An Accidental Gentleman (17 page)

Thank God. As he gripped the cold can, the tight heat in his chest fizzled. “I’ve got all brothers. We do less kissing, more punching.”

“Same for me and her. Love taps, man.” Perry beat his chest Tarzan-style, flicking icy water. “Kit could break me in half. Time we hit sixth grade, she topped me by a foot. I never caught up. I’ll stick to the cute shorties.” In his black jeans and layered black tees, with a spooky-shit skull logo on the trailer behind him, he crouched in the truck bed like a demonic gargoyle. “You spar with Ms. Badass Amazon. She’ll only let you in the ring once.”

The chill traveled up his arm. Worse than the heat. Jealousy over Katherine’s friendship with this guy, improved data would quash. But the worry she wouldn’t let him close to her heart? The fix for that trouble had to come from her, and she might choose the status quo over change. “Yeah, she’s said that. She’s really never had a long-term guy in her life?”

“Not even a high school sweetheart.” Ducking his head, Perry sloshed in the cooler long enough to have dug to China. “She is fierce, man. Independent as all hell, and the best damn friend a scrawny guy could have to make it out of metal shop and vo-tech alive with his fingers and teeth intact, but falling in love is way the fuck outside her skill set. You want her to reach peak gooey-eyed awe, you’re gonna have to teach her one step at a time. Practical demonstrations.” He thrust a ginger ale over the wall. “Here. Bro-time’s up.” He swung down with his own beer in hand and wobbled the landing. “Fuuuck.”

Brian juggled a fingertip hold on two chilled cans. “What fuck? You roll your ankle?”

Following Perry’s gaze, he swung around and stepped wide of the trailer. Down the end, at the lit-up tent, a hulking SOB slapped Katherine’s ass and held on.

Not. Happening.

He flipped the cans toward Perry and took off. Twenty-five feet. A solid charge would knock the fucker on his ass for his beating.

But Katherine—strong, sexy-as-hell Katherine—put the intruder down with a boot-stomp and a knee strike. The right placement would’ve made the move crippling. Even minus the necessary precision, the brawny fuckwit hopped backward and grabbed his shin.

Brian skidded to a stop a few feet shy. The way Katherine glared, she’d as likely snap at him as at the real problem. If her moves had dissuaded the guy, he’d leave well enough alone.

Flashing an insincere smile, the ass-slapper stuttered into a laugh. “Dishing out pain for foreplay? If that’s the way you want to play it this time, I won’t hold back. Should we go right here or take a trip to my place?”

Katherine drew herself up, the boots granting her extra height, and raised her chin. “Your place?” Her voice slid smooth as river stones despite the crackling fire in her eyes. “What, a rusted-out hunk of RV junk in the parking lot?”

The smug fuck leaned in, his stringy brown hair swinging across one eye. “Whatever winds your crank, Kitten.”

Brian launched forward.

The coward flinched, wide-eyed in retreat.

Katherine slammed her arm across Brian’s chest. “Brian—”

He muzzled trained instinct before his reflexive grab became a broken joint.

“—ignore him.” Flexing in his grasp, she threw glances between them. “This jackass isn’t worth the time or the bloody knuckles.”

The tatted-up jackass eyed her top to bottom. “Baby, you thought me worth the time in September. The parking lot was good enough for you then.”

“I was wrong.” Voice sour, she lost her there-and-gone smile. “Thanks for proving it again.”

“What, like blondie there—” Punk-ass nodded. “He’s gonna make you cream your panties? Slutty Kitten’s so hard up—”

“Watch your mouth.” With a reassuring squeeze, he lowered Katherine’s arm.

The punk smirked. “You think you can make me?”

“You think a cheesy tat and a nose ring make you a hardass?” He sidestepped to draw the fight away from Katherine. Perry, well clear, leaned against the car, and the three fellas watching from the neighboring tent didn’t seem inclined to jump in. “I’ve put down bigger guys.”

“Brian.” Katherine spun, her back to the damned enemy. “I can handle this. Grandpa Jake boxed, and he taught me. If anyone’s breaking their knuckles on this asshat’s smug face, it’s me.”

“Like any of you could—”

Clasping Katherine’s shoulders, he shut out the idiot’s whining and nudged her ’round toward safety. “You box?”

Her I’m-warning-you expression dissolved into a startled laugh. “A little.” She formed loose fists and pulled a pair of short jabs a hairsbreadth from his chest.

Fuck. Her knuckles needed kissing, her just-healed left wrist protecting from overzealous use.

“Fuckin’ pussy.” Sure as shit, Nose Ring lacked the skills to back up his mouth. “That what you are, Br-eye-an? Old pussy, standing by watching a woman fight for you?”

His fists had dropped him into the same sort of trouble, as a teenager. Rob had shoved him toward boxing, told him to lead with brains over brawn. But this guy—close to Katherine’s age. Mid-twenties. A goddamn juvenile bad-boy poseur. What the fuck attracted her to that?

With a sly fucking smile, the punk leered at Katherine’s breasts. “You planning to stand by and watch me bang her after, too?”

He forced himself to relax, to resist the urge to drag Katherine against him, hoist her onto the car, and demonstrate exactly who the guy fucking her would be. For the rest of her life. “When she says she can knock out one punk-ass bitch, I believe her. And if by some divine intervention she’s wrong, you’ll be licking oil off the gravel when I drop you anyway.”

She’d get pissed at him for the jealous boyfriend routine. Rights she hadn’t granted. Hell, if she decided to fuck jackasses as obnoxious as this one, he lacked the clout to cast a no vote.

“Don’t think you’re special. She’s fucked half the guys at this place.”

Accept her as she was or walk away. Fuck. He shouldn’t have tossed Perry that beer.

Kit exhaled a bitter laugh. “When every guy comes up short, a girl’s gotta keep looking for one that doesn’t.”

“You were singing a—”

“Hey, enough with the short jokes.” Perry slung a beer at the punk. “Take this and schlep your ass back to your own bay. I know you’re here snooping at my exhaust manifold. Carson’s dying to get his hands on my setup.”

Beer in hand, glancing from Kit to Perry, the fuckwit shrugged. “Nobody’s looking up your tailpipe, little man.” He cracked the can and guzzled.

Perry studied the two drinks he had left.

The ginger ale came flying in, and Brian snatched the can before it would’ve smacked him in the chest. Love at first sight walloped harder. How the fuck he’d missed recognizing the feeling—and this damn punk hadn’t even appreciated her when he’d had her.

Kit grabbed Brian by the forearm. “Great to see you, Perry. Next week, okay?” She stalked down the aisle and crossed into the next.

Brian wrenched his arm free before they reached the gate. Fuck if he’d be dragged home like a tantrum-throwing child. The fuck had she been thinking, bringing him to her hunting grounds.

Every smiling face they passed, every gut-busting laugh bellowing from the guys gathered around the racecars—potentially a man who’d fucked her first. Who’d fucked her at all. She’d never ask him for more than a single night. And he’d thought she wanted him to meet her friend, for fuck’s sake, not show him how little he meant to her. More fool he. Dashed hopes stung as sharp as the stench of burnt rubber.

They crossed the parking lot. A long walk to the back. Empty spaces dotted the rows. A wasteland of spilled soda cups and program books. Nothing left but the trash.

“Did you bring me here to wave all these dicks in my face?” Fuck. Those words, fuck, they shouldn’t have left his mouth.

The car keys fell. She chased them to the ground, her head bowed. Scooping them up, she scraped her knuckles across the stones.

“So what if I did?” Crouched and still, she kept her face hidden and her voice hard. “You want to drop the damn celibacy idea now, Brian?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Rein in the boiling anger and the stupid fucking little-boy hurt.

She shot to her feet and unlocked the car. Yanking open the back door, she waved with auto-show model flair. “You want a go? I’m a backseat girl, doncha know? Quick and dirty, and never the same guy twice.”

“You—” He snapped his teeth shut on his tongue. Just his luck to fall for the most frustrating woman on the planet. Maybe that’s what love was—frustration and determination. When walking away wouldn’t work and you had to commit your whole heart or forever be a coward and a failure. Except he had to convince her to commit hers, too, or his wouldn’t be worth shit.

Katherine stood trembling. A pane of glass about to shatter. From her hand on the frame, her overly tight top-grip, an invisible network of cracks spread across a too-brittle surface.

She’d told him. A hundred times, a hundred ways, she’d told him the fantasy of a relationship he’d pinned to his heart wouldn’t happen.

And he’d pushed, and he’d pushed, and now he’d broken her. He ached to pull her into his arms, wrap himself around her, and promise her more didn’t have to be scary. He’d be the wax, or the duct tape, or whatever the fuck she needed to smooth the edges and hold her together until the repairs grew permanent.

He reached for her. To cup her cheek. To soften her wide-eyed stare. “Katherine.”

Gasping, she flinched away.

His chest ripped open and stopped his breath. His heart’s fantasy shredded. She didn’t trust him to heal instead of harm.

As he backed up, she guided the door shut. The latch clicked.

“Front seats.” She looked everywhere but him. “I’ll take you home.”

Silence filled the car. Like he’d pulled the cord on an emergency float and the thing kept expanding, stealing the unused space and the air besides. He sat with an unopened can of ginger ale on his knee as she drove and the pavement droned.

He had ten minutes before she shoved him out the door. Less, the way she tore down the highway toward his place. They’d have lights and sirens after them at this rate.

She clenched the steering wheel in both hands. They’d lost the easy laughter. The knee brushes. The ear-grazing proto-kisses. She should’ve been enjoying a drink in a camp chair under her buddy’s tent, the three of them kicking back and talking shit. They’d have walked away with smiles. A deeper friendship, a better appreciation of each other—a basis for more.

Instead, he had fresh images of hell. Katherine shaking and moaning while that smug punk used her without giving a damn about her. Her calling his name when she came.

Except—she hadn’t. Not once had she said the guy’s name. She might not know his name.

He ought to adopt Sherwood’s old motto: looking for love in all the wrong places. They’d been drinking to the end of Rob’s relationship with—fuck, who could remember names?—with that woman who’d cheated on him years ago. Rob had sworn to steal his attitude the next time around, and he’d said his was—

Get in, get off, get out. Never the same girl twice.

Oh God. Queasy stomach-taste hit the back of his throat. Swallowing hard, he popped the ginger ale open. He nursed the drink with slow sips.

A hypocritical fuck, that’s what he was. He’d told her he didn’t care about the guys in her past, and the first flipping second one showed up, he’d made a liar of himself. Laid a double standard across her shoulders. She went out and fucked who she wanted when she wanted, and if she’d been one of his bros, he would’ve cheered her.

She glanced over three times. Little looks as he sipped. “Are you okay?”

He would have to be. Accept what she felt able to share with him now, if she still wanted to have any contact with him, and stop pressuring her for the commitment and certainty he craved. The down-the-road when he’d wake up beside her every morning for the rest of their lives. When. Not if.

He raised the pop can. “A toast.”

Eyebrow flitting skyward, she tipped her head.

“To a woman who knows what she wants and won’t stop until she finds it.” He watched her over the can as he drank.

She slowed, taking the turn-off from the highway, and reached for the drink when the road straightened out. Her gentle tilt screamed polite sip. She set the pop in the console cupholder. “You’re a nice guy, Brian.”

Here it came, the parade of reasons why they’d forever be wrong for each other. He choked on his laugh. “Why do I think every time you say that, you don’t mean it as a compliment?”

Twisting her mouth, she almost managed a believable smile. “Because you’re too smart by half.” As she lowered her window, cool night air rushed through the stifling atmosphere they’d built between them. “Nice guys are more dangerous than losers. Charm hides a lot.”

Arguing with her defined a no-win situation. Be a loser, and she might fuck him but discard him. Be a nice guy, and she’d imagine devious calculations going on inside his head. Forget boxing. He should’ve studied for the damn debate team. Reframing the issue would be the prime strategy to get anywhere with her.

She acted as if she’d never met a truly nice guy. Bullshit.

“You pigeonhole all guys as deadbeats and losers and say the ‘nice’ ones hide the lies better, but what about your dad?” They ran a business together. She had to have bonded with him over work, at least. “He’s still around, still with your mom, and teaching you after how many years?”

She started shaking her head long before he’d finished talking. “Different generation. People were different then.”

“Oh, so not all guys are dicks—just all of them under forty.” Great. In three years, he might qualify for not-a-dick status.

Speeding up, she cruised beneath a light turning red. “Fifty.”

Should’ve seen her smart-ass retort coming a mile off. He dropped his head to his chest. Busting his knuckles on the glove box wouldn’t solve a damn thing.

“You are the most combative woman I’ve ever met.” And the first—second—
first
he’d loved with his eyes open. He sucked in a hard breath. “Your sister got handed a shitty deal, but other options exist. Different outcomes. Better ones.”

She turned into the driveway leading up to his sprawling apartment complex. Seconds left at best. Another outing, another failure. The definition of insanity, taking the same actions and expecting different results.