Nice Girls Don't Ride (5 page)

Tyra holds out her palm to him. “Give me your lighter for your girl’s candle.”

“No can do. I quit smoking, heard it screws with your taste buds,” Monroe says, breaking off a piece of his cupcake. I try not to get distracted by the way he licks a gob of icing off his thumb.

“Taste buds,” Tyra says dryly. “Because the cancer thing just wasn’t that compelling?”

I decide I like her.

“Thanks for the cupcakes, Ty,” Monroe says, his teeth already turning a pale shade of blue. “I owe you an oil change. Just bring it by before Thursday.”

“Cool. You hitting the road after that?” she asks.

“Yep. Three months. Try not to slit your wrists from the grief of missing me.”

She sniffs. “I’m sure I’ll manage.”

I want to ask questions, participate in the conversation. But I feel a little on the outside looking in right now. So I bite into my cupcake. I can’t keep the groan of pleasure from escaping, though.

Tyra’s face lights up. “You like?”

My mouth is full but I manage a garbled, “Ohmigod.”

“Look at that, the girl has good taste, despite her questionable choice in men.” Tyra gives Monroe a pointed look.

“Hey,” he says, putting his hands out, affronted. “I’m a good guy.”

She taps the spot in front of me with her palm. “Have fun tonight, sugar. Remember, birthdays are like trips to Vegas. Whatever happens doesn’t go on your permanent record.”

I laugh. “Did he pay you to say that?”

“Didn’t have to. I saw that kiss.”

With that, she strolls off, leaving me blushing all over again.

Monroe leans onto his elbows and smiles. “Ready for alcohol now?”

“God, yes.”

Natalie

I stare out at the smooth surface of the lake, leaning back on my elbows and soaking in the view. I’m still a little buzzed from the big-ass margarita I had at the bar we walked to after the cupcakes, but the fresh air feels good and the park is quiet. I’m feeling more relaxed than I have all night. I turn on my side.

Monroe is on his back in the grass, looking up at the stars. His eyes are half-mast, and I realize it’s two in the morning and I’m keeping him up after what was probably a long day at work. “You can go home, you know.”

“Don’t try to bail on me now, princess,” he says, his voice sleep-soft. “We’ve still got four hours left until sunrise.”

“You’re not going to make it four minutes.”

“Talk to me then. Keep me awake. Dance, monkey, dance.”

“Where are you going for three months?” I ask, folding my arm under my head and resting on it.

“A little bit of everywhere¸ hopefully, but eventually I’ll end up in South Carolina.” He closes his eyes fully. “A buddy of mine has a place on Myrtle Beach, and he needs someone to house-sit and take care of his two cats in August while he does some contract job overseas. I volunteered.”

“And before August?”

He crosses his arms behind his head. “I’m going to see as much of the eastern part of the country as I can. I love dive restaurants and regional food. Those are the kinds of dishes I want to put twists on if I ever open up my own place. But I haven’t eaten enough of the real thing out in the wild. So I figured I’d do my own Americana culinary tour.”

“And you can just leave your life for three months?” There’s a judgmental sharpness to my tone that I hate, but I can’t help it.

“School’s out for the semester. And my brother’s getting a part-timer to pick up the slack at the shop while I’m gone.” He rolled to face me. “So, yeah. I figured when else in my life am I going to be able to pick up and spend a summer doing exactly what I want? Driving through the Smoky Mountains, seeing the coast, eating like a king, then kicking up on the beach for a month at the end—what’s not to like?”

I stare at him, the concept of chasing some whim so completely out of my realm I can’t even wrap my brain around it. “What are you going to do for money? Where are you going to stay?”

“I’ve got some savings, so I’m good for a while. Once I get to South Carolina, I’ll probably find something in a restaurant part-time to get more kitchen experience and to add to the funds. As for where I’m staying, I’m bringing camping gear for when the weather’s good enough. But when it’s not, I’ll be driving a conversion van I refurbished. It has a bed in the back if I need it.”

“Wow, so just get on the road and figure out what’s what after you get to wherever you’re going?”

He smiles like I’m being cute. “You make it sound like I’m hopping in a spaceship to venture to Mars without supplies. This is America. If I need something, I’ll go to the store. I can make do wherever. I don’t need that much to get by.”

I consider him. He’s being totally serious. “I can’t imagine jetting off to wherever for the summer just for the hell of it.”

“How come? What do you usually do for the break? You taking summer classes?”

A breeze ruffles my dress and I smooth it down. “Usually I go home to Oklahoma and stay with my mom, get a waitressing job, and do my best not to commit matricide.”

He lifts a brow.

“It means killing your mother.”

“I know what it means, smarty-pants. Believe it or not, mechanics read books on occasion, too, even ones with big words.”

I grimace and look down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. God, I do come off as a judge-y bitch sometimes, don’t I?”

“Hey.” He reaches out and taps me under the chin to get me to look up. “I’m just messing with you. And why do you go home if you and your mom don’t get along?”

I snort. “Because she’s the master of guilt trips and it saves me money to stay with her. I actually was going to break tradition this year. I wanted to stay here and take this creative writing intensive thing, but my scholarship doesn’t cover it. I thought . . .” I stop myself and blow out a breath. “Never mind, it’s not important.”

“Sure it is. You thought what?”

I sigh. “I thought Caleb was going to ask me to move in with him tonight. Since he wouldn’t have charged me rent, I could’ve used the money I saved to sign up for that workshop. Work on my writing during the day, waitress at night. But obviously that plan’s not going to work. And the cash I saved will need to go to fixing my car. So I’m thinking it’s back home for me.”

He frowns. “The part you need for your car will probably be about four hundred bucks. I’ll make sure you don’t get charged for labor. And my brother would probably work out a payment plan with you. He does it for friends, so I can vouch for you.”

I shake my head, touched by the offer. “You, Monroe . . . Hell, I don’t even know your last name.”

“Hawkins.”

“Well, you, Monroe Hawkins, are a sweet guy.”

“Oh, God, please don’t let that rumor get out,” he says with mock horror. “And maybe this is all still a massive ploy to get you to sleep with me.”

I laugh. “Sexual favors in exchange for car repairs?”

“I’m totally not above that kind of bartering system. Let’s see, what act would be equivalent to a two-hundred-dollar labor charge? I’m thinking a blow—”

I shove his shoulder before he can finish and he rolls onto his back, chuckling.

“You’re terrible.” I straighten my bra strap, which has slid down my arm. “And believe me, I’m worth more than two hundred, mister. I’m at least in the two fifty range.”

He laughs harder.

“Because I know how to do this thing with my tongue that—”

He rolls back to his side and puts his hand out, fast as a striking snake, and covers my lips. “Please, don’t finish that. I’m lying here, trying to be a decent guy, and you’re going to paint those kinds of pictures in my head. So not fair.”

I curl my fingers around his wrist and move his hand away. “Like those pictures aren’t already in your head. I think you had me naked in your mind ten seconds after we met.”

He grins, unrepentant. “Seven seconds. And I’d feel guilty about it if you hadn’t done the same thing.”

I huff. “I did not.”

“So you just stood there and watched me walk away because you like my brand of jeans?”

I bite my lip and try to shove him again. “Shut up.”

Great, now I’m acting like a twelve-year-old.

But when I push him this time, he grabs my arm, pulling me with him, and rolls me half on top of him. I land with a soft
oof
. The playful mood of a few seconds ago dies on the spot. Because now I can’t concentrate. My upper body is pressing into his, and all of my mental energy diverts to mapping every hard plane beneath me. God, he’s warm. And solid. And he smells like beer and cupcakes, which somehow works. I don’t move away.

He looks up at me, his blue eyes almost silver in the moonlight. The humor has faded from his face, too. He pushes a lock of hair away from my face and tucks it behind my ear. “I want to kiss you again.”

“Yeah?” I say, my voice so soft I’m not even sure it made it all the way out of my throat.

“But I also don’t want you to worry that I’m going to push you too far. There’s no real pressure here, Nat. Yes, I like kissing you. And yes, I think you’re hot. Like unfairly hot. But I’m also having fun just hanging out with you. Honestly, it’s been a long time since I’ve done that with a girl and enjoyed it so much.”

The words send this buzzing feeling through me. A very dangerous buzzing feeling. “What, you’re more of
hey, what’s up, let’s bang
kind of guy?”

“Truthfully? Yeah. Though, someone should punch me in the face if I ever use a word as lame as
bang
. Hookups are easy. Everyone knows what’s up and has a good time. No drama.”

“I don’t hook up.”

“I know,” he says, his hand coming to rest on the small of my back. “I can respect that.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I’m a smartass, but I try not to be an asshole. And seriously, if you’re tired, you can crash at my place without stressing about what that means. I’ll take the couch. I’d much rather that than worrying about you roaming the streets until dawn or going home to that psycho roommate.”

I stare down at him. His months-past-a-haircut hair is flopped across his forehead and there’s the beginning of stubble on his cheeks. With the tattoos and the attitude he comes across tough, dangerous even, on first glance, but the way he’s looking at me right now is so genuine and sincere that my chest squeezes tight. I’ve been with Caleb for almost a year. I’ve shared things with him I’ve never told anyone else. I’ve opened myself up and tried to be everything he wanted me to. But Caleb has never looked at me like this, with such . . . care. Like I matter. Like my concerns and feelings are more important than his wants.

And all I am is a stranger to Monroe. If he shows this much kindness and protectiveness toward some girl he just met, what must he be like when he loves someone? I can’t even imagine.

“I think I’m tired,” I say. “And that bed sounds nice.”

He tilts his head, clearly surprised. “Yeah?”

“But if you really turn out to be a serial killer after all, I’m going to be
so
pissed.”

“Just because it’s your birthday, I’ll keep the carving knife and plastic sheets in the closet.”

I smirk and give in to my urge to touch him, tracing the curve of one dark eyebrow. “And I know you’re being noble—gold stars for you, by the way—but I think I want to kiss you again, too.”

His lips curve. “Is that right?”

“You have no idea.”

His hand slides to the back of my neck. “Well, who am I to deny a birthday girl her wish?”

I let him draw me down to him, and my lips part easily for him this time. Even in a few short hours he feels familiar in the best way possible. He feels right. The kiss is slow at first, like the lazy lake water lapping at the shore behind us—a gentle, caressing dance. His hand threads into my hair, and he’s in control, moving me where he wants me, taking the kiss deeper. And I’m falling into it, the warmth of his body, the feel of his mouth, the taste of him. I want to drown in this.

I find myself shifting more on top of him and sliding my knee upward. His free hand catches the back of my thigh and draws me onto him fully. I straddle him and don’t care that we’re in a public park. He groans into the kiss and now both his hands go to my hair. We’re drinking, drinking, drinking from each other. All the stress of my day, all the worries of tomorrow, all the concerns of a few moments ago seem to drain from me, the scary stuff sloughing off and leaving only this minute behind. This really spectacular minute.

I press myself fully against him, and my body tightens at the brush of his erection against me. I want to reach down and feel him against my palm, feel if his skin is getting as hot as mine. But I know if I do that, there’s no turning back. So I satisfy my need to touch by running my hands over his shoulders, his sides. My fingers find the edge of his T-shirt, and I let them slip beneath it and trail along the firm muscles beneath.

The groan from him this time is louder and he pulls back, his head landing against the grass. He’s out of breath. So am I.

“I think we need a time-out, princess. I’m not
that
noble.”

I splay my hands over his chest and push upward to get some space between us, but I don’t climb off of him. “Neither am I.”

“Natalie . . .” His tone holds warning.

“Why did you take me out tonight?”

A little wrinkle appears between his brows. Whether it’s from the subject change or the question itself, I can’t tell. “Because I wanted to. I like you.”

“Okay, but why? I was kind of a bitch to you.”

“No, you were—are—feisty, and I’m into that. I like women who aren’t afraid to say what they’re thinking. Polite girls bore the shit out of me. And I could tell you weren’t going to let me get away with anything. I’d have to work for it.”

I process that. “So you like a challenge.”

“I do, but I wasn’t looking at you like some prize to win or anything. Just thought we’d have fun together, if I could get you to let your guard down a little.”

The answer affects me more than he probably realizes. He likes that I’m a challenge. He likes that I talk back. “You know why people like me?”

“Same reason?”

“No, they like me because I’m really good at doing what’s expected of me. I’m responsible. I’m practical.
Nice
. You don’t have to worry about me being unpredictable. I do what I’m supposed to because I’m way too concerned about what everyone thinks about me. But the minute you picked me up today, that seemed to fall away. I didn’t have this need to impress you.”

He gives me a wry look. “Gee, thanks.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s not like that. It’s just . . . I didn’t need to put on some mask. You saw me, the unedited, not-so-polite side, and liked me anyway.”

He lifts my hand from his chest and kisses my palm. “Is that bad?”

“No, it’s not. It’s very, very good.” I lie down again, bringing my face close to his. “Because no one’s ever taken the real me to bed, and I’m thinking it’s way overdue.”

His blue eyes widen. “What?”

I shift against him, settling myself along his body. “You’re going on a road trip for the summer because you want to, because it will be fun and an adventure. You aren’t worried about anyone else’s opinion. It’s
your
whim.”

“Right,” he says slowly.

“I want
you
to be mine.” I let my hand drift between us and cup his erection, loving the sound he makes in the back of his throat when I do. Never have I been so bold. I don’t make first moves. I’ve been the nice girl behind closed doors just like I have been in the rest of my life. But right now, all I want is a whole lot of bad. “Take me home, Monroe. And to hell with sleeping on the couch.”