Hook Up (A Bad Boy Sports Romance) Read online

  He lifted his hand to his forehead, clearly frustrated with me, but something told me he wasn’t as upset as he made out to be. “I’m not gonna stand here and let you carry all that. Plus the tow truck will be here any minute now. You unload what you have and set aside whatever is fragile. Those can go in behind your seat. I’ll pack the rest in the trunk.”

  “Great!”

  I got to work sorting out stuff. Really, all I had were two banged up old suitcases of clothes, four medium-sized stackable plastic containers, two framed pieces of my artwork and a cardboard poster tube. That, my purse, and the food I’d packed. God, it was pathetic. He was right. That was all I had. That was my life.

  I’d promised him I wouldn’t cry so I took a deep breath. I leaned the framed pictures against the side of the car and placed the food bag on the hood, passing him the rest of the stuff one by one. He made each trip with his arms full and got the big stuff put away in three trips to his trunk. Nothing seemed too heavy for him. Then again, he was a jock.

  “These two picture frames are all that’s going in the car?”

  “Yes. I can grab something from the suitcase to wrap the corners so they don’t scratch your interior.”

  “Not to worry. I’ve got something.” He was carrying them over when he stopped and looked at them closely then turned back to me. “Okay. Dumb question. Don’t get mad, but why would you transport these pictures all the way to New Orleans when you could just replace them at a Walmart when you get there?”

  For the sake of not losing it, I simply answered with, “I painted those.”

  He laughed as though it was a joke. I was rearing to throat punch him until he finally said, “You painted these. I don’t even know if I can believe that, darlin’. These look like still shots. You really did these?”

  Because he was just ignorant about art, I didn’t end up throat punching him after all. “Yes. I really did paint these. You’re a jock who hasn’t seen much art, so I’ll give you some slack. This style of painting is called photorealism. It’s where we study a photograph and try to recreate it as close to identical as possible using artist tools and techniques.”

  “Wow. It’s amazing. You had to have spent a ton of time on those.”

  “I sure did. It’s painstaking work, but I love it.”

  “Where did you learn to do all that?”

  “Art class. It’s the only thing I liked about high school.”

  “Well you’re great at it.”

  “Thanks, but it doesn’t pay the bills. It’s just a hobby.”

  “You’d have to have serious talent and skill to finish one of those. Hey, wait…” he walked over to the passenger side rear door and put them behind my seat, then he pulled out his wallet. “What do they usually cost?”

  “These are not for sale, buddy.”

  “Geez, that’s not what I mean. Here. Take a look at this.” He passed me a photo with what was most likely his family. “What would you charge to do a painting of this family photo? My mom would love something like this for Christmas.”

  I looked at the picture and realized the best decision I’d probably made all year was accepting a ride from this guy. He was a normal dude. Standing there beside his parents and what was undoubtedly his sister and brothers, he had to be normal. They all looked happy and well-adjusted. The polar opposite of my reality.

  I passed the picture back to him. “To be perfectly honest, Chris, you couldn’t afford it if I told you.”

  6

  Chris

  “Maybe you should spend less time sizing up people and more time just giving a simple answer. Hell, you don’t even know me and you’re telling me I can’t afford stuff?” I think I was at the point where I was ready to call the whole thing off. There seemed to be no limit to this chick’s rudeness.

  “Look, I didn’t mean to piss you off, okay?”

  Well at least she had enough self-awareness to see she’d actually offended me this time.

  “Then what the heck did you mean to do?”

  “My art is a hobby, okay? I’ve never made anything and sold it.”

  “Why? That mouth of yours has got to be perfect for sales.”

  “Cut the sarcasm, Chris. I never tried selling any of my work.”

  “Why the hell not? You’d probably make enough to have a decent car if you did.”

  “I’m not good enough. Like I told you, I just do this for the enjoyment I get out of painting.”

  “Okay. All I’ll say to that is whenever you change your mind, you’ll be rolling in dough. And you can quote me on it when I’m right.” I checked my rearview mirror and saw one of Dad’s tow trucks. “Great. They’re here. I’ll give him the rundown on things.” I paused and smiled, clearing my throat to get her attention. “You just sit there and look pretty…your words.”

  I didn’t give her a chance to answer me. I hopped out and gave the worker the address she’d mentioned, just before she got out of the car with her purse.

  “How much do I owe you?” she asked the driver. He was new in my Dad’s company so I didn’t know his name.

  “It’s taken care of,” I told her.

  “No, no, no. I pay my own way.” She dug into her purse. “How much?”

  I nodded to the guy and he headed back to get the car hitched up. “Jesus, Jo. You’re mouthy, you’re feisty and you’re getting under my skin. Can you at least not be stubborn too? I said it’s fine. Let’s go.”

  “I hate owing people.”

  “Did I ever say anything about you owing me anything? You don’t owe me shit. Now get in the car and let’s go while we still have a shot at making it to Louisiana before tomorrow night.”

  “Okay.” She looked back at her car as the driver hooked up the chains and I was almost sure she’d be crying anytime now. “I’ll miss that car.”

  I shook my head. Who the hell knew why. Still, I didn’t ask that out loud. For all I knew that rust bucket had sentimental value. She’d said her mother died and I wasn’t about to walk into another blunder like that. Instead, I stepped out of the car and took a few pictures of it with my phone before getting back in. “I’ll text you these pics when we stop for gas, okay? Then you can do one of those photorealism paintings of it, just for fun.”

  Awww hell.

  I did it again.

  She started bawling again. I found her the last of the paper napkins my mom had packed, and I drove off. I had to admit, the crying was slightly more appealing than her mouthing off.

  I stopped for gas in Junction, at the station opposite where my Dad’s shop was located. It was about five hours later, and Dad had promised Mom he’d be home for dinner tonight, so I was sure he wouldn’t be around. Damn straight I wasn’t going to stop there if he was still working. Not with Jo in the car. He’d be grilling her nonstop and asking if we were a couple. Thankfully, it was after eight-thirty. The sun was setting and the shop was already locked up tight.

  After I had filled up the tank, I ducked my head in to check on Jo. Poor thing. All that weeping had her tuckered out. She fell asleep about twenty minutes after I’d driven off from the spot where her jalopy broke down, and had not woken up or said a peep the whole time. It kind of reminded me of taking little Chandler out for drives last year when he was one.

  It was what I liked to call a win-win.

  I hesitated about waking her up, but as I was planning to drive for another five-hour stretch, and as women usually hated peeing by the side of the road, I tapped her shoulder and woke her up. She slowly opened her eyes, jolting a bit when she saw me. After a second she remembered me and whose car she was in.

  “Oh, hey,” she said, stretching her arms as far as they’d reach inside my car.

  “Hey. I stopped for gas. You might want to use the facilities while we’re here.”

  She looked around. “Where are we?”

  “Junction.”

  She grabbed her bag and got out. “Wow, already?”

  “Yes. And I’m guessing you�
�re fine if we keep driving tonight. I slept in so I can probably go another long stretch before I need to rest.”

  “Sure. I’ll be right back.”

  She hurried off with her purse tucked tightly under her arm and disappeared inside for a bit, then she emerged again and went around the side of the building where the restrooms were. Locking up, I went in to pay. I figured I’d use the facilities myself, so I asked the cashier for the key to unlock the men’s room and went around back to relieve myself. She stepped out of the other door when I got there.

  Christ, I’d forgotten I’d been sitting next to one of the sexiest ladies I’d seen in a long time. Seeing her there almost got my chest all wound up tight, God knows why. And I had to turn to the side a little and adjust my dick in my pants just to make sure it wasn’t pointing right at her.

  “Hey. Uh, the door’s locked.” I handed her the car keys. “Be there in a second.”

  She took them and kept on walking. “Cool.”

  I did my business, washed my hands, and cursed my mouth off when I got around front to give the keys back.

  My car was gone.

  Jo was gone too.

  “Jesus fuck!” I looked in every direction, then I frantically felt my pockets for my phone. No fucking phone. It was in the car. “I’m gonna kill the bitch.”

  I ran inside in my panic and begged the gas attendant to call 9-1-1. He was already dialing when Jo rolled up from God knows where, driving my fucking car.

  “Woman have you lost your fucking mind?” I screamed when she stopped and rolled down the window with the widest grin on her face.

  “Can’t take a joke, I see,” she said, revving the engine like she was fixing to drive off again.

  “Turn. Off. My. Car.”

  “Ooh, who needs to lighten up now?”

  I may have been seeing red right then as I pulled open the driver side door. I reached in and unbuckled her seat belt before turning the key in the ignition and shutting off the engine. Then I gripped her arm. “Get out. Now.”

  “Jesus. Relax already. I was just messing with you.”

  “Two rules. One, you do not mess with a stranger’s car when he’s doing his business. Two, you do not, under any circumstances, ever, drive this car. You don’t drive off, hell you don’t even touch my stereo.”

  “I thought I wasn’t a stranger anymore?”

  “Don’t get smart with me. You know what I mean.”

  “By the way, that was more than two rules. Oh yeah…you’re a jock. You probably can’t count for shit.”

  Now that I had my car keys, I returned inside and made sure the cops weren’t already on their way here. Given the mental state she’d just put me in by sneaking off with my car like that, I was pretty sure I’d end up getting arrested if Jo said another word.

  She was in the front passenger seat by the time I got back. Certain that if I said anything more I’d end up shouting my lungs out, I silently started the car and drove off.

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Not another word.” I said calmly, cutting her off.

  Inside, I wasn’t calm at all. I was agitated as fuck. If I didn’t have a sister of my own, I’d have unpacked her shit back there in the middle of the gas station lane and driven off. So I wasn’t up for her making a sound. Not until I talked myself out of it. She had to have gotten a clue about where my head was at, because she folded up a blazer she’d probably pulled out of her suitcase when she went joyriding with my car—my universe. She rested it on the door beside her and leaned her head on it, closing her eyes.

  At this point I was ready to drive all night and all day to make it to Baton Rouge and to get her the hell out of my life.

  7

  Josephine

  I woke up when Chris stopped the car for gas again. I had really gone and done it when I took his car as a joke, but I honestly didn’t think he would have gotten this upset. When he’d said he didn’t want to hear another word from me, I chose not to push my luck. He’d gotten a look in eyes that told me in no uncertain terms that I’d overstayed my welcome, and as I really didn’t want to be stuck in the same predicament as when we were back at my beat up Chevy-Ford, I simmered down and used the time to sleep it off.

  He came around to my side of the car after he paid and opened my door. I was almost scared to ask him what time it was and where we were. I wasn’t about to say a word, actually.

  “We’re in Beaumont. Restrooms are over that way, but if you can hold it, I’ll stop at that motel across the street.” I looked at him, confused. “Look I’ve been driving for ten hours straight and I’m tired as hell. I’ll just rest for a few hours and we can get back on the road again.”

  I nodded and pulled out my phone. It was almost two in the morning. By my estimation it was only another three hours to Baton Rouge. It didn’t make sense to stop at a hotel. I was going to offer to drive the rest of the way as I was well rested. Ten hours of sleep tends to do that for a person.

  “Before you say anything the answer is no. You’re not driving my car. You lost that privilege when you took it without permission.”

  I opened my mouth to tell him it was just a joke, but he shushed me.

  “And don’t get all testy that we’re getting a room with only a three-hour drive left. I know my limits and I’m goddamned tuckered out. I’m too tall to be comfortable sleeping in the car. Plus it’s my car and my rules. So what’ll it be, restroom or motel bathroom?”

  “Motel,” I finally said after narrowing my eyes and glaring at him for a few seconds.

  Putting things in perspective, we were more than seventy-five percent of the way to my destination and I had barely moved a muscle. He didn’t ask me to put money towards gas and I didn’t wear my eyes out driving. The bottom line was he really did do me a big favor, and I was grateful, even if I probably wouldn’t ever tell him that in so many words. I got in the car. Mr. White Knight shut my door and got back in on his side.

  Starting the car, he drove off and was in the motel parking lot less than a minute later. He paid for the room, drove up to the door, and started unpacking my stuff. Now I was the one panicking.

  “What are you doing? Are you planning on leaving me here as soon as I fall asleep or something?”

  He pulled out my two suitcases, threw his duffel bag over his shoulder and looked at me. “I should, but I won’t.”

  “So why are you unpacking my shit?”

  “We’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.”

  “Stop trying to be funny.”

  “I’m not. We’re parking my Mustang in a dive motel, little lady. Do I look like I want someone throwing a brick through my car window just so they can try and steal you worldly possessions?”

  “That’s a little paranoid, don’t you think?”

  “You know I never thought I’d have some strange mouthy lady drive off with me car either, yet she went and did that.”

  I looked away. “Fine. Carry on.”

  I waited outside the room door until he took everything inside. I had offered to help but he refused, harping on about it being easier to just do it himself. My bet was his mom and dad raised him that way, to be the guy who opened doors for women, and lugged their shit around, and even to stop on the side of the road and help out a stranger. I was kind of regretful that I’d soured his generosity by driving off with his car, even if it was just for kicks and to see him sweat bullets.

  He came out one more time to lock the doors and then he motioned for me to get inside.

  “Thank you, Chris.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. The only room this place had available is a single queen with a sofa. Since you mentioned you weren’t tired, I hope you don’t mind if I take the bed.

  “I don’t mind. Your room, your rules.”

  “You’re a quick study when you want to be, aren’t you?”

  I scowled and went over to get a change of clothes in my suitcase. “Do you need to use the bathroom?”

  He sat on the edge o
f the bed and flopped back, kicking his shoes off. “Naw. I’m fine.”

  “I’ll be in there. I need a shower.”

  He grumbled something and rolled onto his side. I took a quick shower, got dressed in the bathroom and he was fast asleep when I got out. Finding my phone charger in my bag, I plugged it into the wall beside the sofa and stretched out. Damn, it felt good to stretch my legs. Chris let out a soft snore for a second, then he quieted down again. I looked over at him, The guy really was a white knight of sorts. And I was probably the one who exhausted the hell out of him. I decided I’d find a way to make it up to him.

  Making sure he was really asleep. I got up and walked over to the nightstand where he’d thrown his wallet… but not his keys. I smirked a bit at that. He wasn’t letting those keys off his person again, not when I was still around. I picked up his wallet, returned to the sofa, and after about a minute, I put it back.

  Shit.

  His arm snapped out from the side of his body and grabbed mine before I got to put his wallet back where I’d found it.

  “And what the hell are you doing now?” he asked, taking the wallet from me and checking through it.

  “Nothing. I swear. See for yourself. Nothing’s missing.”

  He did a thorough search before he relaxed. “Okay nothing’s missing.”

  “That’s what I just told you.”

  He grabbed my wrist again. “So you’re just a snoop, huh doll?”

  “Maybe.”

  His eyes grazed down my body, the way he looked at me when we were back at the saloon. “One sexy snoop…you’re lucky I’m exhausted right now, or I might ravage that body and taste every inch of you on this here bed.”

  That gravelly sleepy voice of his got me going. I think my panties were soaked right through in two seconds flat, and soon I wished he wasn’t so exhausted now either.

  “Don’t go doing that,” he said out of the blue. I hadn’t moved an inch so I had no clue what he was talking about.