Head Over Wheels (Steamy New Adult Romance) (3 page)

B
efore sunrise, I headed out the door
in a turquoise bra top and black Capri leggings, lugging a sweater and racing thoughts, wondering if my perfectly planned stalk would have a positive outcome. If I timed it right I'd reach Kelly's at the same time as college Joe. Feeling thoroughly prepped, I hoped for a repeat of history.

As I walked down the street anxiety built and my head filled with "what ifs". Then it hit me:
really ... what if?
What was I doing?

It wasn't even rush hour and the place was a mob scene.
Couldn't some of these people find somewhere else to buy their morning coffee?
My stomach quivered, along with my jaw, both rebelling, gripping tighter than my pants. Was I wearing the right outfit?
Why didn't I just wear jeans and a T-shirt?

My brain went into non-stop-nag mode. What am I gonna do – walk around the entire café
 inspecting faces? Examine the top half of every guy's torso while searching for the special one that had almost knocked me off my feet?

Attempting to scour the place discreetly, I didn't see the chair leg that tripped me. I lost my balance, but thankfully grabbed onto a guy whose jaw dropped when I hung onto him for dear life. Not thankful for
him
though, as the shoulder I commandeered was attached to the arm I accidentally jerked into the air. A nightmare unfolded when the cup of steaming coffee he clutched flew out of his hand.

"Save me, Lord," I whispered as black liquid saturated the front of his suit jacket. Hmm. Armani?

"Oh my God ... did you get burned?" I gushed while reaching for a handful of napkins, ready to swab him off. "It's so ... crowded ... in ... here ..." My cheeks didn't need the burgundy blush I'd patted on less than an hour earlier.

I must have looked about to cry, or beg, or faint, maybe all three, because the anger in his eyes disappeared and a smile sprouted. Then he slowly assessed my shirt, my hips.
Stop right there buddy ...

"Grab a seat. I'll buy us a cup of coffee." His eyes worked their way back up to mine, which were still wide and straining as he shrugged out of his jacket.

The guy was gracious. He could have been a professional, maybe an attorney, and he was being nice, maybe too nice.  I knew the incident had attracted stares. Eyes all over me, I feared a coronary. Oh merciful heaven. Not like that hideous dream. Please! Let's not go there.
Why am I here? What am I doing?
Wait till I get my hands around Emma Kim's throat! Had I eaten breakfast, I might have hurled it over the poor guy's chest. Even worse, his impeccably styled head of hair.

"You look like you need something stronger than this." With a snarky grin, he held up his empty cup like a trophy. "Come on. Have a seat." He dragged out the chair beside him.

"That's okay." I managed a smile that didn't seem to go along with my internal turmoil. "I'm late for class. I have to run."

Kelly's was buzzing, faces a blur. The café seemed to shrink around me, then everything started to spin. I had to get out of there. Pronto.

That's when it happened. Of course, at the most inopportune time. I was so unprepared. I knew schemes rarely unraveled as planned, but things couldn't have been worse. My mission had been canceled by an unknown force. Maybe it was meant to be this way. I lifted my face to the ceiling.
Grandma, is that you trying to tell me something? Maybe I'm not supposed to ever see him again. Is that it? Couldn't you have tipped me off earlier? Before I walked into this mess?

There he was. Dear Lord. Standing in line. Exactly like the day before, the look on his face a startling replica. Was this an accidental do-over? Was I freaking out? Yes! I was freaking out. Let me out of here, my mind shrieked. My hands trembled. My legs began to buckle. I felt the blood drain from my tingling face which would then turn stark white for the first time in my life.

The speech Em and I had concocted was spilled all over the expensive jacket of some amorous stranger. My heart was in overdrive, skipping beats. And to make matters worse, I'd have to walk right by gorgeous to get out the door. So I did the next best thing. I hid in the ladies' room for five minutes. That would give him enough time to grab his coffee and vacate the premises. Please be gone, I prayed as I stepped out of the bathroom, blotting the ice-cold water I'd thrown at my cheeks, my eyes darting every which way.

Just my luck. A single barista handling two lines. What the hell? Punished. I was being punished for something I must have done. It must have been horrendous for heaven to impose such a dreadful sentence.

Okay, Jewel. You can do this. Quietly skim by. Brace those legs. Look calm. BE calm. Deep breath. That's it. In and out. In and out. Soft breaths. I moved as if in a dream, a sleepwalking basket case, not feeling my arms, my legs, my slinking footsteps. I busied myself, digging into my bag for nothing while looking straight ahead. But ... as fate would have it, the line he was on merged with the other, altering his position, bringing him even closer to the insignificant space I was trying to sneak through. And then he turned. Why? I had no clue, but this time, when his eyes reached out to mine, a shadow of a smile crept across his lips, and I swore his gaze did a head to toe sweep ... of me.

I steadied myself, ready to cast him my dimpliest smile, willing my voice to return, along with my confidence: of course I was thinking ahead, planning an opening conversation. But there it was again ... that troubling expression on his face. Moody? God, I hoped not. Solemn? Heartbroken – that was the look. Please don't let him be crushing on someone who didn't love him back. What girl in her right mind wouldn't have loved him back?

My heart skipped a few more beats. Rushing adrenaline shot through my limbs, jellifying my brain. I couldn't believe it. I hadn't felt this way since my first high school crush which ended in disaster when I slid across the cafeteria floor thanks to the banana peel that adhered to the sole of my shoe.

Nikos was a thing of the past. I'd had time to come to terms with being dumped instead of dumping. This wasn't rebound. Maybe not even the flavor of the month. It was something I just knew. Like when the clock struck twelve, you knew it was noon. Wait ... maybe midnight. I was so confused, but one thing for sure. This guy could be capable of eradicating the resentment that knotted my stomach if I lost control.
If
  I lost control? What a joke.

Maybe the look in his eyes hastened my recovery. Was it vulnerability? Was there something inside
him
that could somehow match the disturbance shuddering inside
me
? The uncertainty? The longing?

As though I'd grown wings, my body turned fluid and capable. Next thing I knew, my ballet flats slid across the floor, bringing me close enough to see his eyes were green, no, blue, wait, gray? They looked versatile, changing with the colors he wore. In tan Khakis and peach pullover, they appeared turquoise: big, bright, tropical seas.

Skimming past bodies, drawing looks from customers acting as if I were a line-cutter, heated my face, but I didn't care. I was back on course. And this was a mission. The adrenaline I thought I'd depleted surged. Hopefully, the rush would remain hidden beneath my olive complexion.

A second barista appeared and the snaking line divided in two, stealing him further from my planned invasion. In a final attempt I closed in and stuck an arm between two women, excused myself, slipped up to the counter and snatched a couple of packets of sugar to go with my invisible coffee. I couldn't just glide up to him, but I could angle my body just the right way ... and that's precisely what I did.

Apparently, he noticed my maneuvers. "Mocha latte?" The slight curl of his lips angelic, but oh so sexy.

Was he as nervous as me? I found my voice, about to accept his gracious offer – was it an offer? Hold on, Jewelia – when for some reason, as he gazed over my head the smile slid from his face like a dying sun. Then his luscious lips drew into a brittle line and his eyes were no longer on mine. The
reason
turned out to be a scrawny blonde who wedged herself between us, shot me a dirty look, then turned her back, completing the takeover in a slithering second. Talk about insults. Stuck up bitch, I wanted to scream as I slammed her in the jaw. With what had to be Divine Intervention, I kept my hands from balling at my sides and did neither. The pulse of my cell phone had to have been my saving grace.

Pete: Reminder. Movie night

Of course, I'd forgotten.

Me: Can't wait

Liar.

Pete: Dinner first @ Six

Me: Already starving

Pete: Laters

Me: Pete?

Pete: Yeah Kit Kat?

Me: Miss U

Pete: Miss u 2 babe

So, that was that. I left Kelly's without my latte fix, even more devastating, without making actual contact. I jogged ten blocks to the class for which I was about to be late. All for nothing! My ballets flew, coming to a squeaking halt before my classroom door. After this, I'd have cause to skip the gym. By the time I collapsed in my seat my feet ached, but my ballerinas bore the brunt of the mad dash. Professor Eidlehorn was in the middle of explaining why acid wouldn't permanently erase fingerprints. No one seemed to notice that I was panting. Maybe they just didn't care. I fought to focus, and ward off my professor's lethal breath when he leaned into me as he dropped an assignment in my lap.

"Highest grade in the class, Miss Delarosa."
Did he eat raw onions every morning?

"Thank you, Jarrod." I felt odd calling him by his first name, but since he insisted ...

College Joe and our hijacked meeting haunted me: his face, her face, my agitation, clumped into a boiling knot in the pit of my stomach. But I couldn't let it eat me alive. If I was getting back in the game, about to deal with a bitch like her, I'd need to grow thick skin ... hard and fast ... show her – no him – who the better woman was.

A
fter class I went straight to work, changed clothes, and nabbed a sticky-finger before lunch. Despite the hectic morning, the afternoon dragged. Maybe it was the nagging disappointment.

I was decked out in finery. Dripping of someone else's money. Strolling up and down aisles, stilettos sinking into three inch thick carpet, I sifted through racks of designer originals: gorgeous fashions I'd love to own, but got to wear for free. It was part of my job. I had to look fantastic so I'd fit in with the wealthy. The wealthy whose clothes covered their inadequacies. Or so my grandma would say whenever I complained about my wardrobe. I'd never forget her words: "Jewelia ... you remember. It's not the clothes that make you who you are. Your beauty is on the skin you were born with ... and also beneath that lovely surface."

My grandmother disputed the adage: "Clothes make the man," with a sharp lifted chin assuring everyone, in Grandpa's case, "Man made the clothes. My man." She'd roll her eyes that sparkled like a moonlit lagoon, laugh until she teared, then turn reverent as she tapped the sign of the cross. My grandma's eyes were like navy blue gems. Most unusual, especially given her heritage.
La más bella, [the most beautiful]
my grandfather would swoon in Spanish with an adorable German accent.

My grandfather was from the old country; the old country being Germany, where they met when he was a tailor designing clothing for royalty, and she was a Latina beauty. One of Grandpa's clients was a famous artist, and Grandma was one of his treasured models. From the moment he set eyes on her, Grandpa was lost in love. She let him chase her for six months until finally agreeing to a dinner date. The rest was history, and the bloodline that followed.

Yup, she'd scoff at the adage. If that were the case, hands on curvaceous hips she'd insist, department store dummies would be real-life supermen. Her reasoning always made sense, and stuck with me. And here I was today, remembering, agreeing, missing them so much.

My grandparents were the most in love couple I'd ever known in my entire life. Totally opposite in ethnicity and disposition, they were mad about each other until the day they died, three months apart. I wondered if I'd ever find a love so strong that I'd want to die, like my grandpa did, if I lost my true soul mate.

"Always make sure he loves you more." I remembered Grandma telling me with a nod and wink. By surrendering to death so close to hers, my physically fit grandpa proved he'd loved her more than life. I sighed and wiped a brimming tear from my duct before it had a chance to trace the curve of my nose.

Following my reverie, I felt a pang and needed a change of scene, so I took the escalator to the second floor, pausing to admire a rack of slinky dresses recently added to a spotlight display. After fingering silk, sequins and tulle, I moseyed into the hair salon where I grabbed a natural bristle hairbrush, then picked up a striking red lipstick instead. Thanks to AMA I'd become an impulse buyer. I had more odds and ends in my room than I had space for. Four p.m. finally rolled around and I was on my way home – in my own clothes and ballet flats, running for the bus.

When I walked through the door, Emma was in the kitchen making a stir fry. It smelled delish, but since I was eating out with Pete, I had to pass.

"Save me some leftovers. I'm taking a shower."

"You look beat." Her eyes were sympathetic, then their almond shape rounded. "So?"

"So what?" I huffed. Why was I annoyed with Em?

"How did it go? I half expected you to call ... or text. But when you didn't ... well, I guess I assumed ..."

The expression on my face must have warned, because she backed off.

I flopped into a chair in the living room. After munching on an apple while watching
Judge Judy
reruns, I hopped into the shower. Unable to hear the doorbell which Em answered, I paraded out with a towel slung low around my hips, hair dripping spray-on conditioner down my back, shoulders and chest. I figured I must have glistened like an icicle in a thaw, because Emma's eyes widened. Then her hand flew to her mouth, covering a gasp. Sitting beside her on the sofa, Pete sucked in a long breath, then returned a burst of air to the room in the form of a low wolf whistle.

"You have the body of a goddess, Jewel," he groaned, throwing a forearm across his forehead to fake a faint.

I cupped my breasts. "Eat your heart out."

"Oh, don't think I don't." He lifted a brow.

"Maybe if you'd wear your uniform you'd have a better chance," I teased, then padded into my bedroom to dress. He had a way of lifting my mood. But definitely not in the same way that college Joe did.

Pete Williams was an NYPD rookie. Also a Criminal Justice major, he'd settled on the first job offer after graduation, which was a stepping stone to his career choice: Plain Clothes Detective. In his blues, Pete could knock anyone, anything off his feet, literally. Standing six three, and over two-hundred-twenty pounds of lean muscle, with a Latin look, he was hotter than August pavement at high noon. He was all American, but second generation Sicilian mixed well with Brit and Scot.

Emma and I ran into Pete one afternoon while he was on his corner beat. He tried to nail us for jaywalking, but ended up buying us drinks instead of issuing tickets. From that day on we forged the perfect triangle.  Pete's loving soul was hard to resist, blending easily with Emma's compassion, and my lust for life and need to control every aspect of it. Our personalities may have ricocheted now and then, but we never really clashed.

Pete turned to Emma, who was dressed in workout sweats. "You coming with us?"

"Nah." Magazine on lap, she slid to the floor and stretched her hamstrings.

Besides being absolutely adorable, Pete had a definitive nature. Life was broken down categorically – cut and dried – yes or no. He wouldn't take
nah
for an answer.

"Get off the fence and come with us. Bring someone, Em. We'll make it a foursome."

"Scott's working and there's really no one else ..."

"Are you two an item yet?" Pete was relentless.

Emma pruned her lips. "Scott's an emergency escort. Nothing more."

"Like Pete?" Standing beside the hunk occupying almost half of the sofa, I giggled, tweaked his bristly chin, then fell into his soft brown eyes.

"Not at all." Emma didn't move from her lotus position.

I grabbed Pete's arm and yanked. "Let's go. We're gonna be late."

Emma tore her stare away from
Elle
long enough to swipe a once-over. "You make the cutest couple." She winked. "Have fun."

We stopped at an Italian restaurant for pasta with marinara sauce, garlic bread and salads. Afterward, we hit up a candy store to bag some goodies to munch on during the show. As we strolled down West 54th, headed for the theater, I must have unconsciously been thinking about college Joe, because I barely absorbed Pete's jabber about work, complaining about the system, his salary, his temporary assignment on the corner of Madison.

"Hey," he said, flinging an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. "So, what do you think, beautiful?"

"About what?"

"About my parents' cabin in Maine?"

Oops. His droning must not have been all about work. "Maybe. Why don't we talk about it later?"

"You can be such a drag sometimes. But I still love you." He planted a kiss atop my head.

Looking up at him, I smiled. I was lucky to have him. "I love you back, Pete. I always will." I slowed his stride, reached up and aimed my cherry red lips for his cheek. My new lipstick looked terrific ...

During the two hour comedy, we put on our own show, laughing like idiots – at each other – not the flick. As usual, we sat in the back row. Pete could become boisterous if coerced, and it didn't take much to get me going. When I wouldn't stop tickling him, Pete began pitching popcorn at me. Despite the usher who made numerous threats to unseat us, the night was exceedingly pleasant, taking my mind off college Joe and his bitch. Well, almost.

Before the movie ended, Pete's arm tightened around my shoulders, his head resting against mine. "You're fun to be with, Jewel. Helps take the load off life."

"Hey, are you doing alright? I mean, the job and all?"

"Sure." He kissed my cheek. "But I can't wait to lose the uniform."

"Shit. You heat those blues, baby," I teased, patting his thigh which felt solid beneath his jeans. "I'm having a great time, too." I pressed my cheek firmly against his, then settled back into the seat.

The movie ended and as we exited the theater the first thing to hit me was the invigorating smell of rain. Without hesitation, I led us into the middle of a thunderstorm. The sky flashed above us, thunder accompanying each bolt of lightning.

"Want to wait it out?" Pete was so thoughtful. "How convenient. There's a bar two doors away." He eyed me, shrugging one of his caterpillar brows.

"Hmm. I'm tempted." Damn early mornings. Whatever happened to freedom and irresponsibility? "I'd like to, Pete, but I'm beat. Let's make a run for it."

Pete's guiding arm went around me, shoving me under awnings, close to buildings we scooted past. When we ran out of overhead shelter, he held a big hand over my head.

"It's fine, Pete. I'm not gonna melt." Between running and laughing I was growing short of breath. "Besides, I love the rain," I practically gasped, enjoying the feel of clean rainwater on my face, rinsing my lips when I spoke.

"Now you tell me." He laughed and pushed me into the middle of the massive downpour, lifting me off my feet, tossing me around like I was weightless.

By the time we reached my apartment, my hair was glued to my scalp, my clothes to my skin.

In high gear, we took the stairs like athletes in training. Standing before my door, we dripped puddles, stifling our laughter so we wouldn't wake the neighbors, or heaven forbid, interrupt Emma's beauty sleep.

I fumbled through my bag, found my key and opened the door. Palms over mouths we fell through the doorway and into the foyer. The apartment was silent and dim. Emma's door was closed, no reading lamp bleeding from the bottom inch of white painted wood.

"Look at you," Pete clicked his tongue. Bending at the knee, he pulled off my shoes. "Into the shower, Kit Kat."

"What are you, my sitter?" I gulped down a chuckle.

"Keep walking." He shoved me into the darkened bath, then switched on the light, grabbed a towel from a rack and mopped rain from my face. He laughed. "You should wear waterproof mascara."

Standing before the mirror,  I wiped charcoal streaks from my cheeks with a cotton ball, while he unzipped my jeans, dragging them down to my ankles. Lifting one foot at a time, he steadied me as he freed me from the drenched garment that felt like it weighed ten pounds.

"Woman, you are soaked to the skin. Let's get these clothes off before you get sick."

"Me?" My eyes swept him from head to toe. Beneath the lights his face and smooth arms glistened. His damp hair curled carelessly, raindrops trailing jaw line to neck, rolling into his crewneck tee. I pulled his shirt up and over his head, then threw a towel around him. "Practice what you preach, officer." I tweaked his chin, then smooshed the wet cotton fabric into his smirk. "Grab one of my oversized tees from my dresser."

"If I can't dry mine in the microwave, I'll take you up on that offer."

Pete adjusted the stream of water to just the right temp. While his back was turned, I slid down my panties and stashed them in the hamper, unhooked my bra and let it fall to the floor. Swallowed by a cloud of steam, I blew him a kiss and shut the frosted glass, luxuriating in the warmth.

The door cracked open, and Pete poked his head in, stare glued to my foamy face. "I'll make us some tea. Lemon and honey?"

"Don't forget to scrub the lemon before you slice it. And just give it a good squeeze. Don't drop the rind in my cup."

He let out a good-humored sigh. "Of course, dear. I know you and bacteria don't mix." He rolled his eyes and shut the door.

Grinning, I lathered with scented wash and shampooed my hair, then padded into the kitchen, comfy and dry, sporting
Hello Kitty
sleep shorts and tank top.

Pete greeted me with a chuckle. "You look like a little kid."

"Sometimes I feel like one. Too bad life doesn't realize this."

"What are you talking about? Something wrong?"

I was tempted to vent my emotions, then decided against it. Pete was understanding, but I didn't feel comfortable confiding in him about college Joe. For sure he'd start the third-degree, which I wasn't up to. I had no idea what was going on, so how could I explain it to someone else?

Sitting at our small table, we shared tea and gossip we hadn't had a chance to dish during the movie. Cop talk was usually interesting, not to mention occasionally shocking.

"So you were the first one to find the victim?" Even though my body was tired, my eyes were wide awake. So was my mind.

"Yep. First on the scene." Cop talk always sobered Pete.

"Oh my God. How awful was it?" I remembered my grandmother resting in a casket and shuddered. Experiencing a natural passing was a far cry from witnessing a gunshot victim left bleeding to death in an alley.