Say When (3 page)

When he looks down at me and smiles, I know I’m done for. My knees weaken and the heat rushes through me and spreads like wildfire. Damn me for acting the love-struck fool and smiling back.

His sensual lips part and I think,
Oh, gawd, this is it. You’re about to totally violate your anti-slut protocol and make out with this random stranger.
I don’t even have the strength to tell myself I’m acting like an idiot.

He leans toward me, and before he gets the chance to kiss me, he points to something just beyond my shoulder. “Do you girls need help?”

His deep, rich voice startles me, but not as much as the fact that I was about to kiss a total stranger—a stranger who’s obviously not interested in kissing me back.

I turn toward Karri. She’s slumped against the driver’s side door and sobbing into her hands. Well, don’t I feel like the total bitch?

My sexy Latin stud brushes past me, the click of his cowboy boots ringing across the pavement as he walks toward Karri. He’s a soldier. I can tell by his rigid, uniform stride, although his cropped hair should have given it away. Karri’s brother is in the Marines, and he’s got a similar stiffness in his gait. I follow this guy, even though my legs are almost useless, weakened by my stupid crazy hormones.

“Uh, oh,” he says as he circles the car.

It’s still smoking, and I worry maybe Karri should back away, even though I’m pretty sure cars only blow up in the movies.

Karri looks at him through wide, watery eyes, and something flashes in her gaze. Oh, yeah, her slut sonar must be on high alert. I can’t say I blame her. His physique is just as impressive from the rear. His jeans mold to that ass perfectly, and even through his striped linen shirt, I can see the outline of a man in prime condition.

Karri wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “My stupid car broke down.” She pouts and bats her lashes while thrusting out her generous cleavage.

“It’s not the car that’s stupid,” I say before I have the chance to stop myself. I slap my hand over my mouth. What the heck is wrong with me? But as I watch my friend slant me a dirty look and then turn a big smile on the stud, I know exactly what’s wrong. I’m being territorial over a guy, which is weird, because I’ve never been that way before, not even over Jackson. And for some odd reason, money grubbing hos are always throwing themselves at him.

“Mind if I take a look?” Stud muffin asks, but he’s already inside the car popping the lever. Smoke pours from the engine when he lifts the hood.

I take several steps back because the fumes are unbearable. Karri screeches and stomps a foot. He surveys the damage, and when he frowns, the tendons in his neck flex beneath his stiff shirt collar. Damn. I imagine the muscles beneath that shirt are even tighter. Double damn.

I cross one leg over the other, balancing awkwardly as I try to quell my raging hormones—that is how hot and bothered I am over a guy. I have the sudden wild notion that fucking some random stranger on my birthday might not be such a bad idea.

Passers-by stop and gawk at Karri’s smoking wreck. I steal a sideways glance at a few of the men who filter into the gas station parking lot. I then regret my decision, as it seems some of them are staring at me and not the car. Judging by their unkempt clothes and hair, they are either transients, drug-dealers, or both. I curse myself for not stuffing my little can of mace in my purse. If I had known I was going to walk out on Jackson and end up in the slums, I would have. I guess I figured Jackson’s breath was deterrent enough for any would-be muggers.

Some of the smoke clears and the stud has rolled up his sleeves. He’s got this look on his face like a doctor prepping for open-heart surgery. His eyes are dark and intense, his spine and shoulders stiff, which is a stark contrast to me, considering my whole body feels like a bowl of jelly. I wonder if he’s got a girlfriend, which is stupid, because I just got out of a serious relationship an hour ago. I’m pretty sure there’s supposed to be some sort of cooling off period before I jump the bones of the nearest sexy cowboy.

“What’s your name?” Karri asks, sidling up to him. Her eyes are roaming the length of his hard body, and I can tell she’s clearly not interested in the outcome of her car.

“Andrés, miss,” he says as he nods and holds out a hand. He pulls his hand back when he notices it’s covered in grease. “Sorry,” he murmurs before grabbing a few paper towels from the dispenser above the gas pump.

While Andrés is busy cleaning his hands, Karri turns to me with a wink before she yanks down her tank top so her boobs are practically spilling onto the asphalt.

This pisses me off. Strength returns to my wobbly legs as I stiffen my shoulders and march up to her. I shoot her a look that I know would melt steel, a look that says,
I saw him first!
To my surprise, she actually pulls her tank top back up, flashing a sheepish grin.

“I guess since it’s your birthday,” she mumbles.

“Hey, Andrés,” she calls to the stud in a sing song voice. “You know anything about cars?”

He smirks as he wads up the paper towel and throws it in a nearby trashcan. “I’m a mechanic.”

And just like that, a balloon pops in my chest and my raging hormones fizzle. A mechanic? What would my mother do if I told her I dumped Jackson for a mechanic? She’d probably disown me, that’s what.

I guess it doesn’t matter
, I tell myself,
since Andrés isn’t showing any interest in me, anyway.
He’s scowling at Karri’s steaming hunk of metal. When he looks back at Karri, I see the pity in his gaze. I think of a surgeon who is about to tell a family he failed to save their loved one.

“What is it?” she asks. Her shoulders slump and she’s no longer smiling.

“It’s your engine,” he says in a grim voice.

“Oh, shit!” Her hands fly to her mouth and her eyes widen. “Is that bad?”

I want to slap my forehead, but I hold still. I don’t need to state the obvious that Karri is an idiot when she does a good enough job of it on her own.

He looks at her for a second like maybe she’s joking, but when Karri gives no sign to indicate she isn’t a total moron, he grimaces. “Yeah.” Then he motions toward the darkened street behind us. “I work at a shop down the road. If you want, I can call a tow truck and look at it there.”

“No, thanks.” Karri vehemently shakes her head. “I can’t afford a mechanic.”

“Karri,” I say, “Robbie is
not
going to fix this.”

She scowls and waves me off. “Just go wait for your friend. And have a happy birthday, Christina.” I can tell by the tone of her voice, what she really means is, “eat shit and die, bitch.”

I march back toward the convenience store. I don’t need Karri’s attitude. I get enough from Jackson and my mother. Dammit, it’s my twenty-first freaking birthday! Tonight is supposed to be one of the most fun and memorable nights of my life. But it’s not fun. It’s not memorable. It blows big time. I’m zero for two right now. Maybe I should ask Grace to take me home and call it a night. I don’t think I can handle any more drama.

* * *

Andrés tries hard not to stare at the oddball girl named Karri as she yells at her boyfriend through her cell phone. Based on bits of their conversation, she hasn’t changed the oil in the car in over two years, and the boyfriend has failed to take care of it as well.

He eyes Karri while he waits by the gas pump. She has several bruises down her arms, a huge stain on her skimpy tank top, wild pink spiked hair, and an even wilder look in her eyes. Her voice has a slight rasp to it, and she walks with jerky movements. Andrés has a hunch that the reason she couldn’t afford a mechanic was because whatever money she had was most likely used to buy drugs.

He thought of the user’s petite friend, Christina, who’d stormed into the gas station to wait for her ride. Andrés wonders what brought two completely opposite girls together. Christina doesn’t strike him as a druggie, at least he hopes not. He’s been wrong about girls before, but Christina seems different than the others. For one thing, she’s been wounded, and though she tries to hide her pain, he can read the traces of fear and doubt in those pretty green eyes and beneath the mask of her frozen smile. Andrés has spent enough time with wounded vets, both physically and mentally, to spot the signs of emotional trauma. Though she carries herself with her chin held high, she trembles when she speaks, and she can’t seem to maintain eye contact. Andrés is pretty sure Christina has been a victim of abuse.

Just the thought of anyone hurting her fills him with rage. Andrés shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts.
She’s just another girl. You’ve been gone too long and you just need to get laid.

But Andrés knows he’s lying to himself. There’s something different about Christina, and though that little voice in his head warns him he isn’t ready for anything more than a one night stand, his feet propel him toward the convenience store. He is determined to find out more about her.

* * *

I storm inside the store, nearly tripping over the threshold in these stupid heels. The clerk sits behind the counter on a low stool. His stomach bubbles over his belt like it’s made out of pudding, folding over on itself several times, until reaching his man-boobs, which I’m pretty sure are two cup sizes bigger than mine. He glances over the top of his comic book just long enough to scowl at me.

I hurry past the rows of candy bars and snack shelves, some of which look ready to topple, as the flimsy particle board holding them together is buckled in several places. As I make my way toward the back, I wind up in the beer and wine section. For such a cramped and run-down looking shithole, their selection is pretty extensive. I turn a slow circle, feeling somehow like I’m going to suffocate within these walls of beer cases. The sad thing is I still haven’t purchased a beer with my real ID. My thirst for liquor has dried up. Luckily, nobody else is inside the store. I send a text to Grace to message me when she gets here. There’s no way I’m going back outside.

“So it’s your birthday?”

I gasp as I look up to see Andrés standing between two dilapidated candy shelves. How had I not noticed he’d come into the store? He walks forward, his boots clicking on the grimy tiles. He slants a smile at me as he joins me inside the beer fortress.

“Yeah.” I shrug, feeling the blush creep into my cheeks and unable to do anything about it. Mechanic or not, the boy is smokin’ hot. Images of random stranger sex flash through my mind.

“Happy birthday, Christina,” he says. I love the way my name rolls off his tongue and sends a ripple of heat across my skin, like pouring warm chocolate fudge over cool vanilla ice cream .

“How’d you know my name?” I ask as my pulse quickens. I also love that he says my entire name and not some made-up shortcut.
Christina.
Not Teenie, Tina, or Christy,
I think.
The name on my birth certificate.
The name I wish everyone would call me.

His smile widens, revealing two perfectly white rows of teeth. “I heard your friend call you Christina. It’s a beautiful name.”

“Thanks.” Even though I consider myself a relatively fun loving person, my smile feels contrived. That’s when I realize I’m in trouble. This guy unnerves me. I force myself to break eye contact, missing his warm chocolate gaze almost instantly. I focus on the first thing that catches my eye, his gleaming silver belt buckle.

This is a very bad idea, because my gaze instinctively travels lower, and I notice the bulge beneath his zipper. Despite the fact that my back is chilled from the refrigerated wine section behind me, I feel a bead of sweat on my temple.

“This isn’t the best side of town,” Andrés says to me, in a voice that carries a note of concern.

I pull my gaze from his crotch and nod. My head bobbles maybe a bit too hard, and I feel like my brain is stuck in an earthquake. “I know.”

“I’ll wait with you until your friend gets here.” He takes a seat on a beer display, never taking his gaze off me.

The chill from the fridge causes me to shiver. My nipples feel so hard, they could probably cut glass. I resist the urge to look down and confirm it. I realize they’re probably already poking through my lacy bra and sheer dress fabric. Knowing Andrés is getting an eye-full mortifies and excites me at the same time. Still, modesty forces me to cross my arms over my chest.

“She was at Dylan’s,” I say, trying to sound casual and not all hot and bothered, “so it shouldn’t take long.”

“That’s where I was going,” he says as he motions toward his boots. “Maybe I’ll see you there.”

Weird, how just a few moments ago, I didn’t feel like celebrating anymore. Now I’m thinking about dancing with Andrés at Dylan’s. I’m not a very skilled dancer, but I can follow someone else’s lead if I have a good enough partner. I wonder if Andrés is a good dancer. I wonder how it would feel to have his rough denim pressing against me.

My knees wobble at the thought. I look down at my stupid stilettos and realize I’m not dressed for dancing.

“I don’t have my boots,” I say as my lip turns down in a pout.

“We’ll slow dance. Come on, Christina.” My name slides off his tongue in a sensual purr. “It’s your birthday.” He jumps down from the beer display and bridges the distance between us in a few easy strides.

Having Andrés this near me sends a jolt straight up my spine. My flesh buzzes and I feel it all the way to the core of my body. He smells like leather and spice, and right now the only dancing I want to do with Andrés is between the sheets.

I am not a whore. I do not have sex with random strangers,
I say to myself, but my libido isn’t listening.

There’s a sparkle in his eyes that makes him not only incredibly sexy, but irresistibly cute. “Have some fun,” he says as he leans forward, much too forward.

He crosses the line into my personal space. I could easily lean up and kiss those full lips of his.

“Maybe I’ll go,” I say, unable to resist Andrés’s boyish charm, or the heat radiating off his virile body. My phone buzzes, and I realize my ride is here. “There’s Grace.” I motion toward a nearby window. I can hear the distant melody of “Tornado” by Little Big Town, which has been Grace’s theme song for the past year, ever since she decided to ditch guys and, much to her parents’ dismay, exclusively date girls.