The Set Up (15 page)

Yet when he leans forward and his male scent assaults me, all of my sanity goes right out the window, along with my control.

In that moment his eyes capture mine, and for one second I think he’s going to kiss me. I tense. My pulse pounds as I wait with both desire and uncertainty. Wait for the brush of his mouth against mine. The wet slide of his tongue. The exhilaration of my fingers threading through that hair from his forehead all the way back to his neck. His stubble razor sharp against my soft flesh. His hands rough on my hips.

“Let me hold that for you,” he says.

Blinking rapidly, I realize he is reaching to take the bag from my hand. “No, I got it, but thank you.”

His body resumes its upright position, but he’s closed the distance between us.

My hair is a wild mess, and I attempt to tame it by pulling it over to the side.

He seems to be watching me with fascination.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Jasper wheels around so quickly to hand his ticket to the valet that I know he, too, must have felt that spark between us. “Yeah, sure, here you go.”

The young valet’s grin is wide. “This is for the Storm, isn’t it?”

Jasper smiles. “It is.”

“The guys are going to freak when I tell them I drove it.”

“Zero to sixty in two-point-four seconds, and she stops on a dime. Go for it.”

The valet stares in astonishment. “You won’t mind?”

Jasper tilts his head back and laughter fills the air. It ripples with pride. “That’s what she’s made for.”

There’s something infectious about the way Jasper laughs, the way it changes his face, makes him seem carefree, highlights his gorgeous mouth, and despite everything I find myself laughing too.

When the valet practically skips off, Jasper turns back. “I think I just made his night.”

Still laughing, I respond with, “I think you did too. How many are there?”

“Storms?”

I nod.

“Four—well, five. The one at the party last night and at the old plant is the one we use for concept testing, so it’s not on the road.”

“Designing and building your own car that you plan to roll out nationwide is a pretty amazing feat to accomplish, Jasper. You should be proud of yourself.”

“I didn’t do it alone.”

“No, but it has your name on it, so I assume it was your idea.”

“It was. I’ve been designing that car in my head since I was fifteen.”

“You always did like cars.”

“Of the Matchbox variety,” he says with a laugh.

I laugh too, and soon the silence of the night surrounds us. With my arms wrapped around myself, I let the muggy air seep into my lungs. Jasper has his hands in his pockets and is looking down.

An engine screams from the garage and brakes screech as the Storm approaches the waiting zone. Fancy cars aren’t really my thing. I don’t even know the difference between a Ferrari and a Lamborghini, but I can tell this car is special. Up close, with its sleek black body, red rims, red mirrors, and red racing stripes across the bottom, it looks like a piece of art.

Jasper’s gaze lifts, and the look on his face is priceless.

The valet hops out. “Oh man, that was unreal.”

With raised brows Jasper asks, “How fast did you get her?”

“Fifty.”

Jasper laughs. “That’s nothing.”

“How fast does she go?”

“A hundred ninety-five miles per hour.”

Keys are tossed in the air. “Sweet.”

Quick to catch them, Jasper then slips the valet some money. “Have a great night.”

“You too, sir.”

Left alone, Jasper beats me to the passenger-side door and opens it without a word.

The car is low to the ground, yet still I am able to slide in with ease. As soon as I sit down, my body practically molds to the leather. I look around and feel the need to run my hand over the smoothness of it. Red and black interior, no backseat, too many gauges to count, and for lack of a better word, almost romantic lighting. When my eyes swing back to the still-open door, they land on golden flecks.

His gaze slowly skims up my body and it feels as if he’s touching me. The current of energy is almost too much. My pulse is pounding and my breathing erratic.

When our eyes meet, the corners of his mouth tip up like he has a secret. “You want to get in?”

Oh.

Feeling silly that although my body is in the car, my legs are still on the sidewalk, I quickly pull them in and duck my head in embarrassment.

Gently, he closes the door, and I can still feel the weight of his stare as he saunters around the car, and I swear he’s laughing.

For no reason, I laugh too.

Chemistry.

It’s there. There’s no denying it. And it’s
not wanting to fight it
that is the hardest to bear.

Because I know I have to.

Even without a job, I have work to do. My mind has to be clear. And so I use this moment alone to breathe deeply and refocus.

I’m in Detroit for a reason.

Remember that.

His door opens and the small space fills with his energy. “Where to?” he asks.

There’s a ghost of a smile still on my lips when I answer. “I live in Woodward Square.”

Pressing his foot on the gas, he pulls out fast, almost in a huff. Everything about him seems to go dark. All the energy drained, and the small space feels like it’s filling with a palpable tension. “The old Cass Corridor,” he mumbles.

Wondering what’s come over him, I respond with, “Yes, I think that’s what it used to be called.”

He takes a quick look in his rearview mirror, then maneuvers through the traffic with ease. “That
is
what it was called,” he hisses in the dark.

Minutes pass without another word spoken. Feeling uncomfortable, I start rambling on about where I live. “I’m in a building on Prentis Street. It’s called the Brentwood.”

Jasper seems impatient as he weaves in and out of traffic and still says nothing.

“It’s next to the Bronx Bar,” I add.

Driving fast, he doesn’t look over at me. “I know where it is,” he snaps.

Nervously, my fingers wrap around a piece of hair. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure if you knew exactly where my building is. It’s small.”

Jasper’s hands are gripping the wheel, and his gaze bounces between the window and the gauges in front of him and then back. “Why are you living up there anyway? It’s a punk neighborhood.”

Clearly he isn’t familiar with the gentrification that has taken place. “Honestly, Jasper, it’s not that bad. It’s affordable and newly remodeled. Besides, most of the abandoned buildings have been demolished and all that’s left are four blocks of practically barren land, a few bars, and not that many apartment buildings. And once the new stadium goes up, I’m sure that will change.”

His snort is laced with bitterness. “It’s still seedy, Charlotte. Regardless of what you might think, it isn’t safe, and the stadium is years off.”

Windshield wipers move back and forth faster and faster as the rain beats down harder and harder. I find myself watching their movement until I can’t stand it anymore. “Did I say something to upset you?”

Almost as soon as I ask the question, the tension in Jasper’s body eases. He pulls in a breath and then turns to look at me. His hard gaze softens. “No, no you didn’t. It’s just that I know the area very well. My mother moved us to Cass Corridor when I was ten. I grew up in what is now called Cass Park Village, and it was no picnic. It was rough. I got beat up all the time. Bullied. If it weren’t for Will, Jake, and Drew, I don’t know if I’d be around today. I was an angry kid who loved confrontation and growing up in a place like that, I found confrontation on every corner.”

I close my eyes for a brief moment, unable to stand the pain I see in his. It’s a familiar kind of pain, not that different from my own. “I’m really sorry.”

The car seems to be moving incredibly fast. “You can’t change the past, and besides, it made me who I am,” he whispers.

Some words are just words and some are words to remember. He is right and his statement couldn’t be truer—you can’t change the past.

Jasper’s eyes dart to the car’s speed flashing in neon green on the glass in front of him. It reads 69, and just as it hits 70 he slows.

I find myself clutching the handle beside me.

Ten minutes later he’s on my street. The apartments don’t have a garage and the street is the only place to park. Jasper already must know this, because he begins looking for a spot way before my building. This time of night I always have to park far away, because the Bronx Bar draws a huge evening crowd. Most of whom enter sober and almost all of whom exit drunk. I try to avoid leaving my apartment late at night because of this. The crowd is a little too rowdy. The men are a little too boisterous, and they seem to think being drunk gives them a pass to touch whoever they please.

There’s nowhere to park before we reach my place. “You can just drop me off.”

“I’ll walk you in, Charlotte,” he says with a sigh.

I notice the way he says my name this time. Like I’m an inconvenience. “You don’t have to.”

Narrowed eyes land on me.

“Okay, you can walk me in,” I say.

It’s not until the very end of the street that Jasper manages to find a spot that he can just barely maneuver into.

My wariness disappears when a smile appears on his lips at his accomplishment.

Boys and their toys.

With a shake of my head, I move to open my door.

“I’ll get that.”

I smile as I sit and wait for him to walk around the car. The door opens and I get out. It’s quiet and dark.

Jasper looks up. “How long have the streetlights been out?”

I shrug. “They haven’t worked since I moved in.”

“The city was supposed to have replaced all the burned-out bulbs six months ago. I’ll see to it that these get replaced ASAP.”

My belly flips at the concern in his voice and the strength in his resolve. “What kind of influence do you have here? Don’t you live downtown?”

He pauses for a second. Thinking. “Off the record?”

Shocked that he would think anything different, I hurry forward and turn to face him. “Jasper, I already told you I wasn’t here to hurt you, and I meant it. Besides, I’m no longer employed by
The Detroit Scene
.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t plan to blog on your own and air all of my secrets.”

I lift my chin. “First off, I would never write about someone’s dirty secret.”

“I believe you.”

“And secondly, just so you know, I hope one day I can have a voice that matters, but if I do, it wouldn’t be to drag anyone’s name through the mud, I can promise you that,” I say and then look at him.

He looks around as if to avoid my gaze before he carefully takes my arm. “Come on, let’s get moving.”

That tingling feeling starts at the tips of my toes and courses through my veins all the way up to my head. Sparks. It’s the only way I can describe it. And then it happens again—the air between us fills with tension. I start walking faster just to keep up with him. “You didn’t answer my question.”

We pass a pair of dumpsters in front of an old abandoned building. There are some homeless people camped out between them. Jasper bobs his head in their direction. “It’s almost hard to believe there was a time when the city of Detroit was a teeming metropolis of 1.8 million people. Now it is a rotting, decaying hellhole of about seven hundred thousand that the rest of the world jokes about.”

Every step we take makes me more and more hypersensitive to the feel of his hand on my upper arm. “I’m aware of Detroit’s shrinking population and its dire financial state, but what does that have to do with you?”

We approach my four-story brick building from the opposite side of the Bronx Bar, but still the music blares loud in our ears. Jasper looks at it, then all around the surrounding area, before he lets go of my arm. I immediately miss the connection. I feel safe next to him.

I shouldn’t want to feel that way.

Almost ceremoniously, Jasper sits on the small block of cement stairs outside my building and folds his hands together.

I casually sit beside him.

“After the city underwent the largest municipal bankruptcy in the history of the United States,” he begins, “a group of people was assembled to report to the mayor on rebuilding priorities. These people aren’t from wealthy families. They’re people like me who grew up on the streets. I’m on this board and I represent midtown. The board is determined to turn Detroit around. We want to remove the unwritten messages to visitors that say
enter at your own risk
. Last year we directed our efforts to getting the soup kitchens back up and running, obtaining funding for the after-school programs in the poorer communities, and making sure the kids that fell below the poverty line were being properly fed. This year our focus is on safety. Relighting the forty percent of streetlights that haven’t been working for three years, reopening police stations that have been closed or are only open for eight hours a day, and getting more ambulances and fire engines back on the road.”

Moved by so much emotion, words get stuck in my throat. “That’s really something to be proud of, Jasper.”

A hardness sharpens his features. “I don’t expect you to understand, but it’s not about pride, it’s about action.”

The atmosphere between us feels fraught, but I don’t struggle with what to say. “I do understand. And I don’t care what you say—fighting for what you believe in is something to be proud of.”

His expression softens. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Now come on, let’s get you inside.”

Fumbling in my purse, I find my key and stand up. He’s already at the door and I have to brush past him to unlock it. Our bodies touch for one second and a feeling like tiny butterflies bouncing in my belly surprises me. It’s something I’ve never felt before. Nervously, I start to put the key in the lock. I can feel his eyes on me and those wings seem to be multiplying. Before I can put the key in the hole, he pulls on the door and it opens.

I look at him. “I guess the lock is broken again.”

With a look that says
I told you this neighborhood isn’t safe
, he holds the door open, then puts some much needed space between us.