Trouble (12 page)

“So, are you originally from Boston?”

I see her hesitation. Her whole body has stiffened again.

“Yes,” she says on a breath. “Lived there my whole life.”

“What you doing way out here in Colorado?”

She shifts in her seat, tilting her body away from me. “I’m trying to, um…” She clears her throat. “I’m here to find my mother.”

Didn’t expect that.

“You adopted?”

Did I mention I have no filter?

She shakes her head. “No, my father—I lived with my father. My mother left when I was a baby.”

“Shit,” I say. “So your dad … he’s okay about you been out here alone searching for your mom?”
And why hasn’t he kicked the cocksucker’s ass who hurt her?

“My father is dead.”

Shit. Guess that answers my questions. But what surprises me is the lack of emotion in her voice about her dad being dead.

Losing my mom was horrendous—beyond horrendous. I adored my mom. If I lost my dad … well, my world would implode.

“Sorry to hear that.” It’s a crap thing to say, but really what else
is
there to say.

“Thank you.” Emotionless again. Weird.

I twist in my seat to her. “So your mom lives here?”

She brushes her golden hair from her eyes. “Apparently so. I have an address, but it was from over twenty years ago. Whether she still lives there or not, I’m not sure.”

I nod in agreement. “What’s your mom’s name? I’ve lived here my whole life. If she’s still here, I might know her. If not, my dad will. He used to be a cop. He knows everyone.”

She sucks her top lip into her mouth. An image of me doing exactly the same plays a scene in my head.

“Anna Monroe. Well, that was her married name. I don’t know her maiden name.”

I rake through my brain for an Anna. The only person I can think of is Annie Parker, and she’s only a few years older than me. Has a mouth like a vacuum cleaner. Good memories.

“Sorry.” I shake my head.

“It’s okay.” Her smile is sad.

“Hey, how about I look up the address on my phone? See if she still lives there?”

“Would you? I never thought to do that. Thank you.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a ratty piece of paper, then hands it to me.

I get my cell from my pocket and type the address and the name
Anna Monroe
into the search engine.

What comes up makes my heart drop for Mia. I almost don’t want to tell her.

“Anything?” God, she sounds so hopeful.

I glance up at her. “The address you have for your mom is now home to a grocery store.”

“Oh.”

Jesus, I can literally feel her disappointment like it’s my own.

My chest feels tight again. Seriously, what the fuck is that? I rub at my sternum with my fingers.

“The houses must have been leveled for the store to be built,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” She takes the piece of paper from me and holds it in her hand.

She smiles, but it’s forced.

She looks so lost. So sad. It’s painful to see.

“I can help you find your mom, if you want?”

What the fuck! Have I lost my mind?

I don’t spend time with girls outside the bedroom. Apart from Beth, and that’s only because she plays for the same team as I do.

If I spend time with Mia, I know what will happen. And I can’t get balls deep with her.

Yes, I might have spent the last five minutes imagining her flat on her back, and me pounding into her like a jackhammer, but I’m not a complete bastard.

I may not know the full story, but it’s clear this girl has been through the wringer with the asshole who gave her the black eye, and now she’s searching for her mother. The mother who abandoned her when she was a baby.

Mia might be the hottest girl I have ever seen … okay,
she
is
the hottest girl I have ever seen in life, and the sweetest. And I’m so horny for her that my dick actually hurts. It motherfucking hurts.

But the girl’s got enough to deal with.

And me spending an invariable amount of time around a hot girl that I cannot put my dick inside … it’s just not possible.

I might as well be in prison.

Or hell.

That’s it, I’m in hell.

This is payback for the chick I banged who was married.

Okay, I lied before. I totally knew she was married when I tapped that.

“Would you?” She sounds hopeful. “I mean, I wouldn’t know where to start, and you know the people in this town, so you’d know who to speak to.”

“Sure I will.”
That’s it. Keep talking dickhead. Keep digging that hole deeper.
“Like I said, I owe you for what you did for Dozer.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Jordan. I wanted to help you.”

She said my name again. I’m toast.

“And I want to help you.”

And I want to help you.
Jesus, I’m such a lame ass pussy.

It’s official. I’ve lost my fucking mind.

Then she smiles. It’s wide and bright and dazzling, and like a sucker punch to the chest. And ball sack.

My life has just got seriously hard.

Kind of like the permanent state of my cock while around Mia Monroe.

Chapter Eight

Mia

I can’t believe what has just happened.

I just admitted to Jordan—a guy who I barely know—that Forbes hit me. And I also told him about my mother. The mother who abandoned me. The mother who I drove across seven states to try and find and she doesn’t even live at the address I have anymore.

I’m so stupid.

Why didn’t I check this before I drove across the country in a lame attempt to find her?

But what was I going to do? Go back to my apartment and make threesome with Forbes?

I don’t think so.

Jordan must think I’m a real mess. And an idiot.

He’d be right on both counts.

I think it’s best if I just get out of here. I’ll go back to the hotel, grab my things and go … where?

I’ll just find another hotel, and then I can figure out my next move.

I just hope he doesn’t tell anyone what he already knows about Forbes hitting me. Why would he? He doesn’t exactly seem like the gossipy type. But then he did say his dad used to be a cop. What if…?

No, I would have to report it myself, and I don’t really think the local police force are going to be concerned with a stranger in town who happens to have a black eye.

But I do need to leave. Right now.

I’m just about to get to my feet, make my excuses and run the hell out of here, when he says, “I can help you find your mom, if you want?”

What? He wants to help me find my mother?

A few minutes ago, he offered to kick the crap out of Forbes, which practically floored me, and made me teary. No one has ever offered help like that to me before. And for help to come from a man makes it even more astounding, and poignant.

And now this…

Help me find my mother…

It’s beyond kind.

He would be giving up his time to help me. Why would he do that?

Maybe because he really is a good guy, Mia.

I can feel myself starting to choke up with his kindness, so I hold my voice as steady as I can. “Would you?” I can’t help the hope in my voice. “I mean, I wouldn’t know where to start, and you know the people in this town, so you’d know who to speak to.”

And now I’m babbling. Great.

“Sure I will,” he says. “Like I said, I owe you for what you did for Dozer.”

He’s helping me because I helped him. Even then, is that such a bad thing? It doesn’t make him a bad guy.

“You don’t owe me anything, Jordan. I wanted to help you.”

“And I want to help you,” he says. His voice sounds so warm and wonderful that I can’t help the goofy smile that spreads across my face.

“Then thank you. I would love to take you up on your offer to help me.”

“Good.” He smiles.

He’s so lovely.

And so good-looking.

I suddenly have the urge to reach out and touch his face.

I clamp my fingers together, pinning my hands to my lap.

We’re silent for a moment before Jordan speaks.

“I wonder how much longer they’re going to be with Dozer?”

I glance at the clock like that’s going to help. “I’m sure they won’t be much longer. They’re probably x-raying his leg for the break, and I imagine his chest as well to make sure none of his ribs are broken.”

He’s smiling at me.

“What?” I say, a little self-conscious.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “You just sound really different when you’re talking doctor stuff. You sound like…”

“A doctor?” I grin.

“Yeah.” He laughs. “A doctor.”

“Well, I’m not quite there yet … if ever,” I add quietly.

“And why’s that?”

I glance across at him, unsure what to say, or why I even said what I just did. Then Jordan’s eyes lift, looking over my head. They quickly flick back down to mine, then lower to my sunglasses. I hear footsteps heading our way, so I lift the glasses and slide them on as I mouth a silent thank you to Jordan.

He nods lightly, then gets to his feet, as do I.

“How he is?” Jordan asks Dr. Callie.

“He’s doing really well. He’s still asleep under anesthetic, but he’ll come round soon. His leg is broken, like you diagnosed.” He directs his gaze at me, then back to Jordan. “The problem was the bone was fractured in two places, so I had to set it with pins to get the break to heal straight.”

“But he’s okay?” Jordan asks, concern lacing his voice. It tugs at my heart.

Dr. Callie smiles. “He’s fine. I’ve set the leg in a cast. He’ll need to rest it up and come back in about six weeks to have the pins removed. But he’s going to be back to himself in no time.”

“When can I take him home?”

“He’s in recovery at the moment. I want to keep him here for the rest of the day just to keep an eye on him. You can come back later today to collect him.”

“What time?”

Dr. Callie looks at his watch. “Say, four thirty, and he should be fine to go.”

Penny comes over to us. “If you could come with me, I just need to take a few details from you,” she addresses Jordan.

“Sure,” he says.

I’m just about to follow Jordan to the reception desk, when Dr. Callie stops me. “Great assessment you did earlier. The strap on his leg was really good work. You’re going to make a fine doctor.” His smile is genuine. Shame I don’t feel it.

I don’t want to become a good doctor. I don’t want to be what Oliver created.

I dip my gaze. “Thank you.”

“Well … best of luck with the rest of medical school.”

“Thanks.” I nod.

“Right. I better get back to it.”

I watch his retreating back, then I turn to Jordan and walk over. He’s just finishing up.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Yes.”

I follow him out to his car. “You hungry?” he asks once we’re in the car.

I touch my hand to my empty stomach. “A little.”

“To be expected. You did miss breakfast.”

“Sorry about that. I don’t usually sleep so late, but I was really tired. I hope you didn’t go to any trouble.”

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “Let’s go grab some lunch.”

He pulls away from the vets, onto the street, then starts fiddling with the radio.

I slip my sunglass off and glance around the car, taking it in. I’ve never been inside a Mustang before today. It’s a really nice car. Pretty cool. I know I said yesterday that it’s a penis enhancer, but knowing Jordan now, I really don’t think he would need any help in the enhancing department. Not that I’ve seen anything to know, but he’s just so confident and this car suits that about him. It reflects his confidence and charm.

“This is a really nice car,” I comment.

Settling on a station, he rests his hand back on the wheel. “Thanks. I won it.”

“Won it? Like on a car lottery or something?” I tease.

Jordan lets out a laugh. “No, cards. I won it in a hand of poker.”

“Wow. That must’ve been some hand,” I say impressed.

Taking his right hand off the wheel, he flexes his fingers out between us. A grin akin to the devil appears on his lips. “Oh, you have no idea, babe.”

Babe? Holy shit. Is he…?

Did he just flirt with me?

No. No way.

Even still, my cheeks heat.

Pretending his words have absolutely no effect on me, I clear my throat. “You like to play cards?”

“I used to.” There’s something off about his tone. It instantly makes me curious.

I’m not usually nosy. I don’t ask people things because I don’t want them to question me in return. But he knows about Forbes, and something about Jordan makes me want to know more about him. I feel like I could sit and listen to him talk for hours, and not once get bored.

“Used to?” I question.

I watch his fingers tap restlessly against the steering wheel. “I used to gamble a bit. I liked to play cards. After my mom died it, uh … it got a little worse.”

“Your mom died.” I press my hand to my chest. “God, I’m so sorry, Jordan.”

He bobs his head. “We’ve both lost a parent. Guess we have that in common.”

“Sucky thing to have in common,” I say.

Well, it’s not like I can tell him the day Oliver died was the best day of my life.

He would never understand.

“Yeah it is,” he says quietly.

“How did she die? If you don’t mind my asking?”

He shakes his head, eyes fixed ahead. “Lung cancer. Stage four. Never smoked a day in her life. I was away, traveling with some buddies out in South East Asia, when I got the call from Dad that she was sick. I came straight home. She had surgery … chemo … it didn’t work.”

His shoulders lift on a heavy sigh. “After she died I, uh … well, life got a little hard. Crazy, you know?”

A glance. I catch the sad in his eyes before he looks back ahead to the road. “Then I had a wakeup call, and I cleaned up my act. And here you see, the brand new, almost responsible me.” He sweeps a hand down himself, smiling, but I can tell it’s forced.