Her father had given her a going away party, something that had been thrown together in the park at the town square. It had been an open invitation, and many Cherry Falls residents came, enjoying the barbecue and handing out grad gifts and well wishes.
I shouldn't have gone, should have left, yet I found myself staying, keeping to the shadows like a predator because I’d seen Dolly in a whole new light.
A dangerous light.
The kind that made a man obsessed and willing to do anything to make her mine.
I remember that night, how I couldn’t stop looking at the way her little white dress with the pink flowers hugged her curves. At eighteen, she was built like a woman, curvy and full, thick and… perfect.
Mine.
But I hadn’t made a move, didn’t even say one word to her. And over the years of her being away, when I saw her the few times she came to town to see her father on breaks, I felt that need for her grow even more intense.
Because those times I’d seen her were like giving me a cold glass of water as I crawled through the dry desert.
Of course I knew wanting her “wasn’t right.” I’d told myself that a hell of a lot. But fuck if I couldn’t stop myself or my need. And I felt that obsessive burn brightly in me, that possessive need to finally go after what I wanted.
I pushed those thoughts away—tried like hell anyway—and cleaned up. Half an hour later, I was showered and dressed and pulled my pick-up truck into the parking lot of the auto shop. As one of the best damn motorcycle mechanics in town, I was good at my job.
I could fix anything, my hands like the paintbrush of an artist, meticulously precise like a surgeon working on a heart. I could fix a lot of shit, but I hadn't been able to fix my life for a long-ass time. But things change; people could change. And I’d been living with that motto for fifteen years.
I parked my truck and killed the engine. When I saw her car in the lot, something tightened in the pit of my stomach. I wanted to fix her car for the simple fact I wanted to make sure she was safe on the road… I wanted to know she was cared for.
I exhaled roughly at that thought and scrubbed a hand over my face, telling myself I was in over my head where Dolly was concerned. What I felt was suddenly moving so fast through me, a freight train that had been derailed and heading right for the city to decimate everything in its path.
I climbed out and headed inside, seeing Ryker already working on the engine of an old-school Mustang, grease covering his face and neck, the steady bump of music coming from the speakers overhead. He lifted his head as if sensing me, his grin slow and knowing. He tipped his head out of the bay doors, and I knew he was gesturing toward Dolly’s car.
“Saved it for you.”
I grunted in acknowledgement but otherwise kept my mouth shut.
“Figured you’d want to get your hands on it—hell, assumed you’d be the only one to want to fix it up.”
He thought right, but of course I didn’t say that either.
After getting her car in the garage, for the next hour I worked on figuring out what was wrong with Dolly’s tiny, aged compact. I’d opened the driver’s side door and instantly smelled the sweet scent of her. It was hints of vanilla and honeysuckle, an aroma that instantly had my cock harder than steel.
“She called for a tow,” Ryker said, but I didn’t look at him. “Picked her up and took her and the car here.”
I kept my head under the hood of her car but didn’t tell him to stop. I wanted to know anything about Dolly, even the littlest bit of information. I was like a starving dog being tempted with the best piece of steak. “Made small talk and all that shit. She’s staying at her old man's place, you know, that property that was for sale in the middle of fucking nowhere.”
I grunted, the small noise encouraging him to go on.
“She graduated with some degree in art but couldn’t deal with city life, not that I fucking blame her.” He went back to work on the engine he was tinkering with. “You know she’s a fucking dancer, man? Ballet. Not that I know anything about that, but I thought it was pretty fucking cool. Never knew a professional dancer in my life. Anyway,” he said and tossed the wrench he’d been using into the toolbox and got a different one. “She couldn’t find a job and was homesick, so here she is, back in Cherry Falls.” The clank of metal on metal proceeded his words. “Said she’s only staying with her dad until she can find a place in town. Said he’s got one room and no way in hell she’s sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future.”