The Set Up (19 page)

From then on, I take my time and focus only on the ride. Once I circle the park I head to Grand Circus Park Garage. The Kales Building conveniently has an underground tunnel to the garage for parking.

In no time, I attach the bike rack to my car, toss my bike on it, and take off.

What I’m going to do when I get to her place, how I’m going to act, I have no idea. The angry thing didn’t work. The friend thing didn’t work. The talking thing went okay, until it didn’t. The only thing that worked great was when our lips connected.

And I can’t stop thinking about it.

I’m so fucked.

Again.

OUT OF THE SADDLE

Charlotte

I’M UNACCOUNTABLY NERVOUS.
Pacing back and forth in my apartment, I look at my watch. It’s twelve thirty-five. I glance toward my bike in the corner. I tell myself it’s not a big deal, but somehow I can’t decide what to do.

Should I?

Shouldn’t I?

Yes.

No.

Oh, I don’t know.

I could make a list of the pros and cons, but that would be stupid.

Putting an end to my fretting, I just decide to do it. Without further thought, I open my door and roll my bike into the hallway. This will help move us out of my apartment quicker, and the lingering memories of his lips on mine won’t keep surfacing like they did the entire night.

The rational side of me knows that I have no reason to be nervous. It’s only a bike ride . . . with Jasper . . . a man I’m attracted to. And it’s only a conversation . . . about where I’ve been for the past twenty years . . . and what I know about that night. Which will inevitably lead to why I’m here. Okay, so maybe I have a valid reason to be nervous.

I try to refocus.

We’ll be outdoors in the heat.

Snacks. I need to pack snacks.

Carrots sticks and orange wedges.

Simple.

Easy.

Yet my fingers fumble with the knife when I pull it from the holder and I cut myself. The bright red blood wells up. I suck my finger and reach in the cabinet above the sink for a Band-Aid. The whisky bottle front and center makes me think of Jasper and I smile.

Finally, I’m back to the task at hand. Once I’ve put the food in chilled bowls, I slip them into my cinch sack and toss in a couple of small water bottles.

Sunscreen. I can’t forget my sunscreen.

Searching the bathroom cabinet, I sigh at the disarray I still haven’t tidied up from when the maintenance man spilled its contents. Tomorrow, I’m marching down to the supervisor’s office and reporting him.

No sunscreen anywhere.

Giving up, I brush my teeth for the tenth time this morning and refuse to look in the mirror. The humidity has my hair doing all sorts of craziness, and all I can do is pull it back or suffer its wrath in the heat.

Feeling frenzied and nervous, I start pacing the small hallway again. Having had enough, I make my way to my bedroom and collapse on my neatly made bed. The complex mess of emotions cascading through me are ones that I know I shouldn’t be allowing myself to feel. For one thing, it’s not like I’m Jasper’s type. I’ve seen the women he’s attracted to. Full, large breasts, endless curves, and very put together. The total and complete opposite of me. Not that I’m insecure or self-doubting, because I’m not, but I am a realist.

Secondly, that kiss happened in the moment and very well could have been a fleeting attraction on both our parts. We were both feeling vulnerable because of Eve’s death.

And thirdly, and most important, I’m here for a reason, and that reason does not include getting tangled up in a relationship that, given my history with men, can only end badly.

Still, no matter how much I try to forget last night, I can’t. The feeling of his hands on my skin—gentle yet rough—is something I want to experience again. The scent of him—cologne and male—is one I can’t wait to smell again. Full lips on mine—soft and inviting—are ones I want, craving more than just a kiss.

One man shouldn’t make any woman feel this way.

How can I explain exactly how he makes me feel?

I can’t.

I’m out of sorts.

Unbalanced.

Lustful.

Wanton.

There’s too much chaos going on in my mind.

I need to relax.

Calm down before he gets here.

Like I said, we are both feeling vulnerable and raw right now, so it’s expected that our emotions would be heightened.

I’m just going to close my eyes for a few minutes.

ROAD RAGE

Jasper

CONTROL IS AN
absolute necessity when driving fast on the road, and there is no other car that applies force to the pavement as directly as the Storm. Whether turning the wheel, accelerating the gas, or stepping on the brake, I am always in direct contact with the road, and therefore I always have control.

Too bad I can’t say the same for my life, which right now seems to be spinning out of control.

A woman has been found murdered on the very site where I am so close to building the factory that will deliver the Storm to the world.

It’s not like I don’t realize how serious it is. I found her body, for fuck’s sake. I can’t get the image out of my head. But it’s not like I was involved with her or had any connection other than the one day, and yes, the one hookup long ago that I barely remember.

What’s really worrying me is the effect this will have on acquiring that land. How long will it delay everything? Will people put the tragedy of the explosion and this together and halt the sale?

Then there’s Charlotte, and the way the guys looked at me at breakfast. I have a whole fuck load of shit on my plate and no idea what is the best way to deal with it or where to start.

Driving through the streets of the old Cass Corridor, I manage to suppress the bad memories of my childhood from surfacing. Sure, the area’s history is a sad cocktail of drugs, prostitution, and crippling poverty. And even though this section of midtown is a shadow of its former self, I can still see the neglect in the thoughtless demolition. However, as I come to a stop in front of Charlotte’s building, I can also spot change and hope for the future.

Then again, her building isn’t the grimy brick front with a dark lobby lit only by streaks of light through cracked windowpanes that I grew up in. Her stairs aren’t rotting, her hallway isn’t a putrid shade of green, the carpet isn’t worn, nor does it smell like piss, and there isn’t the yelling going on that makes me want to cover my ears.

This isn’t the same place where I grew up.

Slowly, I look around as I open the broken lobby door. She’s right—her building isn’t that bad, and aside from the loud bar next door, her neighborhood isn’t that bad either. I’ve done work down here but never saw it as other than the way it had been.

As I take the stairs and look out the windows in the stairwell, I think I might have been a bit harder on her than I needed to be about choosing this area to live in.

Walking down the hallway of her floor, I can’t suppress the smile on my face when I see that her bike is just outside the door. This means she’s planning on coming with me. After my confession last night, I wasn’t exactly sure she would.

I appraise her bike. The style of it tells me she likes a little adventure. It’s a hybrid like mine—made to go from pavement to terrain without a problem.

Not quite ready for this, I give myself the pep talk. This is not a date.

Not.

A.

Date.

Answers.

You’re looking for answers.

That’s all.

You don’t need to be thinking of her in any other way than as someone you used to know. You look only at her face. You definitely don’t watch the way she moves. You don’t need to feel guilty because you fucked her co-worker a long time ago or because you let that same girl blow you the other night. You don’t even remember much about either time anyway. And for fuck’s sake, you don’t need to be thinking about how good this girl would feel wrapped around you.

With that out of the way, I’m feeling clear-headed and focused. Before that changes, I hurry up and knock.

No one answers. I knock again.

Maybe she changed her mind and she isn’t going to come with me after all.

Feeling impatient, I knock one more time.

“Just a minute,” I hear from inside.

The sound of her voice makes me feel desperate to see her.
That’s not a good thing.
I should leave. I really should. I seriously consider it for about a hot minute. Nothing but bad can come out of this. But my feet seem cemented in place and when I hear the click-clack of a lock and it begins to turn, it’s too late.

Slowly the door opens and she comes into view. As soon as she does, the wind is knocked right out of my lungs. She looks a little disheveled but all the more beautiful because of it. Feeling like I’ve been zapped, I’m overwhelmed by the energy between us and it holds me in place. Everything about her is like it used to be—just the sexier, hotter, grown-up version. Her hair is pulled back, but even so, it still looks wild and untamed. She always said her hair was a bother and she just wanted it out of the way. Because I used to really like her hair, it always made me laugh.

I still like her hair, and the fact that she pulled it back because it might be a bother makes me want to laugh now. That, along with the toothpaste on her lip, is just too much. I try to hold back my laughter but fail miserably.

“What?” she asks with mild curiosity.

“Nothing,” I say with a shake of my head. “It’s just I wasn’t sure you’d come with me today.”

She looks at me as if considering her words, and I use this time to study her further. She’s not wearing any makeup and everything about her face screams how gorgeous she is. For no reason at all, my chest tightens.

It doesn’t mean anything.

So what if it took less than 1.4 seconds for that hurricane within me to start batting around. But then that fucking myriad of conflicting emotions starts to mess with my mind and just like that, it’s as if my pep talk never took place. Still, I can handle this. Find out what she knows. And drop her off. Say goodbye—forever. It can’t be that hard.

Stupidly, though, I allow my gaze to drop.