Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (23 page)

“You’re too smart for your own good. You know that, kid?”

“Yay me,” he says. He huffs out like he’s trying to blow it off. All I hear in his voice now is sadness.

Then he goes back to counting trees.

X X X

I leave Stix at my office this time.  There’s an alarm that alerts an entirely different police force than at my apartment and a couch he can sleep on.

“Here’s the key.” I take mine off of its ring. “I’ll bring some blankets and shit over later. And here.”

I pull out a twenty and hand it to him. “Order somethin’ to eat. You look like death warmed over.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

“I’ll get more groceries later.”

It’s completely feasible that I might actually be a manny at this point.

“I’ll be back later,” I tell him but not before texting my cell from his so I have his damn number going forward.

“W-where’re you goin’?” Nerves take him over, but honestly, I think it’s safer than my place at this point. And it’s definitely safer than him being on the streets. Plus my choices for good hiding spots are slimmer than ever now.

“I’ve got some errands of my own to catch up on,” I tell him. It’s the truth at least. I’m simply leaving a few details out of the equation.

Like the fact that I need to go find out what the fuck a certain Dick wants to see me about, and why he’s being so polite about it. Get certain police officers to admit they offed a minor without cause, and maybe get some closure for a kid who’s out of family because of said police officers
offing
his brother.

No big.

X X X

A half-hour later, I’m on the side of the road with zero cash in my wallet and a car that’s decided she needs a nap.

“Bullshit.” I should have known better than to try and push the Chevelle’s engine all the way back to my place.

I should have fucking gotten her to a shop, checked her out,
then
gone to see Walker. But, no, I gotta run her into the fucking ground so she dies on me in the middle of one of the busiest motherfucking intersections in the whole goddamn city.

She slows to a quiet stop. Mainly because the engine just died. I throw her into park and hop out to see if there’s anything even remotely familiar about her insides that will allow me to get her running long enough to find a mechanic.

I’m sure I can figure it out. I mean, I didn’t ace high school and maybe one-fifth of the academy for nothing.

Forty-five minutes later, though, I’m still fighting with the fucking thing. Mainly because, in addition to being smart, I’m a stubborn ass. Or so I’m told. Plus I have the wrong tools.

At least it’s not rush hour.

My hand slips on the wrench when I go to tighten some of the spark plugs.

“Ow. Ffffffuck!”

“What’s up, Stiles? Got a leak in your vocabulary?”

I lift my head a little too quickly when I hear the familiar voice and clunk my head on the hood of the car.

That shit hurts.

“Funny, Green.” The pain rushes from my thumb all the way to my fucking head, and there’s absolutely no way to hide that fact.

I rub it out. “What brings you to this side of the tracks?”

“Touché.” She laughs. “You all right?”

“I will be.” The ache subsides the more I shake it out. “But, seriously. What are you doing here?”

“I said I’d check in later, right?” She looks down at the engine. “I was on my way to your place when I saw you on the side of the road arguing with your car. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing you can help me with this time.”

“Oh, really.” She shoves me out of the way as she leans over where I was just standing.

“What happened?”

I cross my arms and ignore the tight fitting pants that show off her ass. “She died. That’s what happened.”

“Any specific noises when it happened?”

Is she serious right now?

“Noooo.”

She heaves out a heavy sigh and reaches farther into the workings of my car.

“Your alternator might have died,” she announces. “Depending on the car, some won't even click when the battery is dead but will have enough juice to power the accessories. Hand me your wrench.”

She blindly puts a hand out toward me.

I place it in her hand because, hell, what the fuck else am I gonna do? I’m also slightly turned on. Not gonna lie.

“What are you─”

“Just wanna try something before we charge the battery. It might not be necessary, but if it is…” She grunts as she twists something. I lean over her shoulder to see what the fuck she’s doing in there.

“We might also want to try jumping your starter. Sometimes with newer ones, there’s a really small wire that comes off the starter, but on these older models…” She finds something with a loud,
“Aha!”
then wriggles her way to the back of the engine. The way her hips are moving against my, uh, engine reminds me of how she felt against me last night on the couch.

“We could bridge that and your power stud on the starter if we had to. If the car starts, then it’s probably a wiring issue in your ignition. Try her now.”

I slide into the front seat and give the key a turn.

And hell if the damn car doesn’t start right the fuck up.

Green stands there, wiping her hands and smiling wide.

Me?

I’m blown away right now. And kinda really fucking digging this woman even more so than before she fixed my piece of shit vehicle.

I climb back out and ask her, “What the fuck did you just do?”

She hands me the wrench back and pushes some hair out of her face. When she does it, oil smears across her cheek. It makes her look like she’s getting ready for football season.

I imagine her running at me with that smug-ass look on her face, tackling the shit out of me right now.

And I kind of fucking like that idea.

She’s still, though, when I reach out to wipe the smudge off, and I don’t take my hand away at first. Not until a car blows by us and honks like an idiot.

Mood ruined.

Ass.

“Nothing you could have helped me with.” She still manages to hold onto the smugness when she lets the moment pass. I let her have it. She earned that shit.

I point at the hood after she closes it. “That was-”

“Impressive?” She smirks.

“Surprising. Thanks.”

Green smiles full on. “That’s the second time you’ve thanked me in as many days, Stiles. Might wanna watch it there.”

She’s right.

I’m forming bad habits.

I blame Lana.

I like the way Green blows off the compliment I just gave her but is definitely sporting some red in her cheeks, all of a sudden. Something else I note that I’m kinda fucking fond of.

“It could have been as simple as you being out of gas. But something tells me you’re a little more observant than that.” She wipes her black pantsuit down and stomps her heels against the pavement to get the dirt off of them. She’s completely contradictory—the way she can be so put together but underneath it all she’s a jumble of babbling nerves.

“Wanna grab some late breakfast slash early lunch?” I’ve got a lot to catch her up on. Plus, I’m fucking hungry—a detail I hadn’t noticed until I was standing here with nothing to do but watch Green work on the Chevelle like a pro.

Okay,
maybe
I wouldn’t mind spending a little more time with the crazy, confusing, and, most of all, tempting Miss Green.

“Uh.” She checks the time on her wrist. “Yeah, why not? I have to talk to you anyway.”

That’s right. “Ditto. Let’s go.”

“Where to?”

“Follow me; I know a place.”

“Why am I not surprised by that?”

“Because I’m fucking awesome?”

“Ha.”

I back away toward the door, and she turns to go back to her Honda. The way her ass sways in that outfit combined with the fact that she knows her way around the Chevelle is enough to convince me, screw Walker. He can wait.

X X X

I take Green to a buffet-style breakfast place Nick and I found years ago. Once upon a time, we used to meet up and chat every so often. Of course, that was before the academy was just a bad memory, and I became another disappointment my father couldn’t stop fucking harping on.

Good times.

I still like the food, though. So every once in a while, I make time to go grab a bite.

This seems like a good time to me.

If it wasn’t for the fact that Green looks like the cat that just swallowed the canary, I’d be a little more psyched about the whole thing. As it is, she’s making my head spin, the way she can’t stop jiggling her keys and fucking with her hair.

Instead of forcing a conversation out of her, I wait quietly. ’Cause I’m a patient motherfucker when I need to be. I let her decide when she’s gonna spill.

Whatever it is.

We’re seated after about a ten-minute wait.

Still nothing.

Our menus are laid out on the table after we’re lead to a quiet corner. Green studies it, but she’s not really fucking reading it, if you know what I mean.

She still hasn’t stopped fucking with her keys.

I put a hand on top of hers to stop the jitteriness.

When she looks at me, I know it’s time.

“So listen, Stiles, I─”

“Hey there, Jackson.” Queue the damn server, of course. Worst timing ever.

Sheila’s great and all, been here forever, but fuck me.

I could tell her we need a minute, but honest to God, starving here. So I hold my arms out about a foot apart. “Can we get two of those big ass breakfast specials with extra bacon and─”

“No bacon for me.” Green’s still searching but not searching the menu, despite the fact Sheila’s about to bring her the best fucking breakfast she’s ever had.

“Green, every red-blooded American likes bacon.”

“Not this one.” She points to herself.

“How do you not like bacon?”

She lowers the flimsy piece of laminated cardboard and eyes me. “Do you know which part of the pig bacon comes from, Stiles?”

I peek up at Sheila. The side of her mouth is rising into a hesitant smile. It makes her look about ten years younger and like there’s a whole lot more to her than taking orders and schlepping food.

Back to Green, though. “Seriously? Have your fill of pork fried rice which may or may not actually be pork at all, but bacon? That’s where you draw the line?”

She huffs and the frustration she’s been harboring is set free.

“Whatever, I mean, yeah, no, go ahead.” She smiles the fake smile up at Sheila. “Whatever he ordered is fine.”

“What’s up with you?” I can’t take it anymore. Edgy Green is making my teeth hurt.

“People really like you,” she says with a frown.

“That’s disappointing? I’m likeable.” Green’s eyebrow disagrees. So I adjust my statement. “Sometimes.” I wink but she doesn’t smile back.

The back of my neck itches. She’s too serious this morning.

The urge to say something is apparent on her lips, only she’s not saying whatever the fuck it is that’s trying to get out.

Time to hit the reset button.

“How about I go grab us a couple coffees.” I reach for her cup. “Be right back.” But she stops me and grabs it herself.

“I’ll get ’em.” Her voice is pitchy. Nervous. Very non-Green when it’s just the two of us, if you ask me.

“Okay.” I sit back down, and she hurries off, knocking her purse off the back of her chair. I go to pick it up for her, and her phone slides out onto the floor. When I grab it, the screen lights up. There, right in front of my fucking face, is a text she must have just gotten or not seen yet.

Listen, I don’t read people’s texts. It’s not my style, but when I happen to see my name pop up like it did on her phone? Yeah, I’m gonna check that shit out.

I glance over at the coffee set-up and watch Green fumble with the cups before she figures out how it all works. I tap the screen of her phone and read the preview.

Need some Stiles intel. Contact me ASAP.

I set the phone down and think.

The fuck?

Stiles intel?

Like, fucking intel? On me?

The number is local but I don’t recognize it, which bugs the living hell out of me. If someone’s asking for intel, she must have already known they were looking for it. I don’t know who the fuck she’s expecting to want intel on me.

I scratch my eyebrow.

I rub the back of my neck.

I wipe imaginary sweat from my face.

If she was anyone else, I’d wait for her to come back, show her the text, and then give her a piece of my mind for fucking with my head the past week.