Foolproof (4 page)

After unbuckling my seatbelt and opening the door, I turned to Jules and said, “Hold on, I’ll go check what’s wrong.”

We were so fucked.

The extent of my car knowledge could be written on my non-existent diploma and we’d passed the last gas station a few miles back. I jumped out of the truck and opened the hood, hot steam barreling into my chest and face. Swatting away the fumes, I stared down at the labyrinth of parts, most of them I wasn’t able to name. If I looked at it long enough, maybe it would tell me what was wrong, like a Magic 8 Ball.
Fix thingy next to square-shaped thing.
Yep, I was going to look like an imbecile in front of Jules.

The truck shifted and Jules appeared by my side a few seconds later.

“You looked a little lost, thought I’d come out to help.”

I cracked a smile. “Okay, MacGyver.”

“Can you scoot?” She nudged me with her hip, and I took a step back, giving her more room.

Okay, so she wasn’t kidding. Interesting, since she struck me as more the spa type rather than a grease monkey.

She crossed her arms over her chest and nibbled on her lip. “Can you get me a screwdriver?” She peeled off her boots, set them next to the front tire, and pulled back her hair like she was getting down to business.

I eyed her as she surveyed the truck. “You actually know what’s wrong?”

She rolled her eyes and pursed her lips. “Stereotype much?”

Damn, dirty-mouthed Peach worked on cars? My cock hardened at the thought of her bent over my Camaro, working on the transmission, grease covering those perfectly manicured nails. Shit. I was supposed to be dealing with this situation, definitely not thinking
insert muscle car, miniskirt, and my dick
.

I made my way to the truck and got a screwdriver from the toolkit. After I handed it to her, she grabbed something—maybe a hose?—and screwed it into something else. I watched, transfixed by how easily she worked her away around the engine, assessing every part.

She brushed her hand off on her pants and pulled her boots back on. “There. That should do it.”

“What was wrong?”

“Radiator hose came undone. Whoever worked on this last didn’t do a very good job at tightening down everything. Your dad might want to go to someone new.” She tossed me the screwdriver and swaggered back to the truck, not bothering to turn around to see if I was watching. She knew I was.

Chapter Seven

Jules

Seeing that dumbstruck look on Ryan’s pretty-boy face made this whole month of dealing with grumpy customers totally worth it.

Yes, DeShane, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.

It wasn’t often I got to surprise people—in a good way, anyhow.

Most people didn’t have a clue that I knew how to work on cars. To everyone else, I was the girl to come to for fashion advice or, since I had worked at GNC, what protein powder was best to use before or after a workout.

Several minutes of silence went by before Ryan cleared his throat and turned to me, his blond tufts of hair peeking out underneath his hat. “That was impressive. Where did you learn to work on cars?”

I shrugged. “My uncle owns an auto body shop. I used to help out every summer.” Except this summer, because the thought of being stuck at home, under my parents’ constant
why aren’t you studying, you need to spend every second not having fun
wasn’t something I could handle. Not that I’d admit that to Ryan. He had his own parental issues, that much was clear from his interactions with Jack.

He stared, processing the new information. Good. Proved him wrong. I was more than just blond hair and blue eyes and, from Ryan’s wide eyes, he’d just realized this for the first time. “If it weren’t for you, we’d be making the five mile walk to that gas station.”

Duh, dude
. I did some major inner fist pumping at his compliment. I refrained from doing a victory dance in my seat.

After that whole debacle, we needed to get something straight. I shifted in my seat to stare him down. This guy was not going to treat me like dirt, and I was going to make that clear. “Let’s call it even. I helped you out, you don’t treat me like a douche.”

He flinched, the skin in the corner of his eyes crinkling. “I deserved that. Sorry that we got off on the wrong foot.”

“Do all new employees get the welcome wagon, or am I just special?” Total pet peeve that this guy misjudged me. Even if I did dye my hair and paint my nails, it didn’t mean I lacked brain cells.

He readjusted the hat on his head, running his tongue nervously over his lips. “Definitely only for girls named Jules.”

We pulled up to a stoplight and he shifted in his seat. He stuck out his hand. “Truce?”

I gave him a once-over. I’d like that. I’d like to get to know this guy who pushed my buttons. Even if he was infuriating, something about him pulled me in. Something that I should be ignoring because he’d been a total prick this past week. And yet here I was, putting my hand in his large, callused one. “Truce,” I said.

I lingered a moment longer than needed, enjoying the firm grip. The air between us shifted, and suddenly I became more aware of my breathing, the warmth of his hands, his pulse that ticked under the pad of my thumb.

“Jules?”

“Yes?” I said, being pulled out of the moment.

“I need to shift. Can I have my hand back?”

Son of a biscuit. The bumbly crap returned. And what was that? Did he just feel it, whatever
it
was? I pulled my hand away and folded my arms over my chest. Since when did I get weird around guys? Usually, reading guys came easy, and I tailored my actions according to their tastes. Something about Ryan sent visceral responses scrambling any transmitting brainwaves.
Hello, fourteen-year-old awkward self. Please take your blue and gold braces and boom box and stay in the past where you belong.

Ryan let out a low chuckle and wrung his hands on the steering wheel.

“Something funny, DeShane?”

“Nope, not a thing.” A smug smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.

Arrogant jerk.

“Go ahead. Tell me what’s so amusing.” I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’d knocked me off my A game.

“You’re just cute—er—I mean, funny.”

“
Cute?
Cute is a word you save for purses and old ladies wearing pearls. Not part of my vocabulary, DeShane.” I just saved him from needing a tow, and somehow that put me on the same spectrum as pigtails and bows.

“How about pain in the ass?”

I raised my brow, a feat I learned from Payton. “You’re cruisin’ for a bruisin’.”

“Can’t touch this.”

Maybe that throwback song station at Office Jax was getting to him too, if he was pulling out the MC Hammer lyrics.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep my hand in my pocket.”

“Did you just Alanis Morissette me?”

“So what if I did?”

We both looked at each other and busted out in laughter. “Please tell me you hate those songs as much as I do.”

“So much.”

He smiled—the first genuine smile I’d seen from him since we started working together. It suited him. Much better than the get-off-my-lawn persona. Maybe this summer wouldn’t be as bad as I’d originally thought.

Chapter Eight

Ryan

If I had to hear Aaron Carter one more time I was going to kick over the Post-it note display and make it rain yellow slips of paper. I’d much rather be out on the water or out hiking the Sierra Nevadas. They were beautiful this time of year, and the wildlife was out in full force.

I gritted my teeth and continued to change out price tags for this week’s sales. A price tag caught my eye. A pink pen labeled
Squiggles for Her Sleek Gel Pen
.
A pen. Just for women. People really bought this shit? I must have been a real dick in my previous life if I was stuck here for two months.

As I stared at the display, Jules strode through the door, her hair flowing behind her like a golden cape. For a split second, Office Jax wasn’t
the
worst job I could have. Morgues were a step down. And there was always the DMV. Jules definitely made this situation more tolerable. A little more of making a connection and I’d be ready to take it to the next step, which I needed to check up on again. I’d forgotten it since the last time I read the magazine article. I wasn’t proud to admit it, but that stupid list of tips was working.

“Mornin’, DeShane.”

The way she pronounced my name, the
S
almost a whisper, like it was a dirty word, sent my internal temperature climbing. I liked the way her eyes playfully glinted as she said it. “Morning.”

Ever since the truck incident yesterday, we’d been on speaking terms. A big improvement since the first time we met.

She leaned against the cardboard Post-it display and fanned her thumb across a pack of sticky notes. “It’s Thursday.”

Real observant, Peach
. “So it is.”

“Well, let’s hear it.” She looked at me expectantly.

I stared at her, not sure what to say. Was I supposed to tell her something when she got to work today? I racked my brain, thinking about our trip yesterday. Nothing stood out besides that impressive engine work.

“You already forgot Compliment Thursday?” She sighed, but a smile still remained on her face. “You’re killin’ me, smalls.”

“You’re killing me softly.”

She swatted my arm. “Don’t you even start!”

“But messing with you is such a thriller.”

A scoff came out between those glossy lips, sending strawberry and mint wafting over my face. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re all fired up.”

She let out a little chuckle and rolled her eyes. “Okay, you win. I’d better go clock in.” She bumped against my shoulder as she sauntered toward the back, my skin burning where she made contact. I shook my head. Messing with Peach probably landed somewhere in the middle of my mountain of bad decisions. But I needed something to go right, even if it was just a hookup with a girl.

After Jules clocked in and made her way to the service floor, I took my first break. Making sure no one was in the break room, I grabbed the
Cosmo
magazine from my locker and opened it to the same article I’d looked at a few days ago. I’d hit an all-time low if I was taking advice from a magazine, but, hell, I’d take any help I could get. I absentmindedly put a check mark next to the first step while I read the second.

Step 2: Be playful

Now that you’ve captured that cutie’s attention by sharing a common interest, show that special someone your playful side. No one can resist a witty tongue, so make sure you bring your best lines when trying to hook that hottie.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, distracting me from the article. I grabbed it and looked at the screen and immediately put it back in my pants. Lex. For the love of God, why did she keep calling me when I told her she’d have a better chance at my player roommate being faithful than getting back with me?

A few seconds later, my dad popped his head in the break room, barely giving me enough time to shove the magazine under a stack of other papers. “Ryan, phone call on line two. They specifically asked for you.”

I bet it was Helen again. She’d called the past couple of days for tablet support. Which reminded me that Grandma had a batch of chocolate chip cookies waiting for me after I got off work. God bless that woman. “Thanks, Dad.”

I strode over to the phone on the wall and picked up, connecting to line two. “Office Jax, where all our products are top shelf at unbeatable prices. This is Ryan, how may I help you?”
Welcome to Office Jax, the place where souls go to die.

“Why won’t you answer my calls?” a peeved Lex yelled.

The insta-headache started right on cue with her whiny voice in my ear. “What do you want, Lex?”

“I want you to answer my calls.”

“What good would that do?”

She sighed heavily, and I could picture her glaring at the phone, those amber eyes more toxic than any shot of alcohol. “Babe, you’re the one who said you didn’t know what you wanted. What was I supposed to do?”

My temples throbbed as I pushed back the urge to yell into the phone. “Not suck off my roommate?”

“That’s not fair,” she whined. Like a kid who’d just gotten her toy taken away.

I smoothed my thumb and index finger along the corners of my mouth. This chick could not take a hint. “Life’s not fair.”

“But, pookie—”

“Do
not
call me that.”

“You didn’t seem to mind it before.”

Yeah, I’d let any girl call me pookie if I loved her enough. Once that was out of the equation, so were the sappy pet names.

Jules rounded the corner, walking toward the break room. Finally, an excuse to hang up.

“I need to go. Helping a customer. Bye.”

“Don’t you dare—”

I hung up, her shrill voice streaming out of the receiver until I slammed down the phone.

How did it turn out like this? She started off so sweet and nice but, eventually, she let the manipulative, psychotic flag fly strong toward the end of our relationship. That’s how most of my relationships went. A fact I needed to keep tucked away whenever I entertained the idea of dating again. I wouldn’t have to worry about that with Jules, because I wasn’t sticking around long enough to find out
.

Chapter Nine

Jules

Ryan’s ripped arms just begged to be touched. Ever since we shook hands yesterday, I had this perma-knot in my stomach when I thought about him, almost like I’d taken a free fall from the high dive. And then I couldn’t help but stare like a total creeper at his arms when I got to work. Holy wow, if those biceps were any indication of the whole package, sign me up for the unwrapping ceremony. Full time hottie with a part-time asshole problem. Hard to tell what benefits came along with this package just yet. But I’d give him this: he deserved straight A’s in flirting. Something I hadn’t done in a while, especially not since rehab.

By the time I got my shit together, it was finals week, and everyone was busy studying. Not a lot of time to meet guys, not that I was looking. Especially at Ryan. Sure, he was cute, but I knew the type. That overconfidence screamed manwhore mentality—just like Andrew, a guy in my class last year who sold me Adderall, and I’d made the horrible mistake of sleeping with him. I learned my lesson the hard way to stay away from guys like that. Ryan was off-limits with a capital
O
. Especially him being the boss’s son.

Flirting? Totally cool, but anything more than fun and I’d be in way over my head.

I did a quick mirror check, pulled my hair into a high ponytail, and sped back to the service floor. Ryan slammed the phone down at register one when I came around the corner.

“Angry customer?” We got a lot of those, unfortunately. In my month of working here, I’d learned there were two types of callers—those who wanted to know our store hours and those who loved to share their displeasure with a certain product.

“Something like that.”

“I hate when they yell. Like, seriously, can’t they be nice? I didn’t personally break their printer.”

“Yeah. I hate it, too.”

I took my position across from his register, up at Customer Service. Leaning over the counter that came up to my ribs, I said, “Are you working all summer?” His gaze stayed planted on my face, even though I knew I’d positioned myself at a perfect angle to give a little glimpse of cleavage. Something that I thought he’d be into. Damn. Losing my touch. A little voice, deep down in the rational part of me whispered,
oh, girl, what are you doing?
I honestly didn’t have an answer, because apparently bulging biceps led to a full-on power outage in my brain.

“Yeah. And then I’m enrolling in the police academy in August.” He readjusted something on the display and shifted uncomfortably. Mmm lawdy, Mr. Biceps in a police uniform—bye-bye ovaries. But something was off about his response. The way he said police academy, like he had sucked on a mouthful of sour candies, made it clear this was not his first choice. “You don’t want to be a police officer?”

“Never really interested me. My uncle said he had ‘a calling’ for it, but I got nada.” He played with his fingernail, not looking at me.

I really wanted to ask why he’d be doing something he didn’t seem that enthused about, but stopped because a) that was completely hypocritical and b) I barely knew him and this felt too personal of a question. So, instead, I nodded and scratched at a speck on the counter.

After a few seconds of silence, he asked, “What are you doing tonight?”

Hello, Mr. Straight to the Point
. So much for the wining and dining. Guess he was more the
check, please
type.

I turned to him, trying to assess the message behind the question. What did he want out of this? One-night stand? A little wham bam thank you ma’am? Bamming did sound good right about now. Plus, I told myself I wasn’t going to get serious.

You also said you were just going to flirt.

I side-eyed my pesky conscience. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. What if it ended up like last time…last time when I survived winter term on Oreos and Adderall.

No, I had this under control. Going on one date with this guy, or hooking up, or whatever, wasn’t going to send me spiraling.

But one thing was for sure—if I was going to give Mr. Biceps a date, he needed to work for it.

“I have plans.” If you could constitute being a third wheel as plans. Payton and her boyfriend, Blake, had invited me to go on a midnight beach trip. Even if I’d be tagging along, it was better than spending the night alone at the apartment. Easy plans to break if Ryan asked me out.

“Oh, okay.” He went back to filling pens in the jar on the register, unfazed that I had turned him down.

Hold up. That was it? No follow up? No
how about tomorrow
? A few months of dating dry spell, and I’d lost my touch. Okay, let’s be honest, it was a fricken drought. Like, water emergency, send-in-the-reinforcements kind of drought. I played with my earrings and stared out at the service floor. What could I even say to that?
Thanks for almost asking me out, I appreciate the sentiment
? Total ego bruiser, dude.

I nodded my head and drummed my nails along the keys of the register, not sure what to say, but not comfortable enough to keep silent. “Yep.”

“I had plans with my friend and his girlfriend tonight, but not sure if I want to go. Haven’t seen him since I got back into town.”

Sure you did, buddy. Nice save. “Sounds fun.”

“Yeah, it would be if his girlfriend didn’t think I was the spawn of Satan.”

“How could she think that with your sparkling personality?” I deadpanned.

Jack opened the door to his office—oh, yeah, I forgot about that thing called work…which I was supposed to be doing right now. I knew I should count my till to make sure I had enough ones and change for my shift, but I wasn’t ready to end our conversation.

His lips tipped up at the corners. “Aren’t you funny. Ever think of doing standup?”

“I’m here every Monday night. Don’t forget to pick up a signed T-shirt on your way out,” I called as he worked his way to the furniture section.

I started counting bills, trying not to stare at Ryan’s nicely rounded ass as he disappeared into the back. Part of me really wanted him to invite me along with his friends. I’d like to see this girl who thought he was the devil’s spawn. We could compare notes.

Ryan stayed in back for the rest of his shift, working in freight. As he made his way to the door at the end of his shift, he said, “Have a good night.”

“You, too. Make sure to cover up those devil horns tonight.” I winked. Satan’s son or not, I wished he’d tried a little harder to ask me out. Something told me he’d be a good lay.

After work, I changed the oil in Payton’s car as a favor. Twenty minutes of scrubbing in the shower did nothing to take away the stench of motor oil etched into my nostrils. It was almost as bad as the preservatives they used for the cadavers in anatomy and physiology. Formaldehyde upped the ick factor when fishing around for organs and arteries. At least changing oil didn’t result in squirting intestinal juices.

I’d decided anything involving surgery was out for me—I could barely handle the sight of blood, something that I hoped got better with practice. Mom assured me it would. I didn’t agree. Every lab, every pre-med class, made me want to tear my hair out. I’d rather be in the sports medicine classes, learning how to treat injured players. But I had to do this. Only a few more years and I’d finally show Mom and Dad they could be proud of me.

Towel-drying my hair, I beelined it from the bathroom to my bedroom. I checked the weather earlier and, according to the weather app, it was supposed to dip into the low sixties tonight at the beach. Spring Hill was a typical northern California town—foggy and cool, besides the occasional freak heat wave. The total opposite of what people expected when they thought about California. I pulled my hair into a messy bun, tugged on my cutoffs , and picked out a light sweater.

“You ready?” Payton peeked her head in, her long auburn curls cascading down her shirt.

“Yeah, just give me another minute.” Time to pay my daily dues to my parents and give them a call.

I punched in their number and hit send. Mom picked up on the third ring, her voice measured, practiced. Her doctor voice she reserved for patients—and disappointing daughters. “Hello, sweetie.”

“Hi, Mom.”

“How are you today, Juliette?”

“Fine.”

I could seriously record this conversation and replay my responses on a tape recorder each time, it was so scripted. After countless numbers of these calls, I knew what question she’d ask next.

I mouthed
have you talked to Eric?
as she said it through the receiver.

“No, Mom. If he wants to talk to me, he can be a big boy and use the phone.”

I motioned with my finger right as she brought up question number two.

“Have you studied today?”

“No, Mom. Sorry to disappoint.”

“I just don’t understand. If Eric were in your shoes, he’d be studying at every opportunity.”

“Yeah, well I’m not Eric, am I?”

I knocked my fist against my forehead.
Cool it.
Those little quips wouldn’t earn any trust points with my mom and definitely wouldn’t show her I actually had an iota of maturity. Sort of.

Just as she began to speak, Payton let out a scream, blocking Mom’s voice. The hairs on the back of my neck rose. What the hell was going on out there? As much as I wanted to be tortured by this incredibly stimulating conversation, I needed to make sure my roomie wasn’t duking it out with some ax murderer.

“Mom, I have to go. Can we talk tomorrow?”

“Of course. Stay focused. Tell Payton I say hi.”

“Yep.”

I pocketed my phone, shook off the post-mom-call annoyance, and walked out into the hall. Blake stood behind Payton, his arms draped around her. False alarm. No murderers in sight. I stared at his hand on Payton’s waist and my stomach flip-flopped. I was happy for them, truly, I was, but I wanted that so damn bad. For a guy to be so nuts for me that I was all he thought about for two years when we were apart. They’d dated in high school, but when Payton’s mom died and her dad went to jail, she went AWOL. Blake spent two years looking for her, and they finally got back together when she came back to Drexler last year.

I pushed that thought out of my mind and smiled at my roomie and Mr. Romeo. Back to pretending everything was sunshine and rainbows. The Jules they expected.

“I’m ready, bitches. Let’s roll.”

Blake unhooked his arms from Payton and grabbed his keys from his pocket. “We just need to make one stop before we head out.”

“Yeah?”

“My best friend is back in town, and I invited him.” He turned to Payton. “I thought you told her.”

“I didn’t have time. I was busy at the coffee shop, and then it slipped my mind.” She looked at me and shrugged. “Sorry.”

“This person have a name?”

“Besides
douche
?”

Blake picked up Payton and flipped her over his shoulder, and she let out a squeal. Her legs flailed as she thumped his back with her hand. “He’s not that bad. Cut him some slack.”

I shook my head and walked out of the apartment, leaving them to their pervy tickle-fest. I knew long-term wasn’t in the cards for me at this point, but when it was shoved in my face every day, it made it hard not to want it, too.

Five minutes later, Blake and Payton came out of the apartment, Payton looking a little flushed as she smoothed her crooked shirt. I shook my head. Good for her. At least
someone
was getting some. Which brought me back to thinking about Ryan’s arms…and how I wished they were wrapped around me right now. Those large, calloused hands skimming down my back. As I piled into the back of Blake’s truck, I wondered if he was having fun with his friends tonight.

Five minutes later, we pulled into a subdivision of expensive houses, owned by people with decent jobs. Jobs that I would have someday when I graduated med school and paid off the swimming-pool-sized student debt I’d accumulated. But was this kind of wealth really worth it if I’d be doing something that made me miserable? Hopefully, after a few years, I’d get used to it, maybe even like being a doctor.

Blake’s truck rolled into the driveway of a two-story colonial. Two massive white pillars stood on either side of a red door. Add in a white picket fence and this would be a fairy-tale house. Dang, what did his friend’s parents do for a living? Blake laid on the horn and a few seconds later, a built guy in a baseball cap slipped out the front door and made his way over to the truck.

I did a double take. Wait a minute…those biceps looked awfully familiar. And that nicely defined chin. And definitely that dirty blond hair fraying out beneath the cap. Shit. What did Blake say this guy’s name was? Ry? As in short for Ryan? The same Ryan from my work was Payton and Blake’s Ryan?

I sunk deeper into my seat, not sure how to react when he opened the door. My hand flew to my wet hair. Damn, I didn’t even style it. My fingers ran over the patch of zits on my chin. Crappity crap, I hadn’t even thrown on concealer. He’d probably be staring at it all night, grossed out. Well, there went my good flirting situation at Office Jax.

Ryan pulled open the passenger door behind Blake and stood there, staring at me, his piercing blue eyes pinning me to my seat.
Oh God, so not prepared for this
. Forget A game, I was clear down to C game at this point. My stomach flopped, and I crossed and uncrossed my legs nervously as we held each other’s gaze.