Asking for Trouble (9 page)

Brent jerked his chin at her. “All right, woman. Get over here.”

“What?”

“Get under the hood. You’re going to make this repair so you can go milk Bessie on time.”

“Me? Are you crazy?” Brent gave her a level look and she held up a hand. “Forget I asked.”

He took Hayden’s arm and pulled her in front of him. The words stuck in his throat for a moment, she felt so perfect backed against his chest, her scent teasing his senses. “Stand on the front bumper,” he instructed gruffly. “I’ll talk you through it.”

With a deep breath, she took the wrench, white rag, and utility knife he offered, then boosted herself up onto the bumper. Unable to resist the opportunity to touch her, he braced her legs with his body to keep her steady. “If this is a ploy to ogle my butt, learn to pick your moments.”

“Not to worry. I’m too focused on your legs.”

She sighed heavily. “Okay, Flo, what am I looking for?”

Knowing she couldn’t see him, Brent grinned at the nickname. “See that clamp with steam coming out around it? Use the wrench to loosen it. Then pull out the leaky hose using the rag. Don’t touch it directly or you’ll burn your fingers.” While she worked, Brent pointed toward Hayden and gave the kids a thumbs-up, shaking his head in disbelief as though he couldn’t believe what a great job she was doing. They high-fived in response.

“Done. I can see the leak.”

“Good. Now…this is really important. Grip the hose tight. And
stroke
it.”

“You realize I’m holding a heavy metal object, right?”

He swallowed his laugh. “Use the knife to cut off the damaged part of the hose. Once you’ve done that, reattach the newly cut end. Make sure the clamp is tight.”

She had to bend at an angle to get close enough to cut the hose. Brent bit back a groan when her pert ass went up in the air, inches from his face. Her black shorts rode high enough that he could see that ripe area of skin just beneath her tush. If they weren’t in plain view of the highway and thirty-odd children, he would have raked his teeth over that smooth flesh, then ripped the damn shorts off to get a better look. “Duchess, I feel it’s only fair to inform you, I’m now looking at your butt.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Planning on it.”

“You know what I meant,” she snapped. “Enjoy looking now because you won’t be seeing it again in the near future.”

“I heard you. I choose to interpret it differently.”

“I’m finished.”

“Already? I’ve barely even touched you yet.”

Her body straightened on a disgusted groan. Brent, for what seemed like the hundredth time this week, whispered a heartfelt good-bye to Hayden’s ass. “Think you can you manage to help me down without groping me?”

“Can I or will I?”

“
Brent.
”

“Fine. Down you go.” He pulled her off the bumper, but couldn’t resist hooking an arm beneath her knees and cradling her against his chest for a moment. She started to protest but the loud cheering from the bus cut her off. He didn’t take his eyes off her as her expression slowly transitioned from annoyance to astonishment. “Miss Hayden saves the day,” Brent observed casually, setting her on her feet. He could feel her watching him as he quickly poured in the quart of antifreeze to replace what had leaked out, then closed the hood and signaled the driver to start the engine. When it roared to life, the excited cheers only increased.

On the way back to his ESU truck, Hayden stopped him with a hand on his arm. His skin burned beneath her touch. Damn, why did she have to look so pretty? “Hey. Thank you. For whatever that was.”

“That was all you, duchess.” His damn radio crackled on his shoulder. He wanted to throw it into the Hudson just so he could stand there with her a minute longer. It figured that he’d gone the entire morning without one incident on his patrol shift, only to be called away now. “I’ve got to go,” he said reluctantly.

She nodded and stepped back. As he pulled into traffic, heading toward an incident involving a boat collision that might require underwater search and rescue, he watched in the rearview mirror as the kids on the bus greeted her with a group hug. Just how many layers were there to Hayden Winstead? God, he hoped he hadn’t lost his chance to find out.

Chapter Nine

Hayden squinted to make out the colorful dartboard, biting her lip in the hopes it would make the thing clearer. When the single board suddenly had a twin, she made a sound of frustration, waving the dart in her friend Ruby’s general direction.

“What trickery is this? Are you a dart hustler, too?”

“No,” Ruby said, then threw back a shot of tequila. “You’re terrible all on your own.”

“I make up for it in spirit.”

“Your spirit is causing property damage.” Ruby gestured to the scatter of darts lodged in the wall around the board.

Hayden fell into her chair with a snort, knocking over an empty glass in the process. Troy, Ruby’s boyfriend, worked with Daniel and Brent on the force, which allowed the girls to meet Ruby over beers one night in Quincy’s. They’d absorbed the reformed pool hustler into their twosome without missing a beat. Since Daniel and Troy were occupied for the night watching the Mets game with Brent, she’d kidnapped Story to meet up with Ruby at one of her old pool haunts, a gigantic warehouse-style bar complete with a handful of pool tables and a dance floor. Die-hard regulars and college students mixed together to create an eclectic atmosphere. Pool balls cracked, glasses clinked, and laughter punctuated the air. When they’d arrived, classic rock was blaring from the speakers, but had since been replaced by nineties pop anthems, played for the sake of irony.

She’d needed this. Needed not to think. A night to let everything with Brent, with her family, with Stuart, float away in a bathtub of tequila.

Thankfully, she had friends who didn’t pester her with questions about her odd behavior or uncharacteristic decision to party like a rock star on a Thursday night. Good thing, since she didn’t feel quite ready to share the Stuart Conundrum, as she’d been referring to it in her head. Her friends would yell, scream, and curse like sailors on her behalf, outraged over the idea of Hayden’s being forced to get married against her will. While some support might make her feel better in the moment, it wouldn’t solve the problem. Nothing would.

“Where is Story?”

Ruby pointed beyond Hayden’s shoulder. She turned and saw her best friend soft-shoeing with an older gentleman, laughing like a lunatic. Hayden turned back to Ruby with a questioning look. Ruby shrugged. “He’s teaching her how to tap dance.”

“Oh.” She drained another shot. “Fair enough.”

Ruby pulled her phone out of her pocket and checked the screen. “Uh-oh. I’m getting the Troy Bennett Booty Call.”

Story fell into a chair next to Hayden. “Daniel just texted me to come over. Are we wrapping up this little shindig any time soon?”

Hayden did a double take. “Did you two just get simultaneous booty calls?”

“The Mets must have won tonight.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Story agreed into her drink. “You want to share a cab?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Hayden tilted on her chair. “That’s it? Girl’s night out is finished just cause some baseball team used a thing…to hit a ball…out of the thing.” She shook her head. “You know what I’m trying to say.”

“No idea.”

“I’m lost.”

“Oh, well, let me clear it up for you.” She paused for drama. “You guys are dick-whipped.”

Story gasped. “Not cool, Hay.”

“If anything, that description just made this booty call even more appealing,” Ruby said.

“Accusations aside,” Story continued as if Ruby hadn’t spoken. “I have to teach a class of Manhattan’s finest kindergartners tomorrow morning. Nothing gets by these kids. They’re just waiting for me to slip up.” She reached for Hayden’s drink. “They’re like miniature therapists, silently taking notes. Diagnosing me behind their juice boxes.”

“Call in sick.” Hayden took a breath. “You guys, I need this.”

Her friends exchanged a curious glance. It would be too easy to spill everything out onto the table when they were too drunk to remember the details tomorrow morning. But it wouldn’t make her feel better and it would obligate them to stay out drinking when they’d rather be home with their boyfriends.

“What’s going on?” Story turned in her seat. “I
thought
something felt off.”

“It’s nothing,” she hastened to say. “It’s just been a crazy week. First, my mother tasked me with organizing another charity ball, then I got a leaky hose on the West Side Highway—”

“Huh?” Both girls asked at the same time. Hayden quickly gave them a rundown of her West Side nightmare and Brent’s subsequent roadside assistance. She left out his innuendo-laced directions and blatant ass-gazing.
And
the fact that she’d spent every moment since imagining a very different outcome. One not involving thirty children. One where he shows up with his toolbox shirtless and well…gives her a tune-up in the back of his ESU truck. The temperature in Hildebrand’s suddenly felt sweltering.

There he went again. Popping into her head and kick-starting her libido when he should be the furthest thing from her mind. If she married Stuart, he probably wouldn’t take very kindly to her fantasizing about Brent. A man who’d threatened him in his own kitchen.

Marrying Stuart would mean less time with Story and Ruby and the guys. No more Saturday nights bantering over cheap beers for her. Not when she’d be expected to appear on Stuart’s arm at every high-society function, introducing him as her successful new husband.

Her heart clenched at the realization.

“Yikes. I hope you’re planning on switching bus companies for next summer.”

Hayden picked up a discarded lime and plunked it into an empty shot glass. “Actually…no. I’m, uh, going to hire five
more
buses. I want to expand the program.” She realized her hands were fidgeting so she folded them in her lap. On the ride from Manhattan to the farm, she’d been struck by inspiration, spending the two-hour ride outlining plans to present to the Clean Air committee. The charity would need an influx of funds, but she’d never felt more confident that she could pull it off. No matter what happened with her father’s company, with the charity’s popularity and reputation, she could find other donors. When she’d walked onto the bus after repairing the engine, she’d felt amazing. Like she could accomplish anything. Fix an engine. Build an even more successful charity. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Brent had played a role, encouraging her without realizing it.

Story squeezed her hand. “Hayden, that’s amazing. Why didn’t you say anything?”

She brushed off the question. “It’s still in the early planning phase.”

“Well, with you in charge, five buses is only a start,” Ruby said. “Nice job.”

Not knowing how to handle the compliment, Hayden only smiled in response. Lately, she’d started wondering if people saw more in her than she did herself. While she didn’t want to let herself hope they were right, the decision to expand the program so close to her heart gave her a sense of purpose. It felt good. Once again, she thought back to helping Brent repair the bus, as if she could pinpoint the exact moment her self-confidence had been given a much-needed boost. Even so, she couldn’t help feeling a flash of bitterness over the timing. Just as she was coming into her own, her independence could suffer a major setback if she married Stuart. Not to mention, her rocky relationship with Brent…

Brent again. Why wouldn’t he go away?

As if synchronized, both Story and Ruby’s phones buzzed on the table. To her friends’ credit, neither one of them paid their devices the slightest bit of attention. Hayden took pity on them, however, even as her heart swelled that they would stay out all night if she needed to talk. She hiked her purse over her shoulder and stood.

“Come on, guys. We can’t have you late for Troy Bennett and Daniel Chase booty calls. It would be sacrilege.”

“Are you sure?” Story gained her feet, wobbling noticeably, telling Hayden she would need to take her friend directly to Daniel’s door. Knowing Brent would be there, too, she did her best to temper the warring dread and excitement in her belly.

“Ruby, you prop her up while I call a cab.”

“Go teamwork.”

…

Brent and Troy stood in the lobby of Daniel’s building, still talking about the Mets game that had ended an hour earlier. Daniel had come downstairs under the pretense of seeing them off, though Brent suspected he was just growing anxious for Story to arrive. Troy grew surlier by the second as he waited for a call from Ruby to tell him she’d gotten to his place, just around the corner from Daniel’s Upper East Side apartment. As for Brent? He should have headed back to Queens an hour ago, but knowing Hayden made up the trio of girls, he’d begun inventing excuses to stick around.

“Why don’t you two Nancys turn your phones off and go to bed? I guarantee they wouldn’t keep you waiting so long next time.”

Troy snorted. “That method won’t work with my girl. She’d have me for breakfast.” He paused. “Come to think of it, your plan might not be half-bad.”

“Excellent advice, Brent.” Daniel shook his head. “This must be why you’re beating off the women with a stick.”

Brent didn’t take the bait, falling silent as he thought of Hayden for the tenth time that hour. If she called him right now and asked him to come over, he’d be knocking on her door before she hung up the phone. He wouldn’t have the willpower to resist. Alternating images flashed in his head as though projected on a movie screen. Hayden in her tight skirt and stockings, eyeing him with distaste. Hayden swollen-lipped and rumpled, giggling into her pillow. Hayden awestruck as a busload of students applauded her efforts. Which one would she be tonight if he went to her? He didn’t give a damn. He just wanted to see her, but he’d fucked his chances their first night together. Even when he’d helped her repair the bus, she’d made it perfectly clear his hands weren’t welcome on her body. But God, the idea of not touching her again made him feel sick and anxious.

Daniel, perceptive as always, jumped all over his failure to issue an idiotic comeback. “Uh-oh. Someone’s holding back.” His expression turned disbelieving when Brent still didn’t respond. “Whoa. Since when do you ever hold back?”

“Since you two started telling your girlfriends every damn thing,” Brent said, thinking fast. “I feel like I’m part of the Babysitter’s Club. You two are like Stacey and Dawn.”

“First of all, you know way too much about the Babysitter’s Club,” Troy interjected. “Second, I call bullshit.”

“Complete and utter.”

“That’s my cue to take off.” He slapped them both on the back. “I hope they show up this century.”

No sooner were the words out of Brent’s mouth than a cab pulled up along the curb. It was like watching the clown car portion of a circus act. One door flung open and Story stumbled out onto the sidewalk, still singing an a cappella version of
Love Shack
.

Hayden and Ruby tumbled out after her, doubled over with laughter, each latching onto Story’s arms. “We’re just going to get her upstairs,” Ruby called to the cab driver. “We’ll be right back.”

On either side of him, Daniel and Troy crossed their arms over their chests as all three girls stumbled and swayed their way toward the building, beginning the chorus of
Love Shack
all over again. When they caught sight of the men, they ground to a halt so quickly, it was almost comical.

Story blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Busted.”

Daniel stepped forward. “I thought you were grading papers?”

“I was at one point…then we went to Brooklyn.”

“Ruby,” Troy growled.

She threw up her hands. “I’m completely innocent. They came to me.”

“You’re in big trouble, hustler.”

“The good kind or the bad kind?”

“Both.”

While the two couples bickered on the sidewalk, Brent locked gazes with Hayden and felt a sucker punch of heat low in his belly. Flushed with intoxication, she looked almost exactly as she had after climaxing around him that first night. Her guard was down again. Why did that get to him so bad? She felt the same urgent need, too. He could tell by the way her lips parted, sucking in a quick breath at whatever she read on his face. Just as quickly, though, she broke their connection, entering herself in the fray.

“This is all my fault.
Please
don’t be upset with them. I dragged them out and made them stay way later than they wanted to. Blame me.” She hiccuped. Brent struggled against his smile. “They yammered on about you two peaches the whole time and against all odds, they have answered your booty calls. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be heading home.”

Brent didn’t even have to think about it. “I’m driving you.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she countered.

“You can take the ride or I can follow you. Either way, we’re going to talk.”

“There is precious little for us to talk about.”

He arched a meaningful eyebrow at Hayden, who seemed to realize then that all eyes were on them. She’d been adamant about their friends not finding out about them and he wouldn’t break that rule tonight. As strong as the urge was to lay claim to her in front of everyone.

After a moment of contemplation, she stomped down the sidewalk. “Fine. Drive me home, Flo.”

“Wrong way.”

She spun around and marched in the other direction, blowing kisses to Ruby and Story as she passed. Their boyfriends momentarily placated, they both pretended to catch them in midair. “Good night lovelies, it’s been real.

Two minutes later, he’d boosted Hayden into his SUV and was driving cross-town toward the West Side. Facing the window, she refused to speak to him. Every time they reached a red light, he couldn’t stop himself from looking over at her, remembering what it had been like to have all that pent-up hostility explode around him. When her head fell back against the seat, exposing her smooth throat, Brent had to look away before his eyes could track down over her breasts. He’d have to touch them then, and he wasn’t taking advantage of this situation. He desperately wanted to pull over and drag her into the backseat as it was.

Even at this time of night, traffic hindered their progress, but they made it to her town house in under ten minutes. He rounded the SUV to open her door and she practically spilled out into his waiting arms. With a sigh, he hooked one forearm under her knees and carried her up the stoop leading to her door. He wouldn’t lie—something about the task, taking care of her, filled him with male pride. “Keys.”