Blind Side (3 page)

“
A
re you stalking me
?” I question with a half smirk, but continue walking along the thin line that separates the road from a foot-deep ditch.

“I can imagine that’s exactly what this looks like,” he says with a light laugh, and waits for me to respond, but I’m more interested in avoiding temptation. “Need a lift?”

“What brings you to this part of the sticks?” I question, opting to ignore his inquiry.

“I’m heading home.”

I stop dead in my tracks and turn to him. He presses his foot against the brakes and stops right next to me, staring at me the way I’m staring at him, except he doesn’t know why he’s staring.

“Shouldn’t you be driving the other way?” I think back to his implication back at the game, that he wasn’t from around here.

“No ma’am.” He points his finger toward the road ahead, in the same direction my house resides. “My house is right up the road.”

“I’ve never seen you around here before tonight.”

He grins and taps his fingers along the metal door. “That’s because I’m a transplant.”

“Where from?”

He tilts his head and bites into his lip. “The other side of the rainbow.”

“Oh?” My brow furrows as I approach his car and lean against the window. “Have you seen Dorothy lately, because she’s terribly missed by her family back in Kansas.”

“Nah.” He shakes his head as a beaming smile hitches from one corner of his mouth. “I’m from the other side of the river, and I’m from the other side of the country. I’m from everywhere really.”

“That’s interesting.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, but his gaze lingers on me. “Are you going to get in?”

“I shouldn’t.” I sigh, take a step back and straighten myself.

“Ignore the part of your brain that’s telling you that.”

“It’s not the voices in my head screaming.”

“Your heart?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “Something like that.”

“In that case, listen to your head.” He reaches down and shifts into neutral, with his foot applied to the brake. “Listen to the part of your brain that’s reasoning with you, arguing that it’s chilly outside and you’re not wearing a jacket.”

“Fine,” I huff and slap my hand against the frame of the door. His eyes take particular notice of the ring on my finger for the first time. My heart pounds. I force a smile and rip the evidence away from his sight before stepping around the front of the car. I pause once the bright headlights are shining upon me, and find my eyes drifting to the beautiful, dangerous stranger before me, waiting for me to jump into his car so he can save me.

The only problem is he thinks he’s saving me from the chilly autumn night. He’s not prepared for the truth, and the truth is that I’m in need of saving in every way one needs saved. That’s too deep to share with a perfect stranger, and it’s too dangerous to share with someone like
him.

He punches his fist against the horn, and though my vision is muddled from the lights blinding my eyes, I can make out faintly the way he throws his head back in laughter.

“Come on,” he hollers. “Gas ain’t cheap.”

I flash him a quick smile before making my way to the passenger door and ripping it open. I slide into the leather seat, and revel in the warm heat blowing from the vents. Once I’ve shut the door, I look to him to find him looking at me. He’s always looking at me. I hold my hand against the door handle, prepared to run at any moment.

“Now, do you want to tell me your name?” he inquires and switches the hand that’s holding the wheel from the right to the left, freeing his right hand to shift into gear. “Or do you want to keep pretending like you’re nobody?”

“Nobody’s good,” I say flatly, not prepared to throw the safety of anonymity in the trash.

“Okay then, Nobody.” He pulls the knob of the shifter back, and into second gear. “Where we heading?”

“Just drive,” I say and focus my attention on the road ahead, where gravel cracks under shadows from the headlights.

* * *

I
remember
the relief I felt the very moment I was wheeled out of the hospital by my best friend, Ashley. It had been the hardest week of my life, but I knew there was a light at the end of the tunnel. I knew that in a mere matter of minutes, I’d be home in the arms of my loving husband. It was supposed to be a surprise for him, but it was I who was blindsided the moment I turned the key.

There he was on the couch, bare-ass naked thrusting into some woman who wasn’t me. I watched them fuck on the couch we had spent hours quarreling over
at the department store. He wanted black leather and I wanted white. He won the argument, as he always did.

I knew I should have closed the door gently and saved the confrontation for another day, but even back then, I didn’t have the best judgment. I could barely stand, but I was ready to kill them both. I shouted at them, something along the lines of, ‘
you stupid fucking prick’,
and they pulled themselves away from each other like a fruit roll up.

It was then when I realized I knew exactly who was on the receiving end of my husband’s tainted cock. Any fire I had for a confrontation dispelled from my body in an instant, and I was out the door in a millisecond flat. I never got the revenge I so craved, but when I look at this sexy stranger beside me, I think to myself that now’s as good a time as any other.

But it’s not about revenge. Not really. I’ll lie to myself to make it easier, but deep down I’ll always know it’s about something else. It’s about being free, tired of living my life as a bird in a tiny cage. It’s about feeling something other than the sharpest fragments of glass stuck in my soul since the accident. It’s about safety, because I don’t trust myself when I’m alone, and I’m always alone, even when I’m standing in a crowd of a thousand people.

I watch my hand as it falls upon his thigh. I watch the way he first looks down at my palm, and then at me. I watch the way his throat pulses as he swallows a nervous breath.

“Aren’t you married?” he questions dryly. I don’t respond. “I mean I saw the ring.”

“I’m supposed to be,” I whisper, obfuscating the truth, but we both know it.

“Runaway bride sort of thing?”

“Running away at this exact moment seems like the best possible idea.” I turn my attention to the passing trees, and then a passing mailbox slotted beside a winding driveway leading to a house on a now haunted hill—my house. It’s like every light in the entire farmhouse is shining bright, but there’s nobody there. Nobody but him, waiting patiently for me to return home while he bottoms one bottle of beer after the next. I don’t say anything. I don’t tell him to stop. I’m past the point of no return, and I feel another fragment of my soul being chipped away, but I’m running high on the adrenaline. It’s a worthy trade off to sacrifice a small piece of my soul if for no other reason than the opportunity to feel alive for just a tiny, fleeting moment.

“It can’t be that bad,” he assures me with confidence bridled into his tone.

“That’s what I used to tell myself after the fairy tale ending was cut short.” I look back to him, and begin to caress his thigh in slow strokes. “Now, I just know better.”

“Maybe it’s because I’m a romantic—“

I cut him off because I know what he’s going to say. His words will serve as nothing more than an aggravating roadblock to me getting what I want. What I need, just like the air I breathe. “Or because you’re young?”

“I’m not that young,” he whispers and places his palm upon mine. The first real sign he’s prepared to cross this line, a line that I myself waver to and from.

“How young?” I shift closer to him.

“North of twenty.”

That’s all I need to know. “I’m Stassi.”

“That’s a beautiful name worthy of a beautiful woman.”

“And you are?”

“Kemper.” He smiles, illuminating a specific kind of innocent confidence. “Kemper Scott,” the words roll off his tongue as suavely as James Bond, if 007 himself were born and raised in the sticks, carrying out acts of espionage in farmhouses and county fairs.

His fingers tangle with mine briefly before an exasperated gasp. He pushes my hand away. “You’re a beautiful woman, but I can’t—“

“Because I’m married?”

“Hit the nail on its rusty head.”

“Is it cheating if he cheated first?”

“Yeah.” He bows his head with an uncomfortable grin. “I kind of think it is.”

“If my foot’s halfway out the door?” I stare at him blankly, losing my confidence that I can be
this
woman by the second. It’s all true. He cheated first and I’m more than halfway out the door. I’m ready to run with the wind.

“It’s semantics either way.” He swallows another nervous lump in his throat, and I can see the battle raging beneath dark eyes. He wants to take the leap, but he’s afraid of what it’ll mean.

“Shut up,” I command as I climb across the gearshift, and straddle his lap. It’s a tight fit, where I’m unable to maneuver my body against his and my head bangs against the roof of the car. I lower my hand to a button on the side of the seat, and the seat slides back first, and then reclines. Cocoa blades of hair fall across my face and dangle above his. His chest heaves as he stares into my eyes, waiting for me to do whatever it is that I’m going to do.

My entire body shakes above him. I’m running out of nerve fast, and the second his palm trails to my side is the second I bolt. I pull the door handle, swing the door open, and hustle out of the car.

The cool autumn air stabs me in the throat with one sharp inhale. I look back to him sitting in the car, the overhead lights highlighting his finest features. Wanting eyes, heavy breathing, and stark confusion all wait in the shadows.

He shuts off the engine, and the headlights cut out.

He turns to me.

He spins one leg out after the other, his white sneakers digging into the gravel. I stand with a blank expression as he rises to his feet and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“You’re a confusing woman, you know?”

“I know,” I say softly.

“It’s not necessarily a bad thing,” he suggests as he takes a measured step toward me. “I love the game.”

“The game?” I question, unable to take my eyes off of his handsome, wholesome face.

“Every yard of every touchdown.”

“You’re charming—“

“Too charming, right?” He takes another step.

“And confident.”

Another step, and he’s standing within an inch of me. I can feel the warmth of his breath against my skin. “Too confident?”

“You get what you want.”

“And you want me.”

“I don’t know.” I shake my head, but my gaze remains unaffected.

“It wasn’t a question,” he says softly as he tilts a pointed finger underneath my chin.

“There’s that confidence.”

“Lets pretend that we don’t know each other—“

“We don’t.”

“And lets pretend that neither of us have a history or a future.” He gestures at the forest surrounding us. “Whatever happens here tonight, won’t have had happened in the morning. You’re going through something. I’m going through something—“

“What are you going through?”

“Shh.” He presses a finger against dreamy lips. “We don’t know each other, remember?”

“Right.” I nod and my throat drops into my stomach. My heart races, rushing like the ocean at high tide. I’m being pulled into the sea, but I’m a willing victim to the waves.

“We’re both going through our own fucked up shit, but for right now, the bullshit all ceases to exist.” He forces an uncomfortable smile, and in that faint break of confidence, I see something in him I see in myself. “I want to make you forget the world the only way I know how.”

“How is that?”

“It’s a whirlwind.”

“Sounds exhilarating.”

“It’s my body against yours.” He reaches for my hips and pulls me in close with one hand. “Touching you.” Fingers press into my back. “Caressing you.” His head bows to mine, as his fingers pressing into my back begin to caress me in slow, careful circles. “Undressing you.” His hand falls to the hem of my shirt, and he begins to pull my top upward, exposing my bare skin to the cool night air. “Kissing you.” His lips press softly against my neck, closed at first, and then open, mouthing a line from the base of my neck to my chin.

“St… Stop,” I cry and break away from his touch, spinning on my foot until he’s behind me, and all I can see are dark silhouettes of tree branches. I stand there startled and dazed, my entire body shaking and my heart… It’s always fucking racing.

His palms fall upon my shoulders, and I find myself easing backward against him. I fight to breathe, because if I breathe, then maybe I can react appropriately. My mind is ignited with the fire of reason, but my body is fueled by the flames of passion.

“You want—“

“I can’t.” I pull away from him once more, knowing the longer I stay here, the more likely I am to take the fall. The cliff is sharp and dangerous, with jagged rocks at the bottom. In no world does this end well.

“You want this as much as I do,” he says from behind me, in a tone that’s torn between complacency and pleading.