“Have a good night!” Lani shouts from the window of her car, waving as she pulls away.
I stumble over my own feet, giggling a little. Whew, I think I’m a bit more than tipsy tonight. I don’t typically drink much, but tonight seemed like a good night to try to let go of some inhibitions. Except now I’m stumbling up the sidewalk to my house with an audience of one very sexy, very growly, big jerk-faced asshole.
Carson is at my side in the blink of an eye. “You’re drunk,” he accuses.
I roll my eyes. “I’m just a little tipsy…” I giggle as I almost tip over again. “Tipsy… topsy… turvy…” I snicker like I’m the funniest thing ever.
He starts talking in grunts before he throws me up over his shoulder, and I’m face to ass with the best butt I’ve ever seen in my life.
“Glad you like my ass, darlin’.”
Oops. Did I say that out loud?
“Yes, you did.”
“Well, I’m not wrong. It’s a nice ass.” I grope it because my arms are dangling, so they might as well do something. “Too bad the ass of my dreams is stuck to the biggest ass in the world.”
Carson cracks his hand down on my ass, and I squeal. “You can’t spank me!”
His hand cracks down again. “Want to make a bet, darlin’? You deserve a spanking. One that you’ll remember next time you decide to get drunk, then try to bring yourself home.”
“Lani drove me home…” I argue, not understanding his meaning.
“You’re precious, and someone could easily take advantage of you like this…”
I laugh at that because he’s being ridiculous. “Who, Mr. Beatie?”
Carson growls lowly, the sound reverberates through my body, causing me to shiver with need. I can just imagine what having him growl like that while he kisses me. Why the heck am I thinking about kissing him? I hate him, and he hates me.
Kissing him isn’t happening.
Not ever.
Carson takes my keys from me and unlocks my pretty red door. The door that he painted, apparently. “Why’d you make my house all perfect?” I ask. Something I never would’ve gotten the courage to ask if it weren’t for the wine coursing through my veins.
“Do you like it?”
I nod, realize that he can’t see my head as I’m still thrown over his shoulder as he walks through my house to my bedroom. I would be horrified under any other circumstances, but right now, I’m a little flustered, and a whole lot turned on.
“I love the house. Everything is perfect,” I answer honestly.
“That’s why.”
I let his words sink in for a long minute. He made it perfect because he wanted me to like it? For some reason, that makes me feel incredibly uncomfortable because if someone hates you, they don’t do nice things. Do they?
I let out a little scream when Carson tosses me onto the bed. He looks down at me, and I can imagine him doing this under totally different circumstances. Sexy circumstances… Naked circumstances. Instead, he strides out of the bedroom to the bathroom. I hear him rummaging around, and I’m starting to feel pretty incensed about the whole situation. Then the sink runs, and he’s setting a bottle of painkillers and a glass of water on my nightstand.
I’m a little shocked when he starts taking off my shoes. Even more shocked when he tucks me into bed. And then he ruins it all by opening his big dumb mouth. “Drink the water and take the pain killers.”
Logically, I know that he’s taking care of me, but drunken me takes his words as judgmental and jerkish. Even so, I drink the water and take the pills. He refills the water glass and leaves it on the bedside table.
I lie down and snuggle into the blankets. I drift in that place between sleep and wakefulness. Something brushes lightly on my forehead, and if I didn’t know that Carson hates me, I would think he just kissed me. Sleep claims me before I can give it any more thought.
4 Carson
The Harley growls to life, and the same thrill that went through me the first time I rode never fails to flow through me. Only this one sputters and dies. I look at the once magnificent piece of metal in disgust. On my last trip to deliver the restored classic Harley to its new owner, I found three more project bikes. How anyone can let their bike turn into this sad mess is beyond me.
I grab up my tools and start in with taking the first bike apart. Time to work my magic. Time to turn this bike into something someone will be proud to ride. I’ll bring it back to its former glory with a little extra. My official job is a mechanic… I own Sweet Rides, the only repair shop in the county but fixing up Harleys is my passion. Not to mention my bread and butter.
I’m in the middle of taking apart the engine when my phone buzzes with a reminder—lunchtime. Which means it’s time to go see my girl. This is the best part of my day. Seeing Ana even if she’s working, and even if I have to watch her from across the diner now that I’m banned from sitting in her section, it’s still worth it. Anytime I can get my eyes on her is worth whatever the cost.
The diner is surprisingly busy for our sleepy town. It doesn’t take long to realize that over half of the patrons are unfamiliar faces—tourists. Don’t get me wrong, tourists are crucial to our small town, but they have zero respect for Sugarhill. They cause trouble for everyone. Last tourist season Sheriff Weber had to arrest two drunken tourists who were caught spray painting the bridge that passes over the river into Clearwater. It’s the
