timing is everything. I flip both legs to one side and force my skirt part open wider, knowing I’ve ripped it a few inches. I’d take it off if I could because I’m going to need mobility. I stand on the small running board, one foot in front of the other, distributing my weight so the scooter is balanced, before I bend over the dash, testing the brakes one last time with no success.

“Get ready, McRae.”

He steps closer, widens his stance, and opens his arms.

Fifteen miles per hour doesn’t seem all that fast until you’re speeding toward someone and planning to leap into their arms.

“I’m coming in hot,” I yell and can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. I’m within a breath of him, certain I’ve run his toes over, when I let go of the handles and spring from the footrest, arms wide.

Our bodies collide with a thud. He rocks back slightly while pulling me in tight, absorbing the impact. We stare at each other.

“I knew you’d catch me.”

He tosses back his head, laughing, but the sound of the scooter colliding with the hanger and the echo bouncing around the parking lot cuts the laughter short.

Somber, we look at each other.

I say to Zach, “I’m totally buying that scooter.”

And Brinn drops me on my ass and walks back to the office.

* * * *

The voice memo from Jayne cracks me up.

“Fuck all, Josie, I nearly want to gouge my eyes out. Please, please, please meet me for food. My life is in your hands. If I continue with this inventory another moment, I can make no promises as to what will happen. I’m holding matches.”

I text her with the name of a restaurant and a plan to meet there in thirty minutes, then walk to Brinn’s office.

“I’m headed out. Meeting Jayne for dinner.” I stand in the doorway of his office. He hasn’t looked at me all day, not after shouting some heated words about me buying Zach’s scooter.

“How you getting there?” His face is impassive as our eyes meet. My car, still in the shop, won’t be ready until tomorrow and he picked me up and brought me to work this morning. Jayne’s food invitation comes at a perfect time. Avoiding him is the right move. It’s time to start laying the foundation for my exit. His anger at today’s events is a clear indication that we’re getting too attached. My one simple goal is to exit from all this on a high note, leaving warm memories in my wake.

“I’m walking. It’s just down the street.”

“I’ll give you a lift.” He closes a file and straightens the folders on his desk.

“I can walk. You stay here and get caught up.” Because of being short staffed and our unexpected trip south, he’s even further behind on recruiting for a mechanic and a pilot, his Ph.D. application, and the books.

“I need a break from these books.” He stands then comes toward me. I step away from the door, out of reach. He flicks off the light and gestures for me to lead the way.

“Avoiding the books seems to be going around.” I think of Jayne. “I can take on some of that for you.” I hope he sees it as the peace offering it is.

“I might do that actually. I seem to have lost the drive for some of this.” He gestures to the building, looks at me, and snaps his mouth closed. As if he forgot he’s mad at me.

I want to touch him, run my hand down his arm, and give him comfort of any sort. Lately, he’s become more disenchanted with the business and particularly in the runaround he’s been getting from Mark. But I also want to punch some sense into him and knock his bad mood right out of him. He has so much going for him yet only sees one thing.

Because I’m torn on which one he deserves the most, I do neither.

We walk out of the office in silence. Perhaps it the stress of the heavy quiet but I find my patience is thin. I’m not the sort to tiptoe around stuff. Not anymore. To do so rubs me, leaving me raw as if I’m covered in hives.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say. He won’t look at me. His jaw is set. I imagine if I move closer I’ll hear his teeth grinding.

I’m the one who should be mad. Telling me what I can and can’t buy.

“Did you hear me? I said, ‘thank you.’”

“I heard.” He sounds as if he’s pushing out the words between his teeth.

“Well you don’t have to be rude,” I mumble and reconsider kicking him in the shin.

I wait for Brinn to lock the hangar and to check and double check to make sure all the doors are secure. The evening is cool and behind the building, the fading sun waits to dip into the waters of the Atlantic. I stretch my arms over my head and entertain the idea of riding my bike to the beach for some exercise, once dinner is over. Brinn finishes his checking routine and gestures for me to lead the way to his truck. An idea takes root.

He opens the passenger door of his truck and offers his hand to help me in. So sweet. Chivalry at its finest in this one. I make use of his hand because the lift helps and I know touching me makes him horny, even something this simple. He slams my door as I reach across the space to pull up the lock and push open the door for him.

He gets in with heavy movements and sighs. “Why do you even need the scooter?”

“I told you about the ports, and the scooter will be fun.”

“Until you’re dead on the road and then the fun will be over.” He puts a hand on the steering wheel and turns to me.

His worry is sweet, and looking at his face, with his concerned eyes, makes me hot for him. I scan the parking lot and buildings. The security lights are off and the area is void of cars except for his.

“Remember what I said about having some fun? Spontaneity and all that?”

“Yeah, but buying a scooter is not being spontaneous.”

“I’m not talking about the scooter.” I climb up on the seat, pull my skirt up to my thighs, the part opening to reveal my hip, and I step across, straddling his lap. I ease down, facing him, and tuck my skirt around us but have it raised high enough so that my panties are pressed against his jeans.

“Oh,” he says and wraps his hands around my waist.

“We have thirty minutes before Jayne will get to the restaurant. Knowing her, we really have forty-five.”

I work the buttons down his shirt while I press a soft kiss to his mouth. I flick my tongue out and lick his top lip before deepening the kiss and bringing my tongue to meet his.

He pulls me close; his hands come to rest cupping my rear, pushing me harder against his crotch.

“Have you ever had sex in a truck?” I ask when we break the kiss. Our faces are close so I whisper.

“Uh, yeah. Isn’t that where every high school kid has sex?” He laughs and I pull back to look at him.

“Is it? Feel like having sex in a truck again? I can take you back to your high school days.”

“No, thanks.” He leans forward and kisses me briefly. “Wait. Are you saying you want to have sex, here? Right now?”

I shrug, press my chest to his, and kiss his neck.

“Come on, Josie. You really don’t want to do that.”

I sit back; widening the space between us, making it larger than it’s been since I straddled him moments ago. “What did you think I was hinting at here?”

He shrugs. “I thought a little slap and tickle, maybe.”

“You don’t want to have sex? Are you that mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you and yes, I want to have sex with you, all the time. Of all the places we could do it, my truck never crossed my mind.”

“You’re not mad at me?” I raise a brow to emphasize my skepticism.

“No, I’m worried about you. I can see you gettin’ hurt on that scooter and it makes me feel—”

“Helpless?”

He shrugs.

“Sex in your truck would make you feel better. Let’s do it.” I unsnap his jeans and ease the zipper down as I wag my eyebrows at him.

“Don’t you remember what it was like? It was all elbows and assholes in high school. It can’t be much prettier now.”

“I’ve never had sex in a car or a truck.”

“What? You?”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Just because I propositioned you with this whole no-strings deal means I’ve had sex everywhere?”

“No, I mean... I just assumed—”

“You know what they say about assuming.” I lean back against the steering wheel and cross my arms over my chest.

“It’s just that you’re so adventurous and I figured your Texas boyfriend at least. He sounded like the type to...never mind.” He reaches for me but I slap his hand away.

“Beau always wanted to do it in his dojo; you know, all those mirrors and all. The artist I dated always wanted to use media like edible paints and food, and this other guy—”

“You’re killing the mood here.” His hands are on either side of me, gripping the steering wheel, and he shifts in his seat.

“You killed the mood when you called me a slut.”

“I did not call you a slut—” He stares at me.

“Oh, I’m sorry. When you
assumed
I was a slut.” I emphasize assumed because of the whole equating him to being an asshole and level my gaze right back at him.

Brinn leans in, trapping me between his arms and body. “It only takes one person to have all those experiences with, Josie, not a dozen. Just you and
one
guy. I figured that since you were so adventurous with me you surely were this way with someone else. It’s who you are. I pretty much figured I wasn’t going to bring anything new to the table.” He finishes with a kiss to my chin before slowly working his way across my jawline.

“But you are. I’m stretching my boundaries. Trying new things with you.” I shift to expose my throat and when he kisses the hollow between my neck and collarbone, I shiver.

“Well then, by all means, let’s do it in my truck.” He lifts up and I help him pull his jeans and tighty-whiteys off his hips. When he settles back, he pulls my T-shirt over my head and sucks in a breath as he stares at my breasts. I have new henna art that peeks between my breasts and reaches up and over each one. It’s a delicate vine of filigree that leads a path down past my belly button.

“Jesus, you’re amazing,” he whispers and kisses a flower that rests on my right boob.

“Do you want to know?” I run my hands up his back and into his hair.

“What?” he mumbles.

“How many guys I’ve been with?”

Brinn looks at me, his eyes cloudy with passion. “The number is irrelevant. The memory is the key.” He moves his hand to my inner thigh and pulls my panties to the side.

We press together with need and desire for each other, craving one another’s touch. In the spirit of adventure, we ignore the elbows that collide with the driver side window and a knee that knocks the shifter. When he enters me, it’s with an immediacy I’ve felt since I first set eyes on him and I arch back and cry out his name, pressing into the horn.

But the honking is just a sound, background noise that doesn’t interrupt our purpose. Being together is chirping birds and butterflies, volcanic eruptions and hurricanes. When he touches me, the world goes soft and all I know is him. Where he is, his breathing, the gruff sounds of pleasures he makes, and the taste of him on my lips is imprinted on my soul. Between us there are no rules or expectations. He wants me as I want him and I want him in ways I never understood possible. I want this. I want right now, and when this is over, I will be looking forward to tomorrow when I’ll want him again. Being with him is easy.

I collapse against him, our timing in sync, and my body pulses with satisfaction as little goose bumps consume me.

“Are you cold?” He wraps his arms around me, enveloping me into his warmth.

“No, I’m perfect.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I won’t buy the scooter,” I whisper.

He rests his forehead against mine. “Thank you.” He kisses the tip of my nose before moving to nuzzle my neck.

I giggle and rub against him knowing it will make him crazy.

“Are you hungry?” I ask, leaving the interpretation up to him.

Jayne is my go-to girl. She opens at noon on Wednesdays but is coming in an hour early so we can have the place uninterrupted and I can search for just the right dress to wow Brinn.

I tap on the lightly frosted glass door of her shop, the Daily Mirror
,
while eating a bean burrito. The plaza where Jayne’s shop is located also houses an organic grocery store and cafe with outdoor seating and as I scarf down my non-organic, not wheat, made with lard lunch, I make sure to slurp the oversized soft drink that accompanied it, extra loud. Brinn is out of the office until this afternoon, but I don’t want to take the chance that he or Mark will come in earlier than expected and give me shit about my time out of the office. So I multitask.

Jayne opens the door, lets me in, and closes it behind me. The closed sign, decorated to look like a cute ETSY-style price tag, swings and thumps against the glass. Her shop is a clever mix of posh and artsy. It isn’t overly crowded with racks, but clothes are arranged so that their colors play a part in the decor. This is where she shines. Half the store is consignment pieces from the fashion elite of Florida that Jayne caters to and does custom shopping for. The other half of the store is designed for off-the-rack fashion that Jayne travels overseas to purchase. Not fashion that comes from a French runway, though there is some of that, but beautifully ornate yet simple saris that she displays as evening gowns, plaids from Scotland, kimonos from Asia, and leather from Italy. Unique pieces and fabric that make me want to run my hands over them and revel in their satiny touch or gossamer lightness.

“Hallo, lovely,” Jayne says and kisses each of my cheeks once. “Thanks for seeing me home safely the other night.” We’d spent another Wednesday night enjoying two-for-one drinks for ladies only at the Deck
.
Pippa included.

“Of course. Thanks for doing this.” I hand her a pastry box from her favorite bakery. She flips open the lid, moans, and rewards me with a large smile.