Freefall (8 page)

She smiled and nodded. She took a long lick up the side of the cone.

“How’s the tattoo? Not too sore?”

She nodded again and then walked away. I felt the weight of major disappointment figuring that she was headed over to Hammond. But then she stopped and her blue eyes sparkled back at me as she motioned with her head for me to follow. Which I did— without hesitation.

I followed her behind a small storage building. She took another long lick on the ice cream, but the hot evening was making it hard for her to keep up with the drips of vanilla. She lifted the cone and used her eyes to ask if I wanted a bite.

I shook my head. “No, I’m having way too much fun watching you eat it.”

A wicked grin deepened the dimple on her cheek. Then with deliberate slowness, she pushed the entire scoop of ice cream into her mouth and drew it out slowly with her lips closed tightly around it.

“Okay, now you’re just being mean.”

Her smooth shoulders shook with a silent laugh. Then she held up a long finger. She turned to the side and slid her shirt up to where the tattoo started. It was another move I hadn’t expected, and I had to mentally slow down my pulse, which was starting to surge through every muscle. The skin around my artwork was slightly pink.

“It looks like it’s healing fast.” My fingers could not be stopped. I reached up and lightly touched the skin around the ink, and she released a breathy sigh. I ran my fingers down the entire stretch of the scar, and she moaned faintly when I reached the end of it. Then she let the t-shirt drop, and she stared up at me. She reached into her back pocket to pull out her pad of paper and pen and then she stared at the drippy cone in her hand. She held it up for me to take and flipped open the pad. She was just about to write but looked up and waved a finger at me.

“I won’t drop it,” I smiled.

She wrote something quickly and held up the note. “Lincoln wanted me to go to a different tattoo parlor.”

It felt like someone fisted me in the chest. I would never see her again. “Why?”

She wrote more. “He doesn’t like you.”

“The feeling is mutual.” I looked down at her. “So you’re not coming back to my shop?”

Her pen flew across the paper. The curtain of dark lashes lifted, and she gazed up at me. “I told him it had to be you.”

I unclenched my jaw. “I’m glad.”

She took the cone back from me. A huge drip of melted ice cream curled around my finger. She took hold of my wrist, brought my finger to her lips, and licked the ice cream off of it.

I swallowed hard and smiled down at her. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

Her lush bottom lip jutted out, and she shook her head. She finished the last bit of ice cream and tossed the cone to some pigeons. She wrote. “Your father was a race car driver?”

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“Google.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

She smiled and scratched her pen on the paper. “Not that I’m stalking you. I was just curious.”

I smiled. “Yeah, it’s not like you have a picture of me in your wallet or anything like that.”

She found that humorous.

“My dad died in a race.”

The dimples faded and she nodded. We’d been having this great, sexy conversation, and I brought it to a screeching halt by bringing up death.

“Scotlyn.” She peered up at me, and for a second every thought went out of my head and all I could think about was dragging her into my arms. “I’m glad I’m going to be finishing the tattoo.”

She looked away, and I panicked for a second wondering what I’d said wrong and then her blue gaze focused on me again. She reached up and pressed her palm against the side of my face, and I felt the heat of her touch race through me. Hammond’s distinctive, annoying voice let us know he was nearby. She stiffened at the sound of it.

“You better walk out first,” I said. “I’ll walk around the back of the restaurant.”

She slid her paper and pen back into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She handed it to me, and I punched in my cell phone number and handed it back to her. I watched her walk away wondering if it had all been real or if I had been dreaming.

Scotlyn made a point of not looking my way as I met up with everyone in front of Rocky’s. But Hammond skewered me with a distrustful glare. Clutch didn’t look happy, which meant no sell. The second I reached them, Hammond took hold of Scotlyn’s hand and left. And, once again, I watched her walk away from me.

“There’s nothing worse than a rich tightwad,” Clutch muttered.

“Sorry about that. I thought he’d be freer with his cash.” Scotlyn disappeared into the crowd. “What the hell am I going to do, Clutch? Now that I’ve actually met her and touched her, I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“I don’t blame you.” He grinned down at me. “But I have to say it is pretty damn funny watching Mr. Heartbreak having his own heart take a beating for once.”

“I’m glad my emotional and physical pain is a source of entertainment for you.”

People milled about in the waning light of the warm summer evening with no real purpose except to hang out with friends and eat greasy food. The loud rumble of a big motor preceded a nice looking Nova as it rolled through the crowd.

“That’s Tucker,” Clutch said, as we watched the car go past, “although I always make a point of calling him Fucker.”

I shook my head. “You really are an asshole.”

“Yep, but he did a nice job on that Nova. You should race him in the Firebird.” Having a race car driver for a dad, I’d always just assumed I would follow him in to the business. He had me driving around the track by the time I was twelve. And for awhile, even though he was gone, I thought I would still race. But those dreams faded away eventually, much to Nana’s relief.

“Hey guys,” Taylor poked her head in between us. She had tied her blouse up to expose her flat, brown stomach, and she had her hair in two braids. Her jeans were cut off so short the bottoms of her pockets stuck out below the fringed hem.

Clutch stared down at her. “I was just wondering where the annoying pest, Taylor, was tonight.”

She pushed her face up toward his. “Why, were you waiting to see me?”

“Right. Don’t flatter yourself, Sweetheart.”

She pulled her phone out to read a text and then squinted into the crowd. A couple of young, straight out of high school guys, were waving her over. Taylor shrugged and texted something back to them. “So did you sell a car tonight?”

“No, I didn’t. Selling cars is a little more complicated than that,” Clutch said tersely.

“Really, cause I heard that Mikey from over at Baron’s shop sold three cars tonight without ever leaving his beach chair.”

I laughed. “Maybe you need a beach chair.”

“He sells his stock dirt cheap, that’s why.”

Her phone buzzed again, and she read the text. The two guys had not given up yet.

“Why don’t you go play with your little friends?” There was always pure tension in Clutch’s tone when he spoke to her, but it wasn’t anger. It was frustration.

She waved to the guys. “I’ve got plenty of them out there.”

Clutch crossed his arms, something he did a lot around her, and I was pretty sure it was out of self-preservation. “And yet, you stand here and annoy me.”

She stepped in front of him and lifted her chin up in the air, a gesture she’d perfected. “Don’t flatter yourself, Clutch.” She turned away and headed for the guys who had been texting her.

Clutch watched her walk away the same way I’d watched Scotlyn leave. “Why the fuck does she dress like that?”

I looked over at him. “Like what?”

He dropped his arms, finally able to relax now that she was out of reach. “Like one of those Daisy May farmer’s daughters. You know with the old man who sleeps with his damn hunting rifle and the poor unsuspecting salesman shows up to the house and the daughter seduces him.”

I lifted a brow and stared at him. “Well, I’m going to go out on a limb and say she’s dressed that way because she’s seventeen and she likes the attention.” I smiled. “Farmer’s daughter? A fantasy of yours?”

“Shut the hell up, Nix. And look who’s talking? Just how fast did you slip into the bathroom to jack off after that girl walked away from you? I saw you coming around the building.”

He could sense my anger and he shut up fast.

“I think I’ve had about enough of this place tonight,” I said. “I think I’m going to head to the harbor.” As I turned to leave, a convertible Mustang pulled up, and the driver laid on the horn.

Clutch’s shoulders tensed. “What the hell is she doing?”

The two guys that Taylor had left to talk to were pulling her toward the Mustang. Taylor was laughing at first but then her smile faded. She was struggling to get out of their grasp, but they got her to the car, picked her up, and tossed her into the backseat. I’d never seen Clutch move so fast. He stood in front of the car like Thor and scowled down at the driver. The idiot laid on the horn again, but Clutch didn’t budge.

“Get out of the car, Taylor.”

“She’s with us,” the driver, who apparently had a death wish, said confidently. “Why don’t you go back to your beanstalk?”

I walked over to the car and lowered my hand for Taylor. She looked relieved to see me and reached for my hand, but one of the guys in the back blocked her from taking it. We’d drawn a pretty decent crowd by this point. Taylor looked scared, and I’d had enough. I reached for the door handle just as Clutch slammed both of his fists down on the hood of the car leaving two matching dents. “Taylor, get out of the fucking car, right now,” he said between gritted teeth.

The driver lifted up in his seat and looked out as his hood. “What the fuck? You dented my car.”

This time when I lowered my hand for Taylor to take no one blocked it. She grabbed it, and I lifted her up and over the side of the car. The second her feet hit the ground, she ran off.

Clutch stepped aside, and with a flourish of his hand, he suggested they drive away. Which they did— without hesitation. The steam was still rising off my buddy’s skin as he stepped back over to the side of the road. The spectators broke apart mumbling in disappointment at the uneventful ending.

We watched the Mustang screech out of the driveway. I looked up at him. “That was subtle.”

“Shut up, Nix. What a lousy-ass night. Let’s get out of here. I’ll give you a ride to your car. Where’s Dray?”

“Haven’t seen him.” We walked over to the Pontiac. An older man was looking underneath the hood.

“Give me a minute, Nix. Let me see if this is a serious buyer or just some goofball.”

“No problem.” I looked around wondering if Hammond had taken off right away or if there was a chance she was still here somewhere. I pulled the picture out of my wallet and ran my thumb over it thinking about her palm pressing against my face. I could still feel her touching my skin. A hand slapped my shoulder, jarring me out of my thoughts. I stuck the picture back in my wallet.

“Hey, is it true Clutch pounded on some asshole’s car?” Dray asked.

“Yep, it’s true.”

“Damn, I wish I’d seen that. What had him so pissed?”

“Taylor.” It was all I needed to say.

“Of course.”

The customer walked away, and Clutch’s frown returned. “I’m done here,” he said dejectedly. He lowered the hood on the Firebird. Just as it snapped shut, the Mustang pulled up and screeched to a stop. They’d gone to pick up an oversized friend who looked like a linebacker. Armed with their own giant, they confidently hopped out of the car.

“I take it this is the dented car,” Dray mumbled from the side of his mouth. I could hear the excitement in his tone at the prospect of a fight.

“Yeah. Looks like they went to get a big brother.”

The three of us stood shoulder to shoulder.

“You dented my friend’s car,” the thick necked guy grunted.

“Yep,” Clutch said, “he’s just lucky I didn’t dent his head.”

For the second time that night, we’d attracted a curious crowd. We were definitely getting more attention than the vintage cars.

The moose who looked as if he had more muscle than sense smacked his fist in to his palm. “We’ll see whose head gets dented.”

Dray stepped forward. “Yeah, you and me, Cyclops, right now.”

The guy stared down at him, and a smile crept up his face then he looked at Clutch. “That’s sweet. You have your own personal leprechaun to fight for you.”

The tension bounced off of Dray like a taut bungee cord. “Now, I wish you hadn’t called me that.”

“Dray, forget it. It’s not worth it,” I said. He ignored me, and I knew he would.

“Why is that?” the ogre asked.

Dray moved closer. “Because now I’m going to have to punch a fucking hole in that ugly face of yours.”

The guy opened his mouth to laugh, and I lunged at Dray and grabbed his arm. I looked at the imbecile and his friends, and my expression must have been enough to let them know that they were messing with dynamite. Dray’s arm was as hard as iron beneath my grasp. It was like holding back a catapult after the spring had been released. “I suggest you leave now while you are still standing upright.”

They paused, but only for a second, and then the four of them climbed into the convertible and drove away. I released Dray’s arm, and he looked back at me. He was pissed as hell. “Nix, I love you like a brother,” he spoke between clenched teeth, “but don’t ever fucking do that again.”

“Was that idiot really worth spending the rest of your life in jail?”

Dray waved me off. “Fuck you, Nix. I’m heading back to the boat.”

I looked back at Clutch. “It’s definitely time to call it a night.”

C
HAPTER 10

Scotlyn

I stared down at the pool area from the balcony and shook my head. I’d listened to Lincoln rant for an hour about the tattoo artist’s buddy being nothing but a con-man, and now he sat down by the pool with a creepy bunch of guys who were anything but legit. I was thankful for the tattoo. It gave me the perfect excuse not to be there, although it seemed Lincoln might not have invited me anyhow. He seemed to be getting in over his head with something bad.