1
Chase
“Holy sweet Jesus, would you look at the legs on that mare?”
I slide out from under the car I’m working on and glance out into the yard where Tucker’s looking.
“Dayum,” he remarks as he looks out of the garage. A spark of anger flares in my chest automatically. He’s a smug, horny bastard, and I already know he’s got his eyes on some chick outside, but I have to look anyway. When I lay eyes on her, I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
A bombshell blonde strutting toward us like a model walking down the runway. She looks like she belongs in a magazine, not at some dumpy garage in Greenville. Her golden locks spill down her shoulders and all I can think about is sliding my fingers between them, pulling hard and crushing her lips to mine. I feel a race of heat shoot straight to my power center as I picture her face twisting in pleasure beneath me.
She’s wearing heels – heels! And a black pencil skirt that clings perfectly to every one of her flawless curves. Tucker may be a prick, but he’s right; her legs are incredible and go all the way up to a wide pair of hips that make me think of one thing: making babies.
I may not know shit about fashion, but I know enough to be able to tell that she’s not from around here. She looks like someone who should be palling around with millionaires and socialites, not strutting around this dinky little town. It’s painful just how out of place she is here, so painful it almost pisses me off.
As I get to my feet, she spots me and we lock eyes, and I feel like I’ve been hit in the gut with a line drive from David Ortiz. I have to check myself as my mouth hangs open and the throbbing between my legs starts to hurt as my bulge strains against my jeans.
I can’t believe it; I feel like I’m back in high school again – those days where your dick just didn’t listen to you? Yeah, that’s how I’m feeling as I watch her approach, my eyes sweeping down her body to land on her heels. What I wouldn’t do to have those ankles wrapped around my neck. I’m not even a foot guy, but I’d suck her toes if she asked me to.
I may have just laid eyes on her – shit, I haven’t even talked to her yet – but I’m feeling possessive as hell. No girl has made me feel this way in well…ever. I’m not a dog; I don’t just run around town looking for pussy, so the fact that I’m this smitten over her has me completely off balance.
Tucker steps towards her, a shit-eating grin on his face as he glances back at me, causing her eyes to move to him. I growl as he heads for her. The bastard’s new here and thinks he’s some kind of metrosexual pimp or something. He plays the part of a “nice guy” to perfection, and it somehow works on these girls, because every weekend he’s got a different story of some new chick he got into bed.
I, on the other hand, am one of those “jerks” that girls always talk about. Maybe it’s because I’m gruff, blunt and don’t put up with their bullshit. Or maybe it’s because there are no real men around anymore these days, and meeting one scares them.
Either way, I’m not about to let Tucker run his game on this one. Not a chance. I stride quickly up beside him and flick him hard in the balls, catching him just right and causing him to crumple to his knees.
“Tag, you’re it,” I grin as I walk past him.
“Oh, you son of a bitch!” he groans back.
Her scent hits me first – some kind of designer perfume that I don’t know the name of and don’t care either. Her lips are plump and full and I have to fight the urge to grab her and claim her right then and there. Shit. What is this girl doing to me?
She lets out a soft, nervous laugh and tilts her head down. I realize I’ve been staring, my eager eyes drinking in every detail of her body. I want to pin her down and sully that pricey outfit she’s wearing, cover it in the grease and dirt that I’m coated in and make an absolute mess out of her. I wonder what her rich friends would think when they saw her like that.
“Wore the walking shoes today, eh?” I remark, glancing down at her delicate feet wrapped in her candy-red heels.
“My car broke down out on Route 8,” she says, twisting a heel in the dirt. She’s nervous. I’m scaring her. “A bunch of smoke started coming out of the hood and it just sort of stopped.”
She means steam of course. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, and unless her car’s engulfed with flames, she probably ran out of radiator fluid and the engine’s overheating. But girls don’t know shit about cars, so I let it slide.
I wonder what she’s doing in this town anyway. Passing through probably, on the way to New York or Boston to meet her investment-banker parents or her trust-fund-baby boyfriend. It’s no wonder she’s nervous around a guy like me.
“Did you check the coolant level?” I ask her.
She bites her lip nervously and shrugs innocently. “Is that like…the gas?”
“No,” I chuckle. “It’s not. Come on.”
I head for the tow truck and motion for her to follow. But she just stands there awkwardly, looking around like she needs her daddy’s approval to come with me.
“Look, princess, do you want a ride back to your car or not?” I ask her gruffly.
“I—princess?” she stammers.