This Wicked Rush Page 2

  “I’m not your toy, and I don’t have time to play.” I lower my voice, not wanting my boss, Gretchen, to hear me sassing a customer. “So leave. Now. And don’t bother me at work again.”

  I spin on my heel and flee through the long, narrow aisle of the restaurant, shoving through the swinging doors leading to the kitchen and the tiny staff break room without a backward glance. But I can feel Gabe watching me, the weight of his gaze making me feel heavier and lighter at the same time, making my blood rush and my stomach drop and my traitorous feet want to reverse course and hurry back to his side.

  I’m not finished with Gabe; deep down, I know that.

  But sometimes success is simply a matter of putting off disaster for one moment and then another and another, keeping the balls in the air for as long as possible before they all come crashing down.

  Chapter Two

  Gabe

  The lady doth protest too much. –Shakespeare

  If I were a nice guy, I would take Caitlin at her word and leave her alone.

  But I’m not a nice guy, and I saw the way her eyes lit up when I mentioned the job. She’s hooked, just like me. She’s had a taste, and she’s dying for more. All it will take is a few more nudges and she’ll tumble over the edge of hesitation into my arms, where I’ll be waiting to catch her.

  Catch her, and lead her further along the road we started down two months ago.

  Ever since that night in her friend’s car, I haven’t been able to get Caitlin out of my head. I keep hearing her laugh and those sexy moans she made when I slipped my fingers between her legs, remembering the way her pale throat glowed in the flashing red and blue police lights as she threw her head back and came on my hand. I taste her kiss when I wake up in the night, sweating despite the air conditioning my mother keeps set at sixty-five degrees. I see Caitlin’s old-before-her-time green eyes floating in the darkness while I’m lying awake in bed, trying not to think about the future.

  I’ve never been the kind of person to give up on something I want, even back in high school, when I was still resigned to the path my parents had laid out for my life.

  Now, I flat out refuse to take no for an answer.

  Caitlin is going to agree to this job, and then the next, and the next. We’re going to have a summer neither of us will ever forget, and do the world some good while we’re at it. And by the time we go our separate ways, she’ll have enough money to go to college and stop wasting her life, and I will have had her, every way I want her.

  I ease into a booth on the far side of the restaurant and take the sticky menu the older waitress with the gray-streaked brown bun offers. She’s wearing the same dress as Caitlin—a short number with a black skirt, red suspenders, and a frilly white apron, apparently inspired by a Bavarian brew house—but the effect is…decidedly different. On the senior waitress, the dress is as tired and out-of-place as the faded, yellowing posters of rural Germany hanging on the walls of this South Carolina diner.

  But on Caitlin …

  When she pushes back through the double doors, every male head in the restaurant swivels her way. The low cut neck of the dress shows off her curves, while the red band around the middle highlights her tiny waist. Her caramel-streaked honey blonde hair is pulled into a ponytail that emphasizes the graceful column of her neck, and when she walks, her skirt swishes temptingly around her thighs.

  That swish makes it impossible to keep my thoughts from drifting back to that night in the VW bug, when she spread her thighs in silent invitation, daring me to find out if breaking and entering had left her as turned on as I was. It had, of course, left her so hot and slick it had only taken me a few minutes to get her off. Just thinking about it is enough to make my jeans tighter, and my hands ache to be sliding up her thighs to cup her ass in my hands.

  I want this girl. I want to help her, and fuck her, and steal things with her, and make her laugh the way she did right before we kissed goodbye back in April. I want more time with Caitlin more than I’ve wanted anything in months, and that alone is reason enough to keep my seat, even when she turns and scowls at me. Not many things hold my interest for more than a few hours at a time these days, but Caitlin Cooney, with her wild streak running through her pathetically responsible, dreary life like a caramel swirl through ice cream just…does it for me.

  I watch her cross the restaurant, not phased by the thinning of her lips, or the pinched look on her face. She can put an end to her frustration any time she wants. All she has to do is quit fighting, and give in to what we obviously both want.

  “What will you have?” she asks, pen clenched tightly between her fingers, gaze glued to the pad in her hand.

  “You, tomorrow night,” I say. “At my house, for dinner with my parents. Nothing else, just dinner, conversation, and I’ll take you home straight after.”

  Her eyes flick to mine, surprise clear in their depths. “I thought you said…” She casts a glance over her shoulder at the older waitress wiping down the stainless steel counter before turning back to me and continuing in a whisper, “I thought you said it was a job.”

  “It is. A con job,” I say. “I’ll pay you five hundred dollars to pretend to be my girlfriend for the night.”

  “Five hundred…” A smile teases at the edge of her lips. “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not. Five hundred dollars for one night of pretend.”

  She narrows her eyes, obviously looking for the catch. “Why? Why do you need a pretend girlfriend?”

  “My mother insists on setting me up with girls she meets through her volunteer work. She thinks I need a girlfriend to turn my life around.” That’s not exactly why my mother is so determined to see me in love, but it’s close enough. “She refuses to let it go, no matter how many times I insult the nice young women she dumps in my lap. A fake summer love is the only way I can think of to get her to leave me alone.”

  Caitlin points the business end of her pen at my face. “I thought you said it was only for the night.”

  “Five hundred dollars for the night, with an option to rebook if my mother requires further conning,” I clarify. “Future dates and payments to be negotiated on a case by case basis.”

  Caitlin casts another glance over her shoulder. This time, the older waitress is watching her with a sour expression.

  “Just order something,” Caitlin whispers as she turns back to me. “Or I’m going to get into trouble.”

  “Two eggs—scrambled—toast, and your answer,” I say. “I’ll take it all to go.”

  She rolls her eyes before bringing pen to pad, muttering beneath her breath, “At least it’s not illegal.”

  “Not at all.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you,” she says with a glare that is more cute than menacing. “Your total is eight seventy-six. Have the money ready when I get back. I want you out of here.”

  “Why?” I ask, lifting a wry brow. “Am I distracting you?”

  “You’re annoying me,” she says, but she doesn’t sound annoyed. She sounds intrigued, and I know she’s going to give in even before she returns with my breakfast in a brown paper bag and plops it down in front of me with a curt nod.

  “I’ll do it.” She holds up a finger, stopping me before I can respond. “But I want payment up front, in cash. I’ll have to take off work at the theater tomorrow night, and I can’t afford to do that unless I’m sure I’m getting paid. And I go straight home after. No…other stuff. Strictly business.”

  “You’re blushing,” I say, loving the fact that she’s flustered by our relatively tame history. But maybe she’s never begged a guy to make her come before. I hope not. I wouldn’t mind being the first man to show Caitlin how fun playing dirty can be.

  “I’m not blushing.” She rolls her eyes again, and her cheeks grow pinker. “Agree to my terms, or it’s a no go. I told you, I don’t have time to play.”

  But you will, if I have anything to say about it.

  Aloud I say, “It’s a deal. I’ll pic
k you up at six.”

  “Fine.” She tears the ticket off her pad and drops it on the table beside the bag. “But don’t come to the door. I’ll meet you in the driveway. I don’t want to have to explain you to the kids.”

  “They don’t usually meet your dates?”

  “I don’t date,” she says as I pull my wallet from my jeans pocket. “I don’t have time, and I don’t plan on making any, so don’t get any ideas.”

  I drop a twenty on top of the check. “I’ve never had an idea in my life.”

  Her lips quirk, but she doesn’t allow the twitch to become a smile. “Yeah, right. You’re full of ideas. All of them bad, as far as I can tell. You know your parents are going to hate me, right?”

  “Why’s that?” I ask, though I know exactly why, and know she would have been right, even a few months ago.

  “I’m a high school dropout who works as a waitress,” she says in a matter of fact tone, obviously not ashamed of who she is, “with a father who’s been arrested for drunk and disorderly more times than I can count. Your parents will probably be scared to death you’ll get me pregnant, and they’ll be permanently tied to the tackiest family in Giffney.”

  “How can I get you pregnant if there’s no ‘other stuff’ allowed?”

  She swipes the twenty and the check from the table and mumbles, “Your parents won’t know that.”

  “I could tell them,” I say, not wanting her to go. “I could tell them you’re a virgin who’s saving herself for marriage. My mom would love that, even if she is already talking grandchildren.”

  “Tell them whatever you want,” Caitlin says in a chilly voice. “As long as you’re paying me, I don’t care.”

  “Maybe I will.” I smile, some perverse part of me enjoying pissing her off.

  “Fine,” she snaps. “I’ll be right back with your change.”

  She spins so fast her skirt swirls higher on her legs, making the old man settling into the booth across from mine inhale sharply and his eyes bulge in his red face. I watch her hips twitch as she storms across the restaurant and behind the counter to the register, knowing I should feel guilty for making her angry. But she’s even prettier when she’s angry, with her cheeks all red and those green eyes flashing.

  Besides, I’ll make up for being an asshole later, when I treat her like a princess all evening and my mother spends the entire dinner falling all over herself to welcome Caitlin to the family. There was a time when my mother wanted only the best for me—which, in her mind, included a girlfriend with money, ambition, and the proper pedigree—but now she just wants to see me in love, to see me so gone on a girl I’ll have a reason to fight to reverse my life’s sudden downward trajectory.

  My mother still believes in happy endings. She thinks I’ll convince the university that those failing grades and missed classes back in March were excusable lapses in judgment, and they’ll welcome me back to school in the fall with open arms. She talks about the grandchildren I’ll bring home to Darby Hill for long visits in the summer, despite the fact that all signs—and my failure to commit to any of the girls I’ve casually dated—point to grandchildren as being the stuff of fantasy.

  My mother’s more likely to find a unicorn frolicking in the back forty than a kid in my future, but there’s no reasoning with Deborah once she’s got her mind set on something.

  That’s why I need Caitlin. I could have found another girl to pretend with me, but I wouldn’t have been able to trust her the way I trust Caitlin. We committed a felony together. After that, deceiving my parents will be a walk in the park. I know I can trust her not to mention any of the forbidden topics I’ll list on the way to dinner, to stay on task, and to keep her emotional distance and not be drawn in by my mother’s attempts to worm her way deeper into my girlfriend’s life.

  I’m truly looking forward to getting on with my summer agenda without any blind dates on the horizon, but having an excuse to spend time with Caitlin is an excellent bonus.

  “I’m ready to order, sugar,” the old man in the booth across from mine says in a syrupy voice as Caitlin hustles back to our corner of the restaurant.

  “I’ll be right with you, Mr. Noel. Just one second.” She turns to me, and starts counting out my change, but I’m still looking at Mr. Noel, who is looking at Caitlin’s ass in a way no man old enough to be her grandfather should be looking at her ass.

  Hell, in a way no other man should ever be allowed to look at her ass. Caitlin may not be mine, yet, but she will be, and the unapologetic lust in the geezer’s faded blue eyes is enough to make my blood boil.

  “Hey, friend,” I say, venom in my tone. “Keep your eyes where they belong.”

  The old man blinks, his gaze drifting from Caitlin’s ass, to me, to Caitlin’s ass, and back again before he seems to realize the words were meant for him. “Excuse me?”

  “Keep your eyes on her face, or you’ll regret it.” I slide out of the booth and stand, staring down at him with a hard look I hope makes it clear this isn’t an idle threat. “She deserves your respect, and her ass isn’t on the menu.”

  “Gabe stop,” Caitlin hisses behind me. She grabs my elbow and slips around my left side, inserting herself between me, and the creep scooting to the edge of his booth. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Noel. My friend is crazy, he—”

  “I’m not crazy. Mr. Noel knows he was out of line.”

  “I’ll get pancakes somewhere else,” the man mumbles, his eyes on the ground and his spotted hand clutching his chest as he shuffles toward the door.

  “Good idea.” I watch him go, half hoping the pervert has a heart attack on the way out. He’s already had more than his fair share of time on Earth, and his death would mean one fewer slime ball oozing around the planet.

  But it seems like the worst people are the ones who stick around the longest. The files in my father’s office are full of old men and women who have lived long, shitty lives.

  They say only the good die young.

  I’m not sure that’s true, but the evil certainly seem to linger.

  The old man is nearly to the door when the other waitress rushes over, laying a hand on his back as she leans in to ask him if he’s okay.

  “I’m fine, Gretchen, sugar.” His anxious eyes shift my way. “Just know when I’m not wanted.”

  “What?” Gretchen turns, pinning me with an outraged look before her eyes slide to Caitlin and freeze over. “Caitlin, come apologize to Mr. Noel. Right now.”

  I snag Caitlin’s elbow as she starts forward. “He should be the one apologizing.”

  “Let me go.” Caitlin tugs her arm away and points to the exit, adding beneath her breath, “Just leave. Please. You’ve caused enough trouble for one morning.”

  “I’m trying to help.” I snatch the bag containing my breakfast from the table. “You’re better than this. You should quit.”

  “Leave,” she repeats, putting a hand between my shoulder blades, urging me toward the exit with more strength than I expected. “This isn’t helping. Not even a little bit.”

  “All right, if you won’t listen to reason…” I amble to the front of the restaurant, holding the older waitress’s cool gaze as I move, making it clear I’m not sorry for calling out the pervert she has tucked protectively under her arm.

  Gretchen gives as good a glare as she gets, but Mr. Noel seems determined to keep his focus on the ground until I’m gone, so I’m forced to settle for a whispered—

  “Remember what we talked about.”

  —as I slip out the door, instead of the moment of eye contact I would have preferred.

  As soon as the door shuts behind me, I hear the older waitress snap at Caitlin, followed by the enraging sound of Caitlin apologizing. I want to turn around and kick Mr. Noel to the curb myself, but instead, I cross the small parking lot. I lift my face to the morning sun already glaring down from the sky, not allowing my eyes to drift toward the restaurant until I reach the Beamer.

  When I do glance back, I wish I hadn�
��t. I could have done without seeing Caitlin with her head bowed and her spine curved submissively before Mr. Noel, like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs. She isn’t the strong, wild, fearless girl who climbed over a barbed wire fence with me now. She looks beaten, tired, and so much older than twenty.

  Seeing her like this—so small and unable to fight back, at the mercy of the people she depends upon for this shit job—stirs up unexpected feelings. I suddenly want to take Caitlin away from this place, to hold her hand as I walk her to my car and apologize for making her life more difficult. I want to do something to make up for the crap people in the world, and be a better friend to her than I was this morning.

  The past few months, I’ve done my best to dispose of my old friends. I don’t need to make any new ones, especially not a friend who dances like there’s no one watching, has a smile that makes me want to learn all her secrets, and kisses like the world is on fire.

  Caitlin Cooney is dangerous, and starting to look less like the answer to my problems, and more like trouble I don’t need.

  I should put an end to this thing between us before it begins. I should put the money I promised her in an envelope and stick it in her mailbox, with a note telling her I’ve changed my mind about dinner. I should delete her number from my phone, and forget I know where she lives. I should walk away from Caitlin Cooney and stay the hell out of her life.

  But I won’t.

  I’ve never been good at doing what I should. I don’t resist Temptation, I throw him a big, loud party and invite Trouble to D.J.

  Chapter Three

  Caitlin

  Even a small thorn causes festering. –Irish Proverb

  Saturday night, I pace the length of the living room for the fifth time in less than ten minutes. I swipe the dusty blue curtains to one side, peeking at the empty driveway.

  Gabe will be here any minute. Any freaking minute.

  Why did I say yes to this? Why did I agree to this stupid, stress-inducing, fake date?