“This guy giving you trouble, Lane?” the giant oaf asked.
“The control panel is the screen. It can take a minute getting used to,” I said, tossing him the keys to my Tesla. He caught them midair without any hesitation.
“Clem is under the truck if you need him,” the man said before taking leave.
“What are you doing here if it’s your day off? You should come out with me instead. I’ll help take your mind off of work.”
“You know, leave it to a man like you to not know when to quit.”
“I’m sorry. Let’s start over. Roads-Lane… Our parents both at least had quite the sense of humor.”
“My parents are in politics,” she said without turning around. Her butt in those stupid jeans was making me hard in my suit.
“Mine are dead. Forget I said anything. What are you making?”
“Cookies.”
This was like pulling teeth. After how she screamed in bed last night, I’d imagined her more easygoing. Guess I was off by a little bit.
“Could I sample one?” I asked.
The woman tossed a cookie behind her without turning around. When I caught it, it crumbled in my hands. She was cold-hearted and hated me. I took a bite of the cookie that was still warm, and the sweet, flaky crispness melted in my mouth. “Snickerdoodle?”
She snorted. “Peanut butter.”
I inhaled abruptly and start to choke on the crumbs lodged in my throat.
She whips around as I wheeze.
“Jesus, Roads, are you choking?”
She ran around the counter to give me the Heimlich. She was even shorter without heels.
“Allergic,” I wheezed out. I didn’t believe my throat had swollen instantly but rather that there were crumbs of the cookie blocking my throat. At any rate, my eyes were watering profusely.
Cherry ripped the first aid kit down from the wall like a she-bear on a mission. “Clem!” she hollered above the bluesy folk music she’s got playing. “Clem!”
I staggered to the counter and feared I’d lose consciousness over my idiotic oversight. The small warrior was upon me with a needle that loomed menacingly in my tunnel vision. She jabbed it into my thigh through my pants, and I growled over the pain while she pulled the plunger and released the antidote into my veins. Experience had taught me that I’d still require a follow-up with the allergist and at least a week of Benadryl for my mast cells to calm down.
“Fuck…” My voice was scratchy. My vision was blurry as Cherry guided me to the black-and-white-tiled floor slowly so I didn’t hit my head.
“I’m so sorry, Roads. I didn’t know.”
“I hope that was epinephrine and you’re not exacting your revenge on the kitchen floor.”
“I’d have gone more gentle on you last night if I knew I could kill you with a cookie.” She cocked an eyebrow at me, and I smiled in my delirium. I liked her tattoos and how her eyebrows nearly disappeared without the added pencil. She looked younger without the getup. Younger and more innocent.
“Touché, Cherry. I drank my coffee alone,” I whispered before I closed my eyes.
“Don’t die, Roads,” she said, sounding genuinely choked up.
“I think I just need to go to the hospital.”
6
Laney
Edison Roads was a force all on his own. Rich as sin, sexy as hell, infuriating as fuck, and allergic to peanut butter——like deathly allergic.
I made sure he’d live before I ditched him in the hospital. Okay, I didn’t really ditch him. I made a quick phone call to Roads Automotive and let his guys know he’s in recovery. I wasn’t going to stand around and play Florence Nightingale to a man who was capable of crushing his enemies with a single look. Besides, it made me highly uncomfortable that I was attracted to him, that my heart hiccuped when I thought he was in danger and stuttered and beat furiously as I drove him to the hospital after reading that the side effects of epinephrine overdose included stroke, heart attack, and sudden death—heavy topics for a second date.
I guarantee we could have gotten there faster in the Tesla, but Mack was out joyriding, so we were forced to take the Santana.
“I feel like a superhero,” Edison croaked out.
He certainly didn’t look like one. In his gown in the ER, he looked like an adorable, albeit huge, little boy. Hair mussed up, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with nerves. He kept apologizing, and he’d done nothing wrong. It didn’t change my deep hatred of his guts, but I believed him when he said he didn’t know who I was.
I stopped at Target to shop myself into oblivion. Organizing crates, frivolous journals, and crisp new sheets could take any ails away. I ended up buying way more than I needed. I also promised myself chili and cornbread and binge-watching movies. It didn’t help that I was still sullen, still horny, still angry and smitten—a noxious combination. Roads had me riled up good. It wasn’t going to be easy to move on and forget him.