Spectacular Rascal: A Sexy Flirty Dirty Standalone Romance (20 page)

I need conversation and quick.

“Remember the road trip to the Death Valley marathon?” I ask, inspiring a hungry moan from Cat.

“Yes. Oh my God, I ate so many Lemon Heads on that trip.” She bites into a Red Vine and chews with a sigh. “Red Vines are good, but you can’t beat a good Lemon Head binge. I ate those things until my tongue had first degree acid burns and it hurt to swallow.”

I nod. “I can’t believe so many stores stopped carrying those. They’re so fucking good.”

“So good.” She hums again, wagging a fresh Red Vine toward my side of the car. “But they did make me drink a ton of water, which made me have to pee every hour, which led to us stopping the bus at the grossest rest stop ever.”

“I remember.” I take another bite of my Glo Ball, talking around the sponge cake disintegrating in my mouth. “Was that the place where you said it looked like a giant butt had been stabbed in the women’s room?”

“Yes!” She slaps me on the leg, clearly pleased with my recall. “It was the nastiest thing I’ve ever seen. There was crap all over the walls. Seriously, all the way up to the ceiling in some places. It was like a giant butt had walked in there and been murdered all over the women’s room, in every stall, all over the sinks. Just nasty butt murder everywhere the eye could see.”

A burst of laughter constricts my midsection, making me fight to keep from spitting out my last bite of cake. When I’ve managed to swallow, I say, “You are so fucking gross sometimes.”

“I am not,” she says, but I can hear the smile in her voice and know she’s pleased with herself. “I’m just trying to accurately describe a horrific situation, Aidan. It’s called commitment to communication.”

“I figured it had to be pretty bad for you to decide to squat behind a bush instead.”

Cat makes a growling noise. “That’s right. That’s when Hole in the Ground took the infamous picture. I forgot about that.”

“How could you forget?” I cast a surprised glance her way, before turning my eyes back to the road. “You almost murdered the kid.”

She leans her seat back, propping her bare feet on the dash. “I did not. I was mad, but I got over it. Hole was actually a pretty sweet idiot. Dumb as rocks, but sweet.” She takes another bite of her candy. “And I’ve had much worse things happen to me since then.”

The words banish my smile, reminding me why we hauled ass out of Manhattan as fast as Shane’s Rolls could carry us. We didn’t even take time to go home to pack. Shane loaned Cat some clothes, I insisted I could grab a couple pairs of jeans and some T-shirts on the way upstate, and we bought toothbrushes at the last gas station.

We’re not on an adventure; we’re on the run, and I can’t afford to forget that for a second.

I only talked to Lip for a few minutes before we left—he was on duty and up to his armpits in work—but our conversation made it clear Cat’s not out of the woods. There is some concern that Nico may have found out about the upcoming sting operation and be making plans to leave the country. There are also rumors that he refuses to leave without a certain redhead, a fact that has enraged half his family, some of whom may be willing to take drastic measures to remove what they see as a threat to their golden boy’s safety.

When I told Lipman about the break-in at Cat’s place, he insisted we come down to the station to file a report and allow him to personally escort us to the safe house afterward. He wasn’t happy when I explained our alternative plans, but once I assured him that no one knew where we were headed—I didn’t even tell Shane the name of my stepmother’s bed and breakfast—he grudgingly admitted that we’d probably be okay. He refused to give his blessing, but he did wish us luck and assured Cat that he would contact her as soon as the danger had passed.

He also urged us both to keep our cell phones close for the next few days, hinting that maybe the timetable for the raid had been moved up. This could all be over in less than forty-eight hours, a fact that makes me simultaneously relieved and strangely…sad.

“It’s going to be weird,” Cat says softly, dropping her half-eaten Red Vine back into the snack bag.

“What’s that?” I check our rearview mirror for the tenth time, but the road behind us is as empty as it’s been since we left the highway in favor of a back-road route to Ithaca, New York.

“Not being worried all the time,” she says, setting the bag near her feet. “Being able to laugh with a male friend or colleague without worrying that Nico is spying on me and getting nuts about it. It’s amazing how quickly being afraid can become the new normal.”

My jaw tightens. “I wish you’d never met the son of a bitch.”

“I don’t. I’m glad I met him.” She tucks her legs beneath her as she shifts to face my side of the car. “As scary as it’s been, it’s also been a wake-up call. It wasn’t until I became a statistic myself that I truly understood how horrific the statistics are. I mean, a third of the women who are murdered in the U.S. are killed by men they were romantically involved with. That’s over a thousand women every year losing their lives to men who are supposed to love them.”

“That’s insane.” I blink hard, trying to wrap my head around a number like that. “I mean, I knew things were bad, but not that bad.”

“I know,” Cat says. “And on a national level we’re doing absolutely nothing to make things better. In fact, most states are cutting funding for shelters and assistance programs even as the need for those programs increases.” She crosses her arms more tightly across her chest. “So, yeah, I’m glad I met Nico. And as soon as this is behind me, I’m going to find a way to make things better for women who don’t have the money to hire a Spectacular Rascal to watch their backs.”

“You should start a charity, or help fundraise for one. You lawyer types are great at fundraising, right?”

“I’ve done my share of raising funds,” she says, nodding thoughtfully. “Though Shane is better at that. That’s what she does for a living. She runs her late aunt’s charitable trust.”

“Or you could run for office,” I say. “I’d vote for you.”

She grunts. “As long as you promise not to tell anyone that I inhaled.”

“My lips are sealed,” I promise, reaching out to take her hand.

Her fingers curl around mine. “What’s this for?”

“For being you. For being strong and taking a shit sandwich and turning it into the need to make the world a better place.”

“Taking a butt murder and turning it into a butt ballet?” she asks with a laugh.

I squeeze her hand. “You can joke, but I’m serious. I’m proud of you, and I’m… I’m glad we’re friends again.”

“Me, too,” she whispers, returning the squeeze. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” I take a deep breath, trying not to read too much into her words. It’s been a hell of a twenty-four hours. We’re both exhausted, and taking anything said right now too seriously could be an emotionally damaging mistake. But I can’t help hoping this means she’ll be up for more than friendship in the future.

“And I meant that part about running for office,” I continue. “Though you’ll probably have to clean up your language. You’ve got a dirty mouth for a politician.”

She smirks. “Again, I remind you of the diseased orangutan with the Brillo Pad wig that became a GOP nominee.”

I nod, taking my set-down like a man. “Again. You’re right.”

“I usually am,” she says with a yawn. “God, I’m tired. Can I nap, or will you take that as a sign of desertion? I know you didn’t get any more sleep than I did last night.”

“No, go ahead and nap.” I release her hand, but can’t resist squeezing her thigh before I return my fingers to the wheel. The urge to touch her gets stronger with every passing minute. “I’ll wake you up if I need to.”

“Are you sure?” She yawns so hard her jaw cracks before she adds, “Because I can totally stay awake and poke you with Red Vines.”

“I’m fine,” I insist. “One of us should be rested and ready to gossip with Julie. My dad isn’t much of a talker, so my stepmother gets pretty excited about company.”

I wait a moment, but Cat doesn’t respond. When I glance over again, she’s already asleep, her lashes fanning out across her pale cheeks and her lips slightly parted, all the sweetness she does her best to hide while she’s awake on display. She’s beautiful—so beautiful a crazy part of me wants to pull over and stare, just for a little while.

But we have hours to go before we reach my parents’ place. And hopefully, if I play my cards right, I’ll have the chance to watch Cat sleep again in the not too distant future.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Cat wakes up when we stop for gas outside Ithaca, and insists on dragging me into the mall by the interstate to get some clothes to throw in the duffle bag Shane loaned me.

As we wander around the men’s department of a store that smells like a cologne factory jizzed all over it, she hooks her arm through mine. Together, we pick out a couple pairs of jeans, two tee shirts, a button-up in case Julie insists on one of her big sit-down dinners, and two packages of boxer briefs because, “you can re-wear jeans, but you don’t want to get in a wearing-dirty-boxers-inside-out situation.”

“My parents do own a washing machine,” I say, even as I let Cat tuck a third package of underwear beneath her arm.

“We don’t want to waste time doing laundry,” she says, leading the way toward the checkout counter. “We’ll be too busy day-drinking. I haven’t had a solid, midafternoon wine buzz in way too long, and I love wine tasting. It combines three of my favorite things—day-drinking, nature, and shopping for weird crafts made out of used corks.”

“We’re supposed to be laying low. We’ll have to keep the wine tasting confined to the private tasting room at my parents’ place.”

She smiles and lifts her brows. “Maybe not. We could be cleared to resume business as usual any minute, Aidan. And the minute we’re cleared, I’m renting a limo and taking you wine tasting to celebrate.”

“Sounds good,” I say, though a selfish part of me likes the idea of lying low with Cat for a few days, of having her all to myself before the real world comes crashing in. But she’s right—the sooner Nico is behind bars and we’re cleared to go back to our old lives, the better.

I pull out my wallet, doing my best to ignore the tight, unsettled, unsatisfied feeling building in my chest, but she’s already slapped her credit card down on top of my pile. “Don’t fight me,” she warns. “I owe you after nearly getting you killed last night. I owe you more than clothes, but this is a good place to start.”

Reluctantly, I put away my wallet, saving my response until she’s signed the credit card slip and we’re walking out of the cologne fog toward the sun shining beyond the glass double doors.

“You don’t owe me anything. I’m the one who let
you
down,” I say softly. “I should have stayed up to stand guard instead of going to sleep. Or I should have insisted we find somewhere to hide where Nico wouldn’t be able to find you. If I’d taken the threat more seriously—”

“If you’d taken the threat more seriously, you wouldn’t have taken the job,” she says, cutting me off. “So, again, I’m glad things worked out the way they did. And I’m glad to be here with you.” As we step outside, she lifts her face to the sun and sighs. “I feel like I can breathe for the first time in weeks. This trip may be the best idea you’ve ever had.”

“I don’t know.” I open the passenger’s side door for her. “I’ve got a history of having really good ideas. There was the marathon party bus, and you remember the Dasher T-shirt contest.”

“That
was
brilliant! I was so sad when mine finally fell apart in the wash.”

“Which design did you have, again?” I ask, grinning because she’s grinning, and when she’s happy her smile is completely infectious.

“Run Like You’re Being Chased by a T-Rex named Kevin,” she says, laughing. But her smile fades as she wraps her arm around my waist and leans into me. The moment her body fits against mine I’m instantly warm all over, making me wonder if it would always be like this, if Cat and I are like a spark and tinder, destined to ignite whenever we touch. “So what are we going to tell your parents? Do they know that you’re a professional Spectacular Rascal?”

“No, they don’t.” I toss the bag of clothes onto the seat so I can hold her properly. I haven’t had the chance to hold her since everything went down, and I want to fully appreciate the miracle of her—warm, safe, and close, looking up at me like she’s thinking about letting me in.

Assuming I don’t screw shit up, of course.

I search her eyes, choosing my next words carefully. “I could tell them about the business and that you’re my client. But I can guarantee that my father will think I’m crazy, fucking with him, or both.”

She winces. “Your dad and my dad would have gotten along great. Both kind of stuffy and old-fashioned, aren’t they?”

“My dad has devoted his life to making wine barrels exactly the way his ancestors made them in medieval France. So yes, he’s behind the times. He still uses a straight razor to shave and is incapable of responding to a text.” I shrug. “I don’t really care if he thinks I’m crazy. I’m used to that by now. But I thought, maybe, if it’s okay with you, we could just tell my parents that we’re…dating.”

“Dating.” She turns her head, studying me out of the corners of her eye. “It would have to be a pretty serious dating for you to bring me home for a visit, wouldn’t it? I know people change, but you never used to be the ‘bring her home to meet the folks’ kind of guy.”