Riptide Affair Read online

  “This may all be moot, anyway,” I say, waving away her question entirely. “I should have left ten minutes ago. If I'm not there, they'll fill my spot in the trial.”

  “Then go,” Kate says, waving me toward the door. “I'll cover for you.

  I perk up at her generous offer. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously,” she nods. “Go.”

  “Holy shit, thank you!” In two seconds flat, I have my purse tucked under my arm and keys in hand. If I leave right now and speed all the way there, I can make it. “Wish me luck!”

  Their voices follow me all the way out to the parking lot.

  “Don't let your vagina go all She Hulk on the place!”

  “Call me later if you need a quick hookup! Or batteries!”

  “Drive safe!”

  Mimi—the red Cavalier I inherited from my mother—is a sauna thanks to this wonderful Missouri heat wave we're having, and it feels like Satan's been rubbing his butt against the cracked leather of my driver's seat all morning. Luckily, I manage to duck inside and peel off my white polo and black shorts without getting singed. Quickly and clumsily, keeping an eye out to make sure no one's in the back parking lot watching me like a perv, I grab my folded blue dress from the passenger seat and pull it over my head. It's simple and cheaply made, but it was a two-dollar Wal-Mart find and I'm damn proud of it. By the time I replace my skid-proof tennis shoes with a pair of ninety-nine cent flip-flops and retie my messy hair into a knot at the top of my head, I'm a sweaty mess but it'll have to do.

  Shooting up a quick prayer to the car gods, I turn the key and my ancient lemon sputters to life on the first try. It's a sign. Everything's going to be okay.

  This new money-making venture of mine may be crazy and stupid and—depending on who you ask—slightly unethical, but for me, right now, today, it's something I have to do. It's a gamble, yes, but aside from getting another job—or a better job—my options are slim.

  This life I've managed to carve for myself in Blackjack isn't pretty, not even close, but real life rarely is. There's no beauty in desperation. No use glorifying struggle. It's dirt under your fingernails, oil burns on your arms, leaks in your roof, and a negative balance in your checking account. Poverty isn't something average girls are saved from, no matter how many times Cinderella tells you otherwise.

  Blackjack, like a million other forgotten towns in the world, is a void where people serving as secondary characters in their own biographies go to give up hope. It's a town populated by the overlooked. Realists who gave up on fairy tales a long time ago.

  You'd think I'd fit right in...

  CHAPTER TWO

  Jared

  “Sweetheart, you have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

  The girl behind the counter bats her eyelashes as she takes the package from my hands, and I offer her a polite smile in return. Barbra? Becky? Bethany? I forget her name. It's clear she's flirting, and I appreciate her enthusiasm, but I can't get over the fact that she smells like hamster shit.

  Granted, it's probably not her, seeing as how we're both standing at the register of a pet store and it's a balmy ninety-eight degrees both inside and out, but I'm not taking any chances. The girl has a cockatiel on one shoulder and some kind of snake in her pocket, and even though I'm an animal lover at heart, there's no way I'm reciprocating Crazy Eye's banter.

  “Here you go.” I hand over my tablet and she signs for the package without ever taking her eyes off me.

  “Thanks, Jared,” she sighs. “I'm expecting a shipment of dog food next week. I'll see you then, right?”

  “Sure thing.” I offer another tight smile as I head for the door.

  “Okay, great!” she yells at my retreating form, waving a dainty hand overhead. “It's a date!”

  Nope.

  Nope, nope, nope. Not a date. I haven't had one of those in a long damn time, but even then, I know better than to get involved with someone I'm obligated to see on a weekly basis thanks to my job. Which, sadly, cuts out a good chunk of the women living in the the four counties in my delivery zone. Not that I've so much as kindled a spark of interest for any woman I've come across in the last few years, but dry spells are a bitch any way you cut 'em.

  Outside, a safe distance away from the woman smiling at me through the pet store window, I haul myself up into the delivery truck, much as I've done, oh, roughly ten million times today, and exit the parking lot of Fluffs & Tuffs. Styx blares from the radio as I take a swig of ice-cold Mountain Dew from my Yeti cup before sliding aviators down to rest on the bridge of my nose. Despite the acrid air and long hours I've put in today, I can't help but smile. The sun is shining, I'm alive and healthy, and life is good.

  I've always been an upbeat optimist, much to the chagrin of the people who reside in Blackjack, but I've just never seen the point in entertaining the negatives of life. My mother insists that in another life I was a perky blonde cheerleader, and I can't say she's too far off. I have the personality of an over-eager golden retriever. It's just how I'm wired. Sue me...

  A few miles down highway sixty-three, my phone vibrates in my pocket and I tap a finger to my Bluetooth headset. “Yeah?”

  “You know, there's this thing normal people use...it's called etiquette, Jared. Manners. The least you could do is answer with a “Hello”, or does that infringe upon your blue-collar, he-man-woman-hating card-holder status?”

  And just like that, my good mood evaporates faster than a puddle of piss in the middle of an August heat wave. If there's one thing—or, one person, rather—who can jerk my head out of the clouds and erase the smile on my face, it's the person on the other end of the line.

  “What do you need, Rhett? I'm working.”

  “I'm sending you a shopping list,” he says, forgoing his beloved etiquette entirely and hopping over all conversational segues like track hurdles.

  “Shopping list? You do know I'm your roommate, right? Not your maid. Not your butler. Not your personal shopper.”

  “I'm well aware,” he says with a sniff. “If I had any of those people, they'd mind better than you.”

  I roll my eyes so hard I'm fairly certain I see brain matter.

  “I don't have to mind; I'm not a pet. You have a credit card, a car, and a college degree I'm sure you can use to locate a grocery store. Do your own shopping.”

  “I don't have time.”

  “What, and I do?” I fire back.

  “You work fewer hours for half my pay, so yes, I'm assuming you have time.”

  “Well fuck you too.”

  As my sibling, it's Rhett's job to give me grief in every aspect of my life. It's something I've endured since the day we realized sibling rivalry was a thing and he had a penchant for making people feel like shit, but sometimes it takes effort to shrug him off. Like right now. Right now, he's fucking with my blood pressure.

  “So that's a hard no?” he asks, “because we're out of coffee creamer.”

  Dammit.

  Asshole went right in for the kill shot. Coffee is my weakness and I'm not one of those die-hards that take it black, and Rhett knows it. I spare a glance at my watch, noting that I have an hour and one single delivery standing between me and quitting time. I should stand my ground on principle, but...coffee.

  “Whatever. Send me the list.”

  My phone chimes. “Done. We'll talk later.”

  The line goes dead, telling me that the shit he gave me over telephone etiquette was just that. Shit.

  “You're welcome,” I say to absolutely no one.

  After years of practice, it's easy to shovel my brother's shitiness to the side and get on with my day, which is exactly what I do. My last delivery is in everyone's least favorite part of town, in possibly the grossest building ever constructed in the state of Missouri. All five stories boast crumbling brick and rusted metal shutters; the kind that are bolted open, just for show. Taco Bell wrappers and shards of broken beer bottles litter the front steps, and today I even spy a pudgy black rat
dragging what looks to be a half-smoked cigar down the sidewalk.

  Charming...

  I grab my tablet, messenger bag, and the package, and head straight inside to the rickety elevator, whistling mindlessly as I hit the button for the top floor. There's no cheesy music filtering through hidden speakers, which I prefer, and when the elevator jars to a stop and I step out into the lobby, a receptionist with all the subtly of Elton John perks up at my arrival. Pouting blood red lips, she tousles her hair and gives her heavy tits a little adjustment, insuring her ample cleavage draws my eyes.

  What the hell is wrong with women today?

  “Well, hello there, Mr. Sullivan,” she purrs. The seductive lilt to her voice does nothing for me.

  “Evening, Miss Maggie.” I hoist the box wrapped in red 'fragile' tape onto the counter. “Sign here, please.”

  Instead of using the attached pen, she uses the tip of one deadly looking claw to sign her name on my tablet, which straight up creeps me the hell out. I try my best not to grimace.

  “Thank you, ma'am.”

  “Ma'am?” she giggles, tilting her head to the side like an inquisitive puppy. “I'm barely twenty-two.”

  Good to know.

  I'll file that away in Information I'll Never Need.

  “How about some coffee before you go?” She waves her talons to the stainless steel coffee pot behind her station. “I just brewed a fresh pot.”

  I'm crafting a reply that gets me out of staying a second longer than I have to without hurting her feelings when a streak of black whizzes through my periphery.

  The hell?

  I swing around and find a woman with jet black hair sprinting toward the elevator. Honest to God sprinting. Like her ass is on fire. She repeatedly stabs at the elevator button, her cheeks fire engine red as she glances around the room, keeping her head down at the same time. She looks terrified, and also, vaguely familiar.

  When the doors finally part, she slides inside as quickly as she can manage before pressing a button on the inner panel and scurrying all the way to the far wall. Her head falls back in something akin to relief, exposing a long, slim throat, and the nervous swallow that rolls just beneath her skin has my complete attention.

  As far as throats go, it's a beautiful one, but I'm not really a throat guy, so I don't know what has my eyes glued to the porcelain column of flesh connecting her chin to her chest. My instant reaction to her is curious, as is the subtle flutter of recognition. It's the sole reason I completely ignore Maggie's coffee offer and rush through the lobby, one hand raised to get her attention.

  “Hold the elevator, please!”

  The woman's chin falls forward, but not before a softly uttered, “You have got to be kidding me,” that I'm certain I wasn't meant to hear. Still, a small hand reaches out to smack the metal, stopping the doors in their tracks, and I notice she's not wearing a ring. Why that's the first place my brain goes, I have no idea, but it makes me smile all the same as I jump inside with her.

  “Thanks.”

  “Mmhmm.” That's all she offers as she turns her back to me. Not even a real word. Just two consonants rubbing together.

  The doors shudder as they pull to a close, sealing us inside, and I take a second to compose myself even as I inspect the back of her head. I'm not normally that guy. I don't actively pursue women. Not ever. On the contrary, I spend most of my days avoiding interaction with flirtatious women who have watched one too many porno flicks starring a jacked delivery guy and a bored, neglected housewife. So not my cup of tea—yet another reason why my dating life is currently resting six feet under. But something about her reminds me what it's like to feel instantly attracted to a member of the opposite sex.

  Silence drapes over us both as we descend, and I stand stiff and awkward in the back corner as she taps her foot millimeters away from the door. Everything about her body language screams that she's ready to get the hell out of this metal box, but the elevator is slower than molasses today. I don't stand a chance in hell of pulling her into conversation, and that instantly takes a match to my hopeful spirit, when—

  GASHUUUUUSH!

  The elevator jerks to a stop.

  “Holy Jesus!” my elevator mate exclaims.

  I withhold a chuckle as the light above our heads flickers, and I glance up just in time to watch it extinguish completely.

  Guess I'll have a chance to wrangle her into conversation after all...

  “No. No, no, no!” Her breath comes in fast pants, and I know exactly what she's thinking right now.

  What would happen if the cables holding up this metal death trap were to snap? How would it feel to plummet to the ground floor and be delivered straight to Death's door?

  I get it, and I feel for her, truly, I do, but this isn't my first jammed elevator. When you spend as much time as I do delivering to penthouse apartments and office high rises, this kind of shit is par for the course.

  “Are we...are we stuck?” she asks.

  I nod. “Seems that way.”

  Red emergency lights blink to life, and the crimson hue illuminates the fact that this beautiful woman has her hands splayed out in front of her and she's crouched low, bent at the knees, looking like she's about to fend off an invisible attacker. It's fucking adorable. I feel bad even saying that since she's clearly in distress, but it is what it is.

  After a beat, she straightens and clears her throat. “Why...why isn't it moving? Why'd it stop?”

  I lean back against the wall, arms crossed, and peer up at the blinking lights, hoping my nonchalance will catch. “Either the elevator went wonky or the electricity went out.” I shrug. “Hard to say.”

  “No. No, no. I—I can't be stuck in here.” Her fingers shake as she stabs every single button on the panel, but a muted howl goes up when none of them light up. “Dammit!”

  Her panic is so thick, it's practically rising off her skin like steam. Hands fumble clumsily at her purse, and she extracts a cell phone. I'm just about to tell her there's no way she'll get service in here, but she lets out a pained groan, telling me she came to that conclusion all on her own.

  “Relax. They'll get it up and running in a few minutes. Ten minutes tops. This happens all the time.”

  Instead of replying, she ignores me completely, choosing instead to hit a few more buttons, ones not even labeled.

  I snort out a laugh. “Yeah. That'll do the trick.”

  “Shut up!” she explodes, finally turning to face me. “You're not helping, so just...shut up!”

  Wow.

  Okay then.

  I purse my lips together and stare straight ahead, shoulders immediately tensing. So much for conversation. I'm not stupid—I know when to throw in the towel, and any hope I had of charming her just died with the elevator.

  At least that's what I think, until two seconds later when she starts backpedaling.

  “Shit...I'm sorry.” Troubled, embarrassed eyes fall to the floor. “That was uncalled for.”

  “It's fine,” I hesitantly assure her. “We'll live.”

  “Right,” she sighs. “Sure.”

  “Or we won't.”

  That earns me a scathing look, but it's accompanied by a wry smile, so I take it. I also make a snap decision and choose to take on the job of easing her worry.

  “You work in the building?” Maybe if I can distract her, she won't spin out into a full-blown panic attack before we can be saved.

  “What?” She snaps her head up to look me fully in the eyes. “Oh, no. I had an appointment.”

  Interesting...

  “At Lunessi?”

  Even under the harsh hue of emergency lights, I see her blush. “Yes.”

  “I see.” Crossing my arms, I readjust my stance against the wall and get a good look at her. A really good look. She may be small—a good foot shorter than my six-foot frame—but somehow the legs sticking out from beneath her thin dress seem to go on for days. The skin curving along her shoulders is covered in freckles that reach all t
he way around to her back. They even create small constellations over her chest, dipping down into her cleavage.

  That spark of interest I've been searching for?

  I think I just found it.

  “So, what kind of trial were you suckered into? Painkillers? Diet pills? Mood stabilizers?” My tone remains light and joking, but I'm honestly dying to know.

  Her entire demeanor changes in the blink of an eye, and when she lifts her eyes again, they're filled with challenge. “Libido enhancers.”

  My eyes bulge.

  Shit.

  Definitely not the answer I was expecting, but I give her mad props. Not for taking part in the trial, but for having the balls to admit it, even though the way her eyes dart away quickly hint at discomfort.

  “Well, I hope it paid well,” I say, chuckling to myself. “And hell, even if it didn't, I'm sure your man appreciates it.”

  Clearly, I'm fishing, but she doesn't seem to notice as she shakes her head, staring at the point where the elevator doors touch. “No man.”

  “Ah, gotcha,” I nod. “Your woman, then?” Might as well cover all the bases.

  Her chin jerks back. I can't tell if she's surprised or insulted, but when one side of her lips curl up in a wry smile, I know I haven't overstepped. Yet.

  “I don't have one of those either, but wow,” she chuckles. “Blunt much?”

  “Among other things.” I extend my hand, charming smile firmly in place. “Jared Sullivan.”

  She takes it, but all I get is one quick squeeze. That, and her name.

  “Merrin,” she smiles.

  Merrin...

  Merrin...

  I know that name. I do. It's buried somewhere deep in my memories, struggling, waving a hand, begging to be found.

  Merrin...

  Then it hits me and my heart drops.

  We've met before.

  I know her.

  I remember her.

  I just hope to God she doesn't remember me.

  Perspiration beads on my forehead at all the memories flooding in, but I blink them away and plaster on a smile.

  “Nice to meet you, Merrin.”

  Little creases form next to her dark eyes as she nods. “Likewise.”