Spiked Lemonade: A Bad Boy Sailor and a Good Girl Romantic Comedy Standalone (22 page)

I press my mouth up against hers, feeling the mud seep between us. As hot as I wanted this to be, a drop of it drips into my mouth, and I pull away, quickly spitting it out. “What?” she says, worriedly.

“That’s nasty. Why would you let me put mud on your lips?” She shoves me backward into more mud and stands up, wiping her hands off on her legs.

“What am I getting myself into?” she groans, walking up the shallow path.

“You haven’t gotten yourself into anything yet. Just wait…” I’m a little excited for what I might get into, though.

SASHA

I’D LIKE TO
think the last hour of my life didn’t happen but it did, and it can’t be erased. My pretty little car is totaled, and the man sitting beside me just kissed me like I have never been kissed before. He made my heart do flips and all sorts of somersaults. Now he has this egotistical smirk etched across his face, and I still want to slap it off. This is the most confusing and yet, dare I say, enjoyable experience I’ve had in a good while.

Looking down at my crossed legs, I see I’m covered in a thin layer of dirt, and I have scrapes all over my legs. My white jacket is nearly black, and I can only imagine what my face looks like. I’m having a hard time thinking about the fact that anyone is seeing me like this, but Jags doesn’t look much better. Actually, I take that back, looking at him a little more with the mud on his face, his eyes look far bluer, his teeth are way more brilliantly white, and his dark blonde hair is accidentally spiked in this messy way that’s just…wow…he’s really something.

The roads are a disaster, and I don’t remember ever seeing this town look so rough. “This is pretty bad,” Jags says.

“Yeah,” I sigh. “It is.”

“Do you mind coming back to the shop with me for a few? I have to drop this car off and grab mine. I’ll take you back to Cali and Tango’s after,” he says.

I look down at myself again. I honestly look terrifying but after he just saved my life and I’m in no position to argue. “Of course. Whatever you need to do,” I say, combing my fingers through my dirt-riddled hair.

“We’ll call the insurance company this afternoon and start a claim on your car, okay?” I don’t even know what he’s talking about. I’ve never had to do a claim or anything like that. I guess I’ve been lucky. “Do you know who your insurance company is?”

“Yeah, it’s Towne Mutual.” I can’t focus on insurance right now. This storm is just the icing on the cake, the final layer of
I can’t take much more
. My life is officially upside down and inside out, and it’s making my chest ache almost every minute of the day. I’ve gotten this feeling many times over the course of my life, like a smothering pain. I’m always told I have to move away from what makes me comfortable and told what to do and when to do it. I’m constantly advised on what I should be doing rather than what I want to do. I feel like I’ve had a leash tied around my neck for way too long and I want to break away.

We pull into a run-down body shop downtown and Jags parks around the back side of the building. I pull down the mirror on the visor and look at exactly what I didn’t want to see. Makeup is streaked down my cheeks, and my hair is one giant knot. I wipe the makeup off my face and close the mirror back up before I have any more time to look at my scary reflection.

Jags manages to get out and around to my side of the car to open my door by the time I even remove my seatbelt. “You open doors too?” I joke.

“Only for pretty ladies, and sometimes Tango.” He offers me his hand, and I don’t hesitate to take it. “Doesn’t look like this area got hit as hard as where you decided to break down.” Isn’t that just my luck.

My hand instinctively tightens around his as we walk into the car-oil-scented shop. This place isn’t very big and no one is inside. Jags looks in the various areas of the shop until he pulls me out into the front lot where we see a woman lying underneath one of the cars. At least I think it’s a woman. The legs are way too thin to be a man’s. “Bambi,” Jags shouts.

Oh, it’s her.
Bambi
. Who names their daughter Bambi? Clearly, her parents intended for her to be a pole dancer.

She slides out from under the car, and I see a perfect, slim body, and dark hair tousled up in a purposely messy knot on the top of her head. She’s gorgeous, and she’s under a car. Isn’t that every man’s fantasy?

“Everything okay with your friend’s…” she starts but then notices me.

“It’s totaled,” he tells her. “Any car casualties here?”

“Couple of cosmetic issues but nothing too serious. We got lucky here. Is there anything I can do to help with your car?” she asks me.

“It’s crushed at the bottom of a ditch,” I tell her, sounding meek in the presence of these two dominant personalities.

Cleaning her hands off on a rag, Bambi steps towards us and into the sun that has decided to grace us with its glorious appearance after hiding behind the storm. The sudden clarity brings a bit of shock, though.
Wow
. What could have happened to her? I try my hardest not to look at the scars, but it’s hard since it’s rude not to look at someone when they’re talking to you.
It’s also rude to stare at someone’s flaws
. She seems pretty confident, though, like she doesn’t care about the scars, which makes me a jerk for feeling bad for her. “Where is it?” she asks.

“On the side of 37, near the Candlewood exit.”

“Why don’t you have it towed here so we can check it out a little more?” She’s so sweet offering to help. I notice as she offers, she smiles a bit, but with only half of her face. It looks like the other side of her face may not cooperate due to the damage. Poor thing.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“Of course.” She reaches her hand out for me to shake. It’s covered in dried oil, but I’m in no condition to think about getting my hands dirty with the way I look right now.

“I’m Sasha,” I say, shaking her hand.

“Greta,” she says. “Nice to meet you.” Greta? So this isn’t Bambi?

“Greta,” Jags says through laughter.

“Oh,” Greta says. “Jags is a little confused, don’t mind him. When he’s picking up random women in bars, he prefers to name them whatever name he would like to yell out in bed later that night. When he didn’t get lucky, he failed to ask me my real name at any point after that.”

I let her words sink in for a minute, and while I’d like to move past them, I can’t exactly do that. It’s nothing that should come as a surprise to me since I’ve heard the rumors about his track record. He hasn’t denied this reputation when I’ve brought it up to him, and I even know he tried to pick up Greta at the bar. But why did he try to pick her up if he had known her before then, and how did he not already know her name. That doesn’t make much sense to me.

“Jags said you guys had a past before you ran into each other at the bar that night,” I say, being a little ballsier than I’d normally be, but my curiosity is doing the work for my mouth.

Greta looks over at Jags and narrows her eyes at him for a brief second. “We met before, but I’m not sure I’d say we had a past. He didn’t even know my name.” This makes me wonder if they’ve had a strictly in-bed type of past. Considering Jags makes up names for women he apparently sleeps with, it would make sense.

“So,” Jags says, interrupting the conversation. “I have the number for your insurance company. Why don’t you tell them what happened and I’ll get a tow truck down to your car?”

I take the phone from Jags’s hand and walk back inside of the shop to get away from the noisy traffic. While inside, I can’t help but watch the two of them from inside the window—their interaction and the grin on Jags’s face as she says something to him with a scowl on her face. I shouldn’t be getting myself involved with someone like him, and this is why. How many reasons do I need to give myself? I know better than this. And now I’ve kissed him. And he’s a really good kisser. And that stinks. My lips won’t let me forget about that for a good while.

The on-hold music playing into my ear is like a soundtrack to what I’m still watching outside. They’re both laughing with each other, and it’s making my stomach hurt, but I don’t know why. I’m definitely not feeling jealous. I’m not with Jags, and I have no right to feel anything at all while watching him talk to another woman, a beautiful woman who has confidence and probably says dirty words. She’s obviously very nice, and that doesn’t help either.

A woman finally takes my call, and she’s asking me a million questions, but I don’t hear any of them. While Greta is fake punching Jags in the chest, I force myself to turn around and focus on the conversation and questions being shot out at me. I try to answer everything, but I don’t even know how many miles are on my car or what year I bought it. My mind doesn’t want to keep up right now.

“They’re sending a tow over right now,” Jags says, walking in through the front door. I hold my finger up, telling him to wait a minute as the insurance agent is explaining the very confusing process to me.

“What’s the address here?” I ask Jags.

By the look on his face, he doesn’t know. He runs toward the back of the room and reaches over the counter to an envelope and reads off a long address.

I give the agent the address, and she tells me an adjustor will meet me down here tomorrow. Great. No answers and no car for who knows how long.

Once I hang up the phone, Jags makes his way over to me and places his hands on my shoulders, giving me the same smile he was just giving Greta. I shrug out of his grip, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with this situation—one I’m not sure I understand fully.

“What are we doing?” I ask him.

He shoves his hands into his back pockets as a line of smugness pulls across his lips. “Well, I just saved your butt and then you wanted to kiss your Prince Charming afterward if I’m not mistaken.”

“And what are you doing with her?” I ask, sarcasm filling the depth of my words.

“Well,” he sighs. “I’m fucking her every night. I might even ask her to marry me next week. I was just sort of hoping you could be my latest fling on the side.”

I’m not amused by his joke or non-joke. I snatch my bag from the counter and walk back toward the door we originally came in from. “I’m calling a cab to take me home.”

“Home?” Jags asks, clearly enjoying this.

His question reminds me of how stuck I am right now. It’s either home to Mommy and Daddy or back to Cali and Tango’s. Why is the best option sounding like it should be to go back to my house and cross my fingers that Landon doesn’t come looking there for me? Unfortunately, from what Tango has heard, the cops let Landon go after a lot of questioning, and I wish I knew how that happened, considering Cali and I gave a statement on his actions toward me. I must not have been convincing enough. Then again, all the cops saw were two women in normal condition and a man who was beaten to a pulp by Tango and Jags,
who fled the scene.
How is this my life?

“That reminds me, I need to find a place to live.”
I need to get a life!
That should be super easy…or not.

“Well, I don’t recommend the Sawdust Motor Inn.”

The thought of staying in a motel makes my lip curl. I couldn’t, which again brings me back to my situation at hand. I have no options.

“So how about I take you to Cali and Tango’s, where I’m assuming you’ll end up staying tonight?” Jags asks.

“It’s only three. Don’t you have to stay at work?” I ask him, thinking it might be best if he stays and I go.

“Bambi…err…Greta said I could take off for the day so I could get you settled,” he says.

I want to say I’m surprised to hear that. By the looks of it, I’d think Greta would want him to stay and finish up the work day. “Oh.”

Jags reaches over and pinches at my cheek. “Are you jealous?” His lips twist into a lopsided grin as if he’s telling me he’d love to hear that I’m jealous.

“What could I be jealous about?” I retort. “I’m not yours, and you’re not mine, which means jealousy isn’t a possible factor.”

He purses his lips together in thought and scratches at the scruff of his chin. “There are exceptions to that, I believe.”

“Like what? If, say, you only wanted to get into my pants, then it would be okay for me to get jealous?” I don’t know why I just said that. I shouldn’t even put the thought into his head. “You know, back in the car, I was fooled into thinking you aren’t the person I know you really are. It’s not going to work, Jags. I’m not one of those sleazy girls who just wants to get with you and then sneak out of your bedroom twenty minutes later. I’m a lady. Men ask me out on dates and take the time to get to know me before anything else happens.” Well…men, being Landon, who’s not someone I should call a man right now. He’s a coward and a loser. Before him, I was twenty-two and still dating boys, I guess.

Jags’ smile grows wider, and it sort of infuriates me. “What is with you and needing to put a damn label on everything. Why not enjoy each moment as it comes? You could have died today, and here you are an hour later worried about the order in which your life falls. You need to loosen up, doll-face. You’re missing out on the ride.”