Head Over Wheels (Steamy New Adult Romance) (2 page)

M
anhattan was in its usual Monday morning panic. Shielding my eyes from a blinding sunrise, I crossed Tenth Avenue as a sign flashed a green
walk
, my body weaving through a mob of blue and white-collar comrades like a knitting needle through yarn. Before punching the time clock at AMA (Abigail Mitchell Apparel) – the elegant department store where I worked part-time security – I slid past a few utility workers congregating under Kelly's awning. The open glass door welcomed an early spring, and more pushy customers than I would have liked to have seen, as I was already seriously late.

I hadn't slept well the night before. Tossing and turning was one thing, but God, how I missed Nikos, my Mediterranean mistake. It's been over six months, I told myself. Time to get on with your life, girl. He turned out to be a conniving bastard and you're a freak for letting him get to you this way. But the familiar pressure of those strong arms folding around me, drawing our bodies close, was a mood killer, to say the least. The thought of him back in his homeland – soaking up the same sun my purple lenses filtered – on a pristine beach with another woman in his bear hug, made me want to vomit. Not only was he roll-over-stop-your-heart-gorgeous, but so was the island he lived on. It was paradise. I'd seen it firsthand.

Before I entered Kelly's, I looked down at my jeans, ribbed tank top and half-zipped hoodie. I wasn't dressed to kill, but the circle of guys parted for me like gentleman, although their facial expressions were anything but. The wiggle room they left me to squeeze through was so tight, I felt hot breath on my neck as I passed. If I had eyes in the back of my head, instead of a long, messy braid, I'd probably have caught them gaping at my rear end.

Once inside the café, the dream bounced across my mind and I had to choke back laughter. Imagine if I'd really sauntered in wearing a string bikini? I'd be feeling more than hot breath on my neck and eyes on my rump roast, that's for damn sure.

Like a kid with a secret, I couldn't keep a straight face. And that's how I looked when my eyes caught his. There I stood, like a grinning idiot. Solo. Stalled in the middle of the place, with a tooth-baring smile.

Our eyes locked.

Wasn't love at first sight reserved for movies and fools?

Did I detect a glimmer of recognition in his?

Surely not on my end. I'd never forget anything so scrumptious. My mouth felt like cardboard, stiff and dry, and a sinking sensation accompanied my awkward lips as they shrank back into their normal shape. At least I held my jaw in place. Damn! Why did I bite my lip?

Madre de Dios.[Mother of God.]
He was fine. Finer than the to-die-for 18K gold sparkly flat rope necklace displayed in AMA's guarded jewelry case; the one I drooled over but would never be able to afford. The only gold I owned was plated. Then my fingers slipped over the slender crucifix, centered with a brilliant diamond, suspended from a delicate chain around my neck ... Shame set in. Grandma had left me one of her few precious possessions, blessed by a Cardinal, passed on to me with her love. The cross had meaning, sentiment, emotions a lump of cold metal could never have, regardless of its lure ... and cost.

My moment of guilt dissolved as I melted into his gaze, conscious of the skate of my lips which blotted my creamy lipstick, willing them not to quiver.

A step up from Nikos, hell – twenty steps up from Nikos was more like it. From the distance, I couldn't gauge the color of his eyes, but they were wide, translucent. A surge of sunlight flared through the window, striking his face, and he squinted as his stare endured ... dared. Could he really be looking at
me
this way? So openly? My elevator stomach dropped ten floors.

The beckoning barista broke our trance. Gorgeous did a forward head-swoop, faced the impatient guy in the green smock, and placed his order. I saw his lips move, but had to imagine the sound of his voice. Smooth and mellow, of course. It had to be ... deep and sexy. As sexy as his masculine profile, and defined trapezius and shoulder muscles bulging through his pullover. I strained to see more of him; unable to through the crowd. Still, with a top half like that, how could the bottom be disappointing?

Stricken with a sudden bout of immobility, my ballets still glued to the same two floorboards, I found myself drawing in too many breaths. Wondering if he felt the same connection, I consciously wiped expectation from my face.

After he finished speaking to the barista, his head moved in my direction, sweeping smoothly from side to side as though focusing on imaginary objects around me. By some unexplained force, our eyes would connect, meet, hold. Then he'd break free, look over his shoulder. Damn. Why did his eyes keep shifting away?

We seemed to be involved in a hide and seek game, two rubbernecking strangers, well aware of the crudeness of staring. Still, I couldn't fight the urge. And apparently, he experienced the same fascination.

Suddenly he grew bolder, and it was my turn to focus on blurred faces around him, up and over his head, pretending to study the menu hanging on the wall. Each time I dared a peek, he'd be glancing my way. Our eyes kept brushing with more than curiosity, and I became quite uncomfortable. Finally, the corner of his questioning eyes crinkled, his lips pursing with a hint of a smile.

The gaze we shared sent messages, and I thought he might be contemplating a walk in my direction.
Oh no, please don't. I mean, yes, yes.
I'm over here ...
I longed to fling my arms in the air and wave him on like a giddy cheerleader.

At the thought of standing beside him, my legs grew weak, my body tingly.
Guapo! [Handsome.]
He was drop-dead hotter than a Ghost Pepper. My reaction to this guy was puzzling. My preference had always been for the dark and mysterious type. He might have been borderline jock — but not your typical college Joe. But, mysterious ... oh yeah. Esthetically, he'd be considered
late summer
. And the look on his face made mine react ...

The impatient barista, suspending a steaming coffee cup in his wobbling hand, grumbled, once again breaking the spell. There was something compelling about college Joe's change of expression a moment before his head swung back to the guy: Brooding. Soul digging. A chill ran down my spine. I couldn't take it ... and I couldn't take my eyes off him.

His hair was thick and appealingly messy; he must have been facing a hectic morning, or his sun-tipped locks had been pillow-brushed and finger-combed. Mmm, to run my fingers through that would be amazing.

Oh yeah ... this guy spends a lot of time at the gym ...

The v-neck sweater expanded for his broad neck, the smooth black knit a striking contrast against his sandy hair. His bronzed face hinted there might be a sailboat tan beneath his clothes. Speedboat maybe ...

I wondered if I'd have noticed him had he not initiated the staring contest. But Lord, those eyes drew me right in. Captivating ... I needed help. I reached for my cell phone.

Me: Kelly's

Em: When?

Me: NOW!

Em: Working U ok?

Me: Sending pic

Em: OMG. Who
is
that?

Me: Idk  don't show Pete

"H
e's hotter than my Honda before the engine blew," pulling in a breath, Emma Kim exclaimed.

"You think?" My threaded brows shot up.

"Holy shit, Jewel. How many pics did you sneak?" Emma laughed light and airy, like wind chimes. She dropped her shoulder bag on the table and grabbed my phone. With satin ebony hair, shoulder length and straight, she appeared a perfect work of anime art. I watched his delicious photos flash across the smudged screen as her fingers slid over it. She shoved the Droid at me before dropping onto the sofa. "He gave you
the eye
, huh? How did you not jump him?"

"Not easy. He made a big deposit into my memory bank, that's for sure." In an instant, I relived the split second our stares met and held. "He didn't give me
the eye
, not like ours." My laugh resonated, deeper than Em's, but every bit as musical. "But it was sure as hell invitational. Whatever ..." The sigh I drew rose from my gut.

"Hopefully now you'll realize there
are
other baskets for your eggs ..."

My eyes widened. "What the hell are you talking about?" I choked out a laugh. Baskets and eggs? I wasn't the Easter bunny, and certainly not ready for mating.

"One of my mother's expressions," Emma giggled. "You know what I mean. Maybe now you'll forget the gigolo and start sleeping. I'm tired of sleep deprivation because of your bathroom runs, or wherever it is you go fifty times a night."

"Nikos who?" I shot her a snarky grin. Over the past months I'd spent so much time thinking of my ex, my memory bank had been almost depleted of juicy visuals. "Let's put it this way. Nikos was a piggybank. This guy's Fort Knox. I wonder if I'll ever see him again?"

"You have to, Jewel. From what you described, it's a love story in the making."

"Yeah, but in this crowded city," I blew out an exasperated groan, "maybe we're just two Manhattanites passing in a café."

"That's what I love about you," Emma's voice followed her over the head arm stretch, "you keep us in drama."

I searched the fridge for dinner. Finding nothing of interest, I leaned a rounded hip against one of the four counter stools. Sliding onto the seat, I half draped myself over the Formica top, supporting my head with a palm, slipping into my
oh, misery
position. "We need to shop. This kitchen looks poverty-stricken. Wanna go out for food?"

Emma brushed thick bangs from her forehead, her body, suspended on the three cushions of our burgundy sofa, barely making a dent. "I'm beat. You go though. Bring me back the usual."

"How did your day go?" I habitually asked.

"Multi dimensional neurosis. Phobias, panic attacks, delusions of grandeur. You name it." Emma closed her eyes, took in a breath, expelling a gust of air.

"I don't know how you do it." I shook my head. "I have enough trouble figuring out my own brain, without trying to dissect someone else's."

"That's why I sweated out five years at Columbia." Pointing a lean leg, she kicked a high-heeled pump across the room, nailing one of the club chairs in front of the living room picture window. The chair rocked, rippling the vanilla drape hanging behind it. For a petite girl, Emma was strong; she was also impulsive and burning with ambition.

I met Emma Kim when I was pre-college apartment hunting in Manhattan. I answered her ad and within a few days we were roommates, forming an instant bond and lasting friendship. Sweet and compassionate, she had chosen the perfect profession: Mental Health Professional. While she saved enough cash to go into private practice, she worked for the State of New York.

It wouldn't be long and I'd have my B.S. and launch my career. From my first day at John Jay, I'd flown through every single class with a 3.8 until my life fell apart. That occurred during the year of Nikos Loukas, the hunk with the accent that cracked the core of the
never let your guard down
ice queen. I guess it was bound to happen, and probably did to every girl. For me, once was enough.

Nikos had dumped me during midterms, forcing me close to depression, something foreign to me, as foreign as the man. Thank heavens for Emma. I was one of her most difficult cases, and with twenty-four hour access, should have been her easiest success. But nothing could pull up my grades, or push me through the two classes I inevitably flunked. So, I'd registered for the same said courses again this semester. Thankfully, my second run of Forensic and Political Science were proving to be successful. I'd graduate soon, and hopefully land a permanent position in law enforcement.

From the time I was a little girl I loved all kinds of mystery: novels, movies, stories I'd cook up to entertain my family. I was a born actress, a ham, prancing around our living room, imitating actors, starring in self-created roles.

I molded myself into the cast of every CSI drama I watched on TV, knowing one day I'd solve actual crimes. Crawl into the mind of the underworld. Clean the city of filth. That was my mission in life. But until graduation, the closest I could come was catching shoplifters in one of the finest upscale stores in Manhattan.

"How was
your
day?" Emma yawned out in her soft voice.

"I nabbed two old ladies who tried to smuggle out three-hundred-dollar swimsuits." I chuckled. "They looked like two stuffed sausages. I spotted them before the alarm went off." Remembering the shock on their faces when I half dragged them into the office and patted them down, I laughed harder. "They had a good eye for style, though." Lifting myself off the stool I stretched, stood in the center of the room, then dropped into a chair across from Emma.

"Speaking of shopping. Did you pick up a helmet?"

"They had to order one. My head didn't fit anything in the store." I twirled my hair around a finger.

"Must be all those brains." Emma laughed and rolled lithely to her feet. "Okay. I'm recharged. Let's go out to eat."

I shook my head. "I should be used to you by now. No means an eventual yes. Do you do this with men?"

She shot me a smirk and went to her room to change. When she walked back in, we looked pretty close to twins. Both wearing jeans and T-shirts, sandals and handbags slung over a shoulder, the main difference between us was our builds and hair texture. Before walking out the door, I pulled my heavy waves into a pink elastic band, and shoved a blue one into Emma's hand.

Riding the elevator was always a trip. Guys never failed to hit on us. Nikos called us the bosom buddies; obviously serious about the bosom observation. And did he love to observe.

He had a name for everyone – and every part of my body. One of the things I found beguiling was his free spirit.
A confirmed bachelor,
he'd confessed, moments before deserting me on a street corner after our last dinner, leaving me to face a confused and lonely walk home.

"I wonder what he's up to these days?" I mumbled, thinking aloud. "In a relationship, ya think? Committed?"

Although she feigned surprise, Emma knew exactly to whom I referred. "Who the hell knows. And we're not supposed to be regurgitating Nikos, remember? Bank account's empty."

I still had to wonder: Does he call another woman's body parts the same things he'd called mine? Nikos once said my eyes looked like delicious balls of toffee, and they matched my
chewable
nipples. He said they made him percolate, brewing passion stronger than an over-caffeinated pot of Columbian roast coffee. And with that accent, believe me, his words came out a hell of a lot sexier than I could ever make them sound. At least those memories no longer weakened me. They just pissed me off. What was the word? Deceptive. Yup, that was Nikos.

Chatting and dishing, we hiked down West 34th.

"What do you feel like?" I hadn't eaten since breakfast, and my stomach growled, gnawed.

"How about Chang's?"

"Too bloating. Diner's got yummy wraps."

"Nah. I could go something spicy."

"Mexican?"

"Umm. Not really."

"We're not getting anywhere..." I took Em's arm and pulled her toward
Quiznos'
glass door.

"Ah ah." She tapped me with one of her hip-bumps, which had absolutely no impact. "I had it for lunch."

I redirected my steps. "Perfect, Kim. I'll starve while you decide what you'd like to eat."

She burst out laughing, pulling in the direction of the diner.

"Oooh," I froze in my tracks. "Bistro."

"Mmm. Panini. We can eat outside."

Emma and I ate at Landon's Bistro. We ended up pigging out on veggie wraps and iced coffee. We skipped dessert. Both on health kicks, wasted calories meant extra time at the gym, something Emma would love. I would not. Dancing was all the exercise I needed.

"So." Em pushed her plate aside. "What are you going to do about the hunk?"

I scrunched my mouth and raised a brow, shooting her my
are you out of your mind
look. "I'll probably never see him again, so why would I even entertain such ridiculous thoughts?" I drained the last drop of coffee through my straw, then pulled a small mirror from my bag to inspect my lips.
You never knew who you might run into ...
  Okay, so I was hoping.

Elbows on table, chin in palms, Emma stared, her cocoa eyes penetrating.

"Don't analyze me."

"I'm thinking."

"You're not thinking. You have that shrink look on your face."

"Don't be so flippant, Jewel." Her square jaw set. "I only want what's best for you. And going out with someone other than Pete will pull you out of this slump."

I thought of protesting ... but she was on the fast track. "Okay, Doctor Kim. I'm your patient. I'm paying you a hundred and fifty bucks an hour to straighten my life out." I could feel the muscles of my face tighten. "How would I go about finding this guy? And even if I did, then what? Come on, doc. What advice would you give me for a hundred and fifty bucks?"

"Two hundred." She was eerily emphatic.

"Very funny." She had me going. I liked talking about him. It made the absolutely nothing meeting more interesting ... inviting ... exciting. Still, I wasn't about to work my overactive imagination into reality. "Really, Em. What would you do?" Without looking in a mirror, I knew my eyes pleaded, and I didn't like it one bit.

"I'd be there at the same time tomorrow, looking irresistible. If he's interested, he'll be there, Jewel. And if he's there, and
shows
interest, well, then you'll know for sure."

"What? You think it was my imagination?" I couldn't help but remember the look in his eyes. It wasn't something anyone could have been prepared for; and it wasn't something anyone could fake. It was definitely a genuine reaction to sometime unanticipated. The exact origin of the look ... the meaning ... was yet to be determined.

"I didn't say that," Emma defended. "But if he makes actual contact this time, then you'll know he's not pass time flirting. And that he really wants to meet you."

At the thought, my stomach dipped. I rubbed goose bumps from my arms.
Get a grip, girl!
He's just another guy, for Pete's sake. Pete ...

"Shit."

"What's wrong?"

"I was supposed to meet Pete at seven." I didn't have to check my cell to realize seven p.m. had come and gone. The sun vanished behind the skyline, and the only light came from stores and street lamps. If talking about him made me feel like this, lose time, imagine being with him? I could lose more than time.

"Let's get going," I dropped two dollars on the table, stood, and slung my bag over a shoulder. Em did the same.

As we headed for home, the rent controlled apartment Em's aunt owned, I pulled out my cell and texted Pete an apology.

"You two have the weirdest relationship. It's like you're married without benefits."

"Or restrictions." I laughed.

"There's such a thing as negative dependency." Her eyes followed her straight nose, pointing right at me.

“He’s like a big brother, and don’t act like I’m a patient.” I stood with hands on hips. “I don’t have to rely on anyone or anything but myself. And I don’t second guess myself, either, which I know you’re about to accuse me of. I know exactly what I’m doing and where I’m heading.”

“Oh, so now you’re a mind reader too.” She laughed. “I didn't know they taught clairvoyance at Jay."

“Insight is not taught.” I smirked. “It’s a natural born talent.”

She rolled her eyes.

Before calling it a night we stopped to buy makeup, which took another hour, then hoofed it back to the apartment and watched TV. I found concentration difficult; I did my best self-analysis under water.

"Crap." On my way out of the shower, I complained, "It's almost midnight. I'll have bags under my eyes tomorrow. Great way to start a mission."

Emma stood at the doorway. I paused for her to bolster my morale. "Well, at least you won't be bloated." She wiped steam off the bathroom mirror and stared at herself. "Unlike problems, veggie wraps disintegrate in a matter of hours."