Hidden Scars (5 page)

       “Essentially it’s his memoir of being an Arsenal fan. Football hooligans. It was made into a movie and Americanized, and what did they choose to use as their fandom? The Red Sox Nation.”

       She listened, intrigued by the man across from her as he talked about the Sox and the fans and the rivalry with the Yankees. It was hard to picture him at a ball game, but then, she hadn’t imagined he’d have a gorgeous piece of ink on his back, either. Her thoughts drifted as she remembered the tattoo, the shading, the starkness, the
loneliness
of the picture.

       She’d thought Taylor was like Sam. Cool, controlling, and in control. With each lunch, with every cup of coffee, another side of Taylor emerged, and she was learning appearances weren’t everything.

       It was a lesson she thought she’d already learned. This time around, she wasn’t going to forget.

       The continuing silence from the opposite side of the table told her he’d stopped talking. Warmth swept up her neck to her ears. “I’m sorry. That was incredibly rude of me.”

       He shrugged. “Not everyone’s into sports. It happens.”

       The fries were half gone. The half left in the basket taunted her, egging her to eat them. What the hell. If she gained a few pounds, the world wouldn’t end.

       She selected another French fry. “So why’d you move from Carolina? Portland isn’t exactly warm. Also, I’m pretty sure half the population is so ironically cool we all might be living in some sort of alternate universe.”

       He snagged a fry for himself. “I didn’t want to stay on the East Coast. Something different. A buddy of mine was heading for California. I thought I’d try Seattle. Got sidetracked by Portland.” The fry disappeared, and he picked another one. “You?”

       She could disappear in Portland. People in Portland didn’t care what happened in Sacramento. Her shoulders tensed as anxiety buzzed under her skin. “Same as you. Wanted something different. And I got tired of not being able to wear sweaters in the winter.” Her grin felt forced. She kept it in place, knowing it wasn’t fooling him, knowing, by now, he wouldn’t push for more of an answer.

       Thank God.

       By the time the sweet potato fries disappeared, she’d sucked down a third drink and knew she’d need something else in her belly besides fried potatoes and gin. “I need to get home. French fries and alcohol doesn’t make for a very satisfying dinner.” Sliding out of the booth, she wobbled as she got to her feet, jerking back as Taylor’s hand closed around her elbow.

       He frowned down at her, hand still cupping her elbow. The nearness of him, inches away, all cool and dominating should have sent her anxiety into overdrive. It had to be the alcohol, because she didn’t feel the least bit scared. No, she wanted to step into him, run her hands over his chest. Press her mouth to it.

       “Are you sure you can get home okay? Maybe you should grab some dinner first.”

       Before she could respond, he’d gathered their coats and her purse and was guiding her to the door, his hand at the small of her back burning through her sweater, the heat spreading over her skin. She wanted him to keep it there. Wanted him to move it so his arm wrapped around her waist. She stopped at the door and held out a hand. “May I have my coat?”

       He handed it to her, and as she pulled it on she felt the strange feeling slide away. She’d been imagining things.

       The cold evening chased away any residual weirdness. “I’ll be fine.” Tilting her head back, she realized he was standing too close. His expression had slipped back into the habitual aloof mask he wore. She needed him to step back, but she couldn’t bring herself to move.

       He must have read her mind. Space magically appeared between them, sending twin surges of relief and disappointment through her. The disappointment quickly overwhelmed the relief. He might crowd her, he might scare the shit out of her half the time with his invisibility tricks, but something about him had her letting her guard down in a way she hadn’t done around anyone in years.

       She wasn’t ready to think about why that was.

       His hand was on her elbow again, and she fell in step beside him before she knew what he was doing. He wasn’t moving fast enough for her to be stumbling in her heels, but he walked with a sure stride. “Mind telling me where we’re going?”

       “Are you a vegetarian?” He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and now she did stumble, Taylor catching her other elbow to keep her upright. Her hands were close enough to his waist it wouldn’t take much to reach out and place them there. Tempting. Too tempting. Her fingers twitched with the desire to touch him. Skim them up his back, hook onto his shoulders so she was forced to rise on her toes, bringing her closer to his mouth.

       His gaze flitted to her mouth, lingered there, fingers flexing on her elbows. What would
his
kisses be like? Warm and sweet, like Nate’s? Harder? He’d take control, she decided. Taylor did everything with certainty. He’d kiss the same way.

       And if he didn’t stop staring at her mouth, she’d find out before she was ready.

       She shook her head, widening her eyes as her vision swam and blurred. Shit. Maybe she should eat dinner before heading home. Otherwise she might miss her stop. “Wow. Okay, yeah, I definitely need some more food.”

       One side of his mouth quirked up. “Come on. There’s a place around here that’s got good burgers.”

       She waited to see what he’d do next. Stay close, a hand at her back, or on her arm? Or would he back off, give her space? Did she
want
space?

       Yes. No. Yes. Space was good. She liked space.

       He went for the hand at her back, waiting until she proved she was steady on her feet. She struggled with the sense of loss as it fell away, careful not to brush into any inappropriate touching areas. She wished for a second he
would
touch her in an inappropriate area. Her breath caught in her lungs as an image of him grabbing her hips and yanking her up on her toes burned itself into her brain.

       Horribly, horribly inappropriate.

       Screw dinner, she should have gone home. It was too late now. Backing out would be rude, and he’d been nothing but polite. Friendly, even. Maybe, possibly, sorta kinda interested. If he was, she’d never find out by leaving.

       A few blocks later, he pulled open the door to what had to be one of the seediest dive bars in the neighborhood, the windows barred and scratched, the brick face of the building scuffed and tagged in a few places. The door itself, a heavy wood creation, looked like it had been beaten into submission with a battering ram a few times.

       The inside, while dark, was surprisingly clean. She followed him to a booth in the corner. It seemed to be his thing, wherever he was, to find the least conspicuous place in the room. Once she was seated, he got up again and walked over to the bar, returning after a brief conversation with the bartender.

       Her phone jangled in her purse. She fumbled through the depths to pull out the offending device. A glimpse of the read-out told her it was Megan, most likely calling to confirm their plans for tomorrow. “Do you mind if I take this?” She pointed to her phone. At his nod, she hit Accept. “Yo.”

       “Hey. We on for tomorrow?”

       They were meeting a few other friends for a roller derby match. “Yeah. Meeting at four, right?”

       “Yeah. Probably going out for drinks after. And I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet.” Megan’s voice took on a sly hint, and Sara bit off a groan.

       “Great! Looking forward to it.” She’d rather eat glass. She said goodbye and hit End, then shut off the phone and stuffed it in her purse.

       Her friends, for the most part, didn’t push when she said she wasn’t interested in anything serious, man-wise. Every so often, though, one of them would get it into her head to try and change her mind by introducing her to some nice, cute man she had absolutely zero interest in getting to know.

       She couldn’t bring herself to talk about Sam, or the damage he’d done. She’d worked too hard to put it behind her, and she really didn’t want it coloring how they saw her.

       She pushed her hair back behind one ear, eyeing the burger doubtfully as it was placed in front of her. “Sorry about that. Been trying to plan this thing for a few weeks.” She picked up the burger and bit in, stifling a moan of pleasure. It was delicious, juicy, tender, and thick enough she could push down on it with her fingers. “Rose City Rollers. You should come.” She took another bite, freezing when she replayed her own words. Oh,
hell
.

       Taylor only gave her that half-smile. “Maybe I will.”

       The Hangar was more than half full. She had no trouble spotting her friends, bunched up close to the floor. She was later than she’d wanted to be; the start of the first bout was about fifteen minutes away.

       “Sara.”

       She stiffened in alarm, the heat of another body almost flush against her, a large, warm hand splayed across her lower back.
Taylor
. Heart thumping wildly, she shut her eyes and breathed through the panic, conscious his hand hadn’t moved. “Hi.”

       He slowly nudged her around to face him, his hand falling away. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

       There was a hint of mania in her laugh, but she didn’t care. “Right. Because sneaking up behind me won’t scare me.” She stabbed her index finger into his chest. “I’m getting you a frickin’ bell.”

       His smile was slight and quiet. “You’d ruin my mojo.” He jerked his chin down the stairs. “Your friends?”

       “Yeah.” After a moment’s hesitation, he placed his hand on her lower back again, following her down the stairs, and heat burned through her, hottest where his palm lay. She had a brief fantasy of his hand on other parts of her. Stroking. Teasing.

       She wanted to moan.

       Zanna’s head popped up first, her normally serious face lighting with a grin. “Hey! The bout’s about to start.” Her gaze slid over to Taylor and back, brow winging up.

       “This is Taylor, a friend from work.” She bit down on the urge to emphasize
friend
. Her thoughts a moment ago had been decidedly un-friend like. “That’s Zanna,” Zanna lifted a hand, “Megan, Dave, Rob, Kelly, and I have no idea who that is.” The man closest to Sara had floppy brown hair and golden brown eyes, his smile bright and goofy. This had to be the guy Megan was talking about.

       He stood and held out a hand. “Brian. You must be Sara.” She didn’t miss the approving once-over, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She and Megan were going to have a conversation about this. Well-meaning friends aside, it was way past time for them to get it through their heads she was serious about her dislike of set ups.

       The hand at her back flexed hard, the tips of his fingers digging in once, then dropped. Her heart skipped. If that was what she thought it was, the small, possessive gesture quieted one of her doubts. Whatever this was, it wasn’t all in her head.

       Music began blaring from the speakers strung from the rafters, and she shrugged it off. Something to think about later. The others stood and they did the awkward sideways shuffle to the empty seats on the other side of Kelly. Derby members skated out onto the floor of the hangar, reformatted as a short-track roller rink, and she settled in and leaned forward to study the scoreboard mounted in the far corner.

       They all had the weirdest names. Balls-Out Betty. Polly the Punisher. The emcee was having a little too much fun calling the bout, riffing off the names, egging the competitors on, encouraging the crowd to boo or cheer, depending on what was happening. Hyper aware of Taylor next to her, his thigh brushing hers, and Brian a few seats over, Sara turned to Kelly. “So how does Megan know Brian?”

       “They work together, I think. I tried to talk her out of bringing him along.” She slid a rueful glance at Sara. “Zanna tried, too.”

       “I’ll talk to her later. Hey, Rob, how’d the promotions material turn out?” Kelly’s boyfriend, Rob, worked for the advertising firm partnered with the Portland Film Festival, and she was hoping to score a free poster.

       “I’ve got your poster under my seat,” he said drily, and she grinned, bouncing in her seat with anticipation. “You got your tickets yet?”

       She snorted. “Of course I do.” She’d bought her tickets weeks ago and spent hours poring over the program, picking movies. There were a few she’d have to sneak out of work in the middle of the afternoon to see, but she was willing to risk it. If anything, they’d be a well-deserved couple of hours alone after having to deal with whatever the latest fiasco Jeremy, the exec she was most often paired with, had managed to create.

       Skaters pushed and shoved their way around the track, tapping out or falling on their asses, speeding up and slowing down by turns. Jammers searched for the smallest openings and shot through them, lapping the other skaters, weaving their way around the track.

       The hour-long bout sped by, and at the break, her friends decided to troop over to a nearby bar for some pool instead of sticking around for the second half. She shot a glance at Taylor. “Coming?” He’d probably say no. They hadn’t spoken much since they’d sat down, and she’d spent most of the time when she wasn’t yelling her head off tossing insults back and forth with David and Rob.

       There was that slight, quiet smile again, and she found herself wishing for the grin he’d given her in Stumptown, the one that caused her heart to stutter and her mouth to go dry. He nodded toward the aisle. “They’re waiting.”

* * *

       A few days later, Taylor sat in his office, scrolling through a report and replaying the events of that weekend in his head. Watching Sara with her friends had been too good an opportunity to pass up. The way she’d joked around with the two guys had Taylor watching closely, searching for subtle cues, hints at what they did to make her relax. She was getting there with him, the tension leaving her body quickly whenever he approached her, but he wished it would happen faster. Going slow when he wanted to know what she’d feel like in his arms was driving him nuts.