“Sure.”
“You have enough money?” His eyes look me up and down. “You need new clothes? Anything, just ask. You know that.” He assures me, but I hate asking for so much from him. I know he can afford it, but he pays my tuition, my car, my rent, practically my mom’s rent with the extra. My dad has never once lied to me. As hurtful as the truth was to hear, he never skirted around a rumor or anything in his life. I’m not about to deceive him and take more money from him to put in the hands of my mother, that would be dishonest. I already have guilt for giving her part of my monthly allowance.
“I know, Dad. Thanks.” I smile and he wraps his arms around my shoulders. Inhaling his scent one more time, I back away and open the door.
“I love you, kid.” He places his pointer finger under my chin and brings it up. “Since the day you were born.” He winks and a small smile begins to form across my lips.
“I love you, too.” I step out of my dad’s house more confused than when I walked in. He’s living proof that stereotypes are gray. No one would believe that Greg Thompson, lead guitarist of The Raptures, was sweet and kind. He’s known for the fights he gets into, trashing hotel rooms, and sleeping with every groupie that lines up outside his door. But with his out-of-wedlock daughter, he’s gentle, caring, and loves with his whole heart.
Pulling out of his driveway, I’m alarmed when another car’s headlights shine in my view. When I stop, wanting to check if it’s Hank or Len, his band mates, I spot a bleach-blonde not much older than myself circling through. She catches me and slams on her brakes, shooting me a death stare before speeding up the paved path.
Some things will never change.
Driving the hour back to campus, flickers of Rob’s multiple personalities flash in my brain. He’s so nice and attentive sometimes. Then one word or movement and it’s like I’m back to square one with him. I’m not sure I want the drama in my life, but for some reason he lures me to him. As though he’s weaving a web around me and I can’t free myself from his grip. Worse is that I’m not sure I want to.
I’VE SEARCHED MY brain all night to figure out how to get Paige to forgive me. It was an asshole move and I knew it the minute I left that stage. The problem is, when anyone tugs at my heart, it’s a reflex to drive that person away. For some reason though, with Paige, I give a shit what she thinks of me.
After we played our set, I left Aces and came back home with the hope she’d be sprawled on the couch watching television. She wasn’t, so I holed myself up in my room, flipping through channels on the television until I heard her car, followed by her footsteps through the back door and trudging up the stairs. Her shadow was visible outside my door, and I hoped for a moment she’d knock, I’d apologize, and we could go back to the budding friendship we started. Instead she continued down the hall and her door silently shut. I lay awake most of the night, rehashing all the reasons to stay away from our escalating flirtatious relationship. To distance myself from her, let her realize the asshole I am.
When the shower starts up, I escape my room and go downstairs. Dex and Chrissy are still sleeping soundly after staying out most of the night with Sadie and Brady. I scramble her eggs runny like she prefers, toast a few pieces of bread and place the plate on the table with a glass of orange juice. Grabbing a piece of paper and pen, I jot down a small note, and disappear to my garage.
Why can’t I allow her to believe in the false persona I mask for everyone else?
With it still being so early, I position my earbuds in and crank up Linkin Park. Rolling under my car, I double-check she’s good for racing tonight. Drag racing has been my release since last year. You’d think the opposite, that after the accident with Carly, I’d never purposely speed, but the high speeds and winning, distract me until the end. The control I manifest with the steering wheel in my palms when I cross that finish line, and the fact my body is intact pisses me off. My therapist says it’s normal, some lame excuse of a survivor’s guilt. She assures me it will end, but I desperately want the imprisonment of my happiness to remain with me for the rest of my life.
Drowning in my problems, I’m abruptly yanked from under the car. Before I practically roll down the damn driveway, my feet skid the wheels to a stop. “What the fuck?” I stand up, tearing out my earbuds, and scowl to the responsible party.
There she stands, smirking while she taps the white piece of paper against her lips. “So.”
As happy I am to see her denying the smile that wants to break from her lips and the fact she’s about to forgive me for last night elates me, the other Rob perches strong on my shoulder to squash it.
I trail back up the driveway, with my roller tucked under my grip. “So? You almost killed me.” I toss the cart against the cement and grab a wrench.
“Deservedly so.” I catch the shrug of her shoulders on the way back over to the car. Opening the hood, I distract myself from her long legs.
“Paige, I’m an ass. What can I say, except that I’ll be one again?” She reads my note word for word and I hide the smirk that wants to break. “Not very apologetic if you ask me.” She raises her eyebrows and sits down in the white plastic chair, propping her foot up, hugging her leg into her body.
From the corner my eye, I spot her upper thigh exposed now and I shift my stance to adjust myself. “I said I was sorry last night, and you still walked away.”
She stands up and leans over the car. “I was mad. I’m not a very good talker when I get angry.” She places her hand on my hand. “Thank you for breakfast.”
I face her; amazed she’s going to let this go. Not dig into it twenty times over. “That’s it?” I ask her and she smiles, nodding her head.
“Yep.” She begins walking out of the garage and suddenly this rush of wanting her near overtakes me.
“Wait!” I call out and she spins around. Jesus, her nipples are practically popping out on display from the morning chill in the air. Breaking the distance, I try to keep my eyes focused on her face. “What are you doing tonight?” Not sure why the question even comes out, but it does.
Her feet shuffle, and my eyes remain fixed on her lips. Her tongue snakes out and I’m positive my dick just saluted. But not wanting to check, I patiently wait for her to answer. “Um . . .” She stalls and can I really blame her.
“I swear to you, I’ll make up for last night.” I reach for her hand but she wraps it around her stomach. Shit, there are her tits again, begging for my attention.
“Breakfast was enough, thank you.” She nods, twisting around and disappears into the house.
I don’t go after her; instead I stand in the driveway regretting every decision I’ve made when it comes to her. When I finally come back to present, I step into the garage and throw the socket wrench at the wall. “Fuck,” I mutter. Pacing back and forth along the length of my Mustang, I contemplate what the hell to do. Maybe a drive out to my hometown, talk to my mom would do the trick. Something to confirm the nightmare I made and convince me to stay the hell away from Paige. Leave her intact for someone else to love instead of the torment I’m sure to drag her through.
Noticing Dex’s truck blocking my way, I sit on the chair, my leg bouncing a mile a minute. Fuck, what am I supposed to do? I want her to come with me, watch me race.
“You’re thinking pretty damn hard there.” Brady runs up the driveway, panting.
I roll my eyes at the sweat dripping down his face. “Did you turn the wrong way?” I don’t peer up to him, and he walks over to the fridge and grabs a water. “Help yourself.”