Chapter 55
A couple minutes later, Lawton's hot rod squealed into the driveway, looking only slightly better than it had the night he'd taken a crowbar to it.
He'd obviously replaced the headlights and both side-view mirrors, but the car body itself was still a mess, with a cracked windshield and big, ugly dents all over the hood.
I was standing near the trunk of my own car, holding the giant serving bowl of salad with both hands. Resting by my feet were the two desserts, sitting in their boxes on the hard concrete.
Breathlessly, I watched Lawton get out of his car, leaving the engine running, a low rumble that carried over the cool air.
Lawton looked just like I remembered – hot as sin, but distinctly underdressed in tattered jeans and a white T-shirt. The shirt had dark grease stains down the front and sides, like he'd been leaning over an engine or changing a stubborn tire.
The jeans had similar streaks, possibly handprints, just above his knees, where the fabric was torn and worn to the point where I saw the hint of bare skin showing through.
Whether his bare arms had similar streaks, I had no idea. Between the outlines of his muscles and intricate tattoos, I was having a hard time seeing much else.
Silently, I drank in the sight of him, watching him watch me as he moved with the kind of intensity that should've made me run.
He stopped and looked down at the boxes by my feet. "We taking those?"
I nodded.
Wordlessly, he picked them up and strode toward the passenger's side of his car. Shifting the boxes to one arm, he opened the car door with his right hand, and set the boxes on the floor just behind the passenger's seat.
Salad in hand, I joined him. He held the car door open while I climbed inside and settled the salad onto my lap.
Before he closed my car door, I looked up. Our eyes met and held. It was hard to breathe, much less speak.
But somehow, my mouth opened, and words tumbled out. "Boy, are you gonna be sorry."
He grinned. "Not a chance."
Looking at him, I felt my mouth go just a little bit dry. When he closed my door and walked around the front of the car, his smile was still there.
Reluctantly, I felt myself smile too, just barely, but enough to ease some of the tension.
Our conversation on the phone had been brief to the point of rudeness, on my part, anyway. But he'd come. Just like he'd promised. And obviously, he'd taken my words seriously, maybe too seriously for his own good.
I'd asked him – no, begged him, actually – to drop everything and come right now. Twenty seconds into my sorry excuse for an explanation, he was on the way.
I watched him settle into the driver's seat, all long legs and sinewy muscle.
"I wasn't kidding," I said. "This is gonna suck." I glanced down at his clothes and winced. "Especially for you."
He shrugged. "I think I can handle it."
"That's what you think."
He flicked his head toward the street. "Which way?"
I gave him general directions to my Dad's house, and he backed out onto the street. When he hit the accelerator, the car's engine roared, and the seats vibrated with its raw power. Good thing he hadn't taken a crowbar to anything under the hood.
I settled into my seat, pretending that my eyes weren't starving for a good, long look at him. I tried looking straight ahead. Then I tried looking out my own window. But over and over, my gaze kept drifting back to where he sat, close enough to touch, but miles away in all the ways that mattered.
We were going fast, well above the speed limit. Houses and mailboxes passed in a blur as he navigated the nearly empty streets.
His dark tousled hair framed his chiseled face as he watched the road. He had one hand draped loosely over the steering wheel and the elbow of his other arm resting on the center console.
"So," he said, giving me a sideways glance, "this wasn't exactly the beating I expected."
On the phone, I'd given him only the briefest of details, telling him I needed a ride, and I needed a distraction. I hadn't lied then, and I wasn't going to lie now.
Whether we were together or not, I was done with secrets, and done with surprises. Besides, this thing would go a whole lot better if he knew up front what he was getting into.
"Trust me," I said, "by the end of the day, you'll be wishing for the other kind."
"I don't care. I'm just glad you called."
"Oh, that's what you say now," I said.
"Ask me later," he said. "I'll say the same thing."
I still couldn't believe I'd caught him at home. "You didn't have plans today?" It was a holiday, after all.
He shrugged. "I had invitations. None I wanted."
"Yeah," I said. "I know the feeling."
Given the choice between having someone handcuff me in a basement or spending a single holiday Loretta-style, it was no contest.
I'd take the basement.
I leaned back and closed my eyes, feeling the vibration of the seat course through me. Oh, Lawton would regret this, alright. Maybe he didn't think so now, but he would. A couple hours with Loretta, and he'd be begging for a nice crowbar to the face.