“Sweetheart. No one talks to Smith.” Tawny lays a hand on my shoulder and gives me a sympathetic squeeze. “The Beckett boys are good for one thing. Fucking. Okay, two things—fucking and fighting. But they don’t date anyone, and they sure as hell don’t talk.”
It’s not true, though I don’t bother to correct the women. Smith and I have talked. I’m the new girl, though, so I know I’ll just hear how I don’t know enough yet. It’s like the script writes itself—I can almost predict it.
Tawny sighs and picks up a magazine near her. “I sure wish I could find out how well they are in bed. I’m far too old for them though. I don’t think they’re into cougars.”
Felicia laughs. “Please. I saw the way that guy at Foley’s was hitting on you. Remember him? The black-haired one who barely had enough facial hair to indicate he was out of puberty?”
They both cackle and talk about him, the Beckett Boys forgotten. But my stomach is unsettled now, uneasy. Am I really na?ve as to think that maybe what Smith and I are doing is different? Or is this just me being blind?
Sometimes I can see every emotion on his face. Other times, I can’t tell a damn thing he’s thinking. Hot and cold.
The rest of my shift crawls by. I’m plagued by doubts, feeling a little silly, yet also trying to convince myself that I know what I know. I’m not just a booty call to Smith. There’s more between us than that. What that “more” is, I don’t know. But it’s there. Either that, or he’s the world’s greatest actor. Because the emotion in our last kiss was so strong it almost blew me over.
At seven, I wrap up my shift, tired down to my bones, and get in my car. The morning sun is peeking over the horizon, and the trees are awash in a golden glow. There aren’t a lot of cars on the road, just tree-lined avenues and quiet houses waking for the day. Rock Bridge is a lovely town, and for the first time, I let myself really start to observe it for what it is.
Really, does it matter what Smith and I are right now? We’ve only known each other a few weeks. I should stop hyper focusing, overanalyzing, and just let it be what it is. Enjoy his company, his kisses, the way I feel when I’m with him.
Smith isn’t perfect—he’s surly and abrasive at times, hard to read, and his temper is quite strong. But he’s also got this vulnerability underneath all of that. His kisses make me feel alive. And God, do I crave him again, despite my best efforts not to. I want him inside me so badly I could scream.
He’s spent the last few days showing me who he is. Slowly dropping his guard, giving me a hint or two about his life, his stresses. What he wants. And every bit of information I get is like a drop of rain on the desert. I soak it up and instantly want more.
I weave my way to my apartment, getting a string of green lights.
I’m in a good place right now. I need to stop being so on edge. Rock Bridge is turning into home for me.
I pull into my parking lot and kill the engine. Lock my car door and head to my apartment. There’s a folded-over note for me taped on my door with no text on the outside. Maybe Smith thanking me for bringing him dinner?
I rip it off and flip it open.
The words are stark and accusing.
I FOUND YOU
I can’t believe that he’s been here.
Roger.
Just thinking his name, just seeing his handwriting, makes me feel like I’m going to be sick.
My hands shake so badly that I drop the note, and it flutters quietly to the ground in front of my feet. Oh God, oh God. I spin around and eye the hallway around me. Empty. My entire body is trembling, and it takes all my effort to bend over and retrieve the note, cramming it into my purse, then walk back to my car.
Every nerve ending has roared to the surface of my skin. I’m just waiting for Roger to jump out and grab me any second. The walk to my car takes a year, and it doesn’t help that I’m feeling lightheaded. It takes me far too long to get the key in my lock, but I finally do and dive into the driver’s seat, locking the car doors and gasping for air.
I’m on autopilot as I pull away from the parking lot. I drive in random patterns for a good half hour, looking to see if anyone is behind me every thirty seconds. I don’t think I’m being tailed, but I’m so scared that I can’t be sure.
Roger is out there somewhere. He knows where I live. He’s found me, and I’m in real danger now, because me running away like that surely angered him beyond reason. I know him—he’s going to make sure I am fully aware of how he feels.
When I’m pretty certain that I’m not being followed, I use GPS to navigate me to Outlaws. I park two blocks down the street on a residential road, then practically run the whole way to Smith’s entrance.
I bang on the door, praying he’s here, glancing around me.