Finding Storm Page 10

  “My car broke down after I saw you at the garage,” I explain.

  “He put the wrong fuel in,” Stevie helpfully tells her. “Beck asked me to go tow him.”

  “Ooh, rookie error.” Stella laughs. “Well, your car is in good hands with my son and grandson. So, what are you both up to now?”

  “I offered to take Nick to the store,” Stevie explains to her. “He needs some essentials.”

  “Oh, will you get me some hairspray while you’re there?” Stella asks her.

  “Of course. The usual brand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let me get my purse.”

  She reaches for her bag, hanging on her arm.

  “Don’t worry, Gran. I got it,” Stevie says, stopping her.

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “You’re a good girl,” Stella says to Stevie, tucking a stray lock of Stevie’s blonde hair behind her ear.

  I see in this moment how much Stevie looks like her grandmother.

  Stevie might be messy bun, no makeup, tank top and jeans, and her grandmother is the complete opposite. But the similarity between the two is uncanny.

  I really like Stevie’s laid-back approach to how she dresses. She doesn’t give a shit.

  And she doesn’t need to.

  Because she’s fuck hot without all the extras.

  “You’ll be back for dinner? Both of you?” Stella asks.

  “Dinner is part of the room rate,” Stevie explains to me. “So is breakfast. And Gran is one hell of a cook.”

  “Well, in that case, I’ll definitely be here.”

  “Good.” Stella smiles, clapping her hands together. “You both go have fun at the store, and I’ll see you later.”

  I was totally going to let Nick kiss me.

  Well, I think he wanted to kiss me. I mean, I’m dumb when it comes to men, but the signals he was firing off sure seemed like he wanted to.

  I know this because I was firing off the same damn signals.

  Hell, what am I even doing? I can’t be getting tangled up with a guy like Nick.

  He’s dangerous with a capital D.

  Is it ego-boosting that a guy like him might be interested in a girl like me? And when I say a girl like me, I mean, hobo-looking Stevie, who hasn’t showered since having her arm down a blocked toilet.

  Of course it is. It’s a massive ego boost.

  But I like my heart.

  I’m quite attached to her.

  It took me a long time to heal her after my ex cracked her down the middle.

  That crack is healed, but once something has had a fracture, it will always be weaker.

  And I know that a guy like Nick Slater wouldn’t just re-break my heart.

  He’d obliterate it.

  I don’t need to know a guy long to know what type of man he is.

  And Nick is a good guy. A fun guy. A flirty guy.

  But a keeper he isn’t.

  We’ve just gotten in the car and buckled up when Nick says to me, “So, I’ve met your dad, brother, and now your grandmother. When do I get to meet your mom?”

  I pull the car off the drive before I speak, “Um … probably never. She skipped out on us when I was a baby.”

  “Shit.” I catch his wince. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” I tell him, meaning it. “The only person who should be sorry is my mother. And, honestly, I’d rather have no mom than a shitty mom. I have my dad, Beck, and Gran. I’m lucky ’cause they’re the absolute shit. Although don’t tell Beck that. His ego is big enough as it is.”

  I turn onto the street, my Bluetooth connecting to the stereo, and my music plays.

  James Cagney’s voice echoes through my car speakers. The opening to Madonna’s “White Heat” is a scene from an old black-and-white movie, titled the same. I tap my fingers in time to the music. I know this song by heart. I’ve listened to it enough times. It literally gives me goose bumps. Totally underrated in my opinion.

  When the words kick in, I’m right there with Madonna, singing along.

  “Okay, I give in,” Nick says, pulling my attention to him. “I know this is Madonna from her voice. But I can honestly say I’ve never heard this song before in my life.”

  My eyes zip to his. “And you say you have good taste in music. You should be ashamed, Slater. Ashamed,” I tease.

  His lips curve into a smile.

  It’s panty-melting hot.

  I have the sudden urge to turn on the air-con.

  “It’s from the True Blue album,” I tell him. “But it was never released as a single. Should’ve been in my opinion.” I continue to sing along.

  “It’s okay …” he starts, and I give him a look of playful disappointment. “For a fucking awesome song.”

  “Better,” I tell him, grinning.

  “Actually, the more I hear … it’s the best song I’ve ever heard.”

  “Okay, too much.” I laugh, and so does he. “And I’d apologize for my terrible singing voice. But I honestly don’t care enough to. When a good song comes on, you just gotta sing.” I shrug.

  “True. And you are right; you’re an awful fucking singer.”

  I look at him and laugh. “I know, right? Totally robbed of the vocal gift I could’ve given to the world. What about you?”

  “What about me, what?”

  “Can you sing?”

  He’s staring at me. This hidden expression in his eyes that I can’t figure out.

  “Can I sing?” he repeats my question.

  “That’s what I asked.” I turn on my blinker and take the upcoming turn.

  “Well … I guess I can hold a tune,” he finally answers.

  “Okay, so come on then. Let me hear this tune-holding voice of yours.” I gesture to him with my hand.

  There’s a pause and then, “Okay. But I’m gonna need a song I know the words to.”

  I pick my cell up out of the cupholder sitting between us and hand it to him. “The passcode is one, two, three, four.”

  He chokes out a laugh. “Your passcode is one, two, three, four? Seriously, Stevie, you do realize it wouldn’t take a genius to crack that code?”

  “I know.” I sigh. “But when you’ve locked yourself out of five different phones, it’s time to accept that you’re shit at remembering passcodes and just go with the easiest one there is.”

  “Or you could just have no passcode.”

  “But then people would be able to break into my phone. Duh.” I grin at him.

  He’s laughing at me, shaking his head. “But you just gave me it. Not worried I’m gonna steal your phone at all?”

  I slide a look at him. “Dude, you drive a Maserati. You’re not gonna steal my four-year-old iPhone. Unless you have kleptomania. Do you?”

  “Nope. Definitely no kleptomania here. But I could send a really bad sex joke to everyone in your Contacts.”

  “Oh my God! Do it! It’ll be the most interesting thing to happen to most of them in a long while. Although you might give my dad a coronary.”

  He’s cracking up laughing now, and I’m smiling.

  I really like making him laugh. I feel like I’ve won the damn lottery every time I do.

  “You’re nuts,” he tells me.

  “A good nuts though, right?”

  He catches my eye. “The best kind of nuts.”

  There’s a dirty joke right on the tip of my tongue, but I hold it back. I’m feeling flustered from the way he’s looking at me right now. Like he wants to devour me whole.

  And I’m ignoring it because I think I want him to.

  Throwing a sex joke into the mix will just push me over the edge, and then I’ll let him do whatever he wants to me.

  I look back out the windshield.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  I’ve known this guy literally a handful of hours, and I’m ready to roll over and toss my panties into the wind.

  It’s crazy.

  And a lot scary.


  And not something I’m wholly ready to address with myself right now.

  I’m just happy to keep having fun and laugh with him.

  Nick is scrolling through my phone’s playlist. I use the quiet time to get my shit together.

  The guitar intro to Guns N’ Roses’ “Paradise City” starts to strum out of my speakers.

  “Yes! I love this song!” I start seat-dancing, singing along with the opening words, throwing a quick glance Nick’s way before looking back to the road ahead.

  I realize that I was on my own singing just then. “Hey! Come on, it’s your turn to sing, big man. After this instrumental, I want to hear you.”

  Axl starts singing, and Nick laughs. “Shit. Maybe I didn’t think this through enough. I forgot how damn fast Axl sings the fucking verses in this song.”

  “Come on!” I bang my palm on the steering wheel. “You got this. I wanna hear you sing!”

  And sing he does.

  And he’s really fucking good.

  Like surprisingly good.

  He’s singing at the top of his lungs, and I’m catcalling and cheering him on. I even join in on the chorus even though I’m killing the song.

  But isn’t that what music is about? Enjoying the hell out of it.

  I realize in this moment that this time I’ve spent with Nick today is the most fun I’ve had with any man, who is not my dad or brother, in a really long time.

  The song eventually comes to an end, and I slap my hand against my leg, clapping and whistling. “Fuck, dude! You’re a great singer! Ever think about giving up stripping and becoming a singer?” I half-joke the last part. Only half-joking because I know he isn’t a stripper, but damn, he really should consider taking up singing.

  His lips are still smiling at me, but his eyes are telling me a different story. “I enjoyed that,” he says like it’s something he’s admitting out loud.

  I think that’s his way of telling me that it’s been a while since he’s enjoyed anything.

  Honestly, just never know what kind of shit is going on in people’s lives, do you?

  So, I tell him a truth of mine, echoing the words I was just thinking before. “Same. I was literally just thinking that it’s been a long time since I’ve had fun with a man who isn’t my dad or Beck.” I cast a smile his way.

  “Can I ask why?”

  Opened myself up to that one, didn’t I?

  “You don’t have to tell me,” he adds. “I totally get it.”

  I sigh. “No, it’s fine. It’s just boring, to be honest. The old cliché story. Girl is with the same boy through the latter part of high school. They stay together while he goes to college, and she stays home and waits dutifully for him to return. Girl thinks her and boy will be together forever. Boy finishes college, comes home, and takes a job, working for his dad at his family-owned golf club. Boy asks girl to marry him right there on the grounds of the golf club. Girl is over the moon. A month later, girl finds boy dick deep in a college student who was hired to work there over the summer. He’s screwing her, on his office desk, at the very place he asked the stupid girl to marry him.”

  “Shit, Stevie,” Nick whispers.

  “Don’t feel bad for me.” I give a wave of my hand, brushing my words away. “It’s been over a year. I’m past it.”

  “I don’t feel bad for you,” he tells me. “I’m just trying to figure out what kind of fucking dipshit has a girl like you and then cheats on her. He must be fifty fucking shades of stupid.”

  My throat tightens with … something.

  I swallow back my feelings. “He did me a favor really. Better I found out who he really was before I married the jerk.”

  “Well, he did all the men in the world a favor, setting you back free into it, if you ask me.”

  Even though hearing those words makes me feel amazing, my inner cynic—the one who appeared when my ex cheated on me, zapping my ability to trust my own judgment and the words of a man—has my natural jokey instinct rising to protect my fragile heart at all costs.

  “Dude, that was terrible as far as lines go.” I grin.

  He smiles wide, his lips lifting at the corner, showing those gorgeous teeth of his. “Okay. Wait, I can do better,” he says. “Give me a minute …” He puts fingers to his forehead, tapping them in thought.

  I intermittently watch him between watching the road, thoroughly interested and amused at what he’s going to say. My heart only still mildly hammering against my rib cage from Nick’s previous words.

  “Okay, I’ve got one.” He clicks his fingers, turning in his seat to face me. “You’re gonna love this. You ready?”

  “Hit me with it.”

  “Are you from Tennessee? Because you are the only ten I see.”

  “Ah, dude, no.” I chuckle.

  “No? Okay, this one will get you for sure. Feel my jacket. It’s made of boyfriend material.”

  “Oh Jesus.” I shake my head.

  “Come on! Okay, this will definitely make you laugh. Did you just fart? ’Cause you blow me away.”

  I snort.

  “See, I fucking knew you’d like that one! Wait, I got more. Do you work at Subway? ’Cause you gave me a footlong. And another: if you were a Transformer, you’d be Optimus Fine.”

  I’m totally laughing now, but he isn’t stopping. The man is on a roll.

  “Wait, this is the créme de la créme of lines. I saved the very best ’til last. You ready for this?”

  I nod because I can’t speak; I’m laughing so hard. My eyes are watering from it.

  “Okay, here it is … I hear you’re looking for a stud. Well, I’ve got the S-T-D, and all I need is you.”

  “Fucking hell,” I choke out. I’m full-on belly laughing now. Tears rolling down my face. Not practical when I’m driving a car. “Dude, you gotta stop.” I hold my stomach. “Or I’m gonna crash!”

  Or pee myself. But there are some things I’m not willing to share with a hot guy like Nick.

  “Okay. Well, I treasure my life, and I’m out of lines anyway. That was my last one.” He sits back, looking mighty pleased with himself.

  I’m wiping tears from my eyes. “Where in the hell did you even get those from? They were truly fucking awful.”

  He laughs. “One of my best friends, Cash. He’s notorious for his bad one-liners. Those are some of his finer ones.”

  One of his best friends. So, he has more than one. And I also know the name of one of them now—Cash. I file that info under One More Thing I Know About Nick Slater.

  “Well, I’d say your friend needs new material. But the only question that really matters is, do those chat-up lines actually work for him?”

  He looks over at me, that damn brow raised. “All the damn time.”

  We both burst out laughing again.

  Our laughter only dries up when I pull into the department store’s parking lot. I slide my car into a space and turn off the engine.

  “Well, that was fun. Now, we shop.”

  We both get out of my car and walk over to the department store. Nick opens the door for me, letting me through first.

  Hmm. So, underneath the leather and tattoos lies the heart of a gentleman. And I don’t care what anybody says; deep down, every girl wants a man who will hold open a door for her.

  And lay his heart on the line for her.

  But we don’t all get lucky enough to get the latter.

  I stop just inside the store. “Okay, men’s is up on the second floor. I’ll leave you to go get what you need. Women’s is down here, so I’ll go grab what I need, including Gran’s hairspray. And I’ll meet you back here in … how long will you need?”

  “Twenty minutes?”

  “Twenty minutes.” I squint up at him. “You sure? That’s not very long.”

  He slides his sunglasses on. “Stevie, I’m a guy. Twenty minutes is longer than we need in any store.”

  “True.” I nod my agreement. “Okay. See you back here in twenty.”

  I w
alk away from him, this man that I’ve known only hours, with this warm, full feeling in my chest that I can’t even begin to explain.

  I only know it feels good.

  So damn good.

  Almost twenty minutes later, I’m done shopping, so I walk back to the entrance where I said I’d meet Nick. But he’s already standing there, waiting for me. A couple of bags in his hand.

  “Damn, you do work fast,” I say, approaching him.

  He turns and smiles at me.

  That smile hits me in all the good places.

  “Told you,” he says. “You got everything you needed?”

  “Uh-huh.” I nod up at him. “So, do you want to head back to the B&B? Or we could grab a coffee?”

  “Coffee,” he says. “Always coffee.”

  “I hear ya. Coffee is life. There’s a Starbucks just around the corner. My best friend, Penny, works there. She’ll caffeine us up. Shall we put the bags in my car?”

  He agrees with a nod, so we walk back to my car and deposit our purchases in the truck.

  After I lock my car back up, we start the short walk to Penny’s work.

  Aside from getting a caffeine fix, I really want to bring Nick to meet Penny. She will shit a brick when she sees him.

  I couldn’t have the hottest guy ever to come to our town and not let Penny see him. What sort of friend would I be?

  We reach the coffee shop, and Nick steps ahead, opening the door for me again.

  A girl could really get used to this.

  The place is busy, like usual. I spot Penny behind the counter, serving a customer.

  She sees me and waves. I watch her eyes move to Nick standing beside me, and they widen almost comically. I have to stop myself from laughing.

  “What’s your coffee of choice?” I ask him.

  “Americano. And this is my treat.”

  “No way. I’m getting them.”

  “Stevie.” His hand touches my forearm.

  The third time we’ve touched since we met, and holy hell, haywire electrons are firing under my skin.

  Just imagine how it would feel if he put that hand on other parts of your body.

  “You just took time out of your day, not only to come rescue my ass from the side of the road”—I open my mouth to argue that it was technically work, but he cuts me off with a look—“but you also just drove me out here, so I could get some stuff—and don’t say you were coming here anyway.” It’s like he’s taking the words straight out of my head. “So, paying for your coffee is the least I can do.”