Spark Page 6

  That’s the life I grew up in.

  Dysfunctional is an understatement.

  I was raised by my nanny, a sweet woman who had more sense than everyone else in my life put together. She’d spend hours reading to me, opening my eyes to things outside my entitled little bubble…much to my mother’s dismay.

  I push myself up, glancing around the living room. My pink suitcase sticks out like a sore thumb against the copious amounts of black and white.

  “What am I doing here?” I ask no one but myself. “And who is this guy?”

  The house does not match the man. When he pulled up next to my car, sitting on his motorcycle, I never suspected he’d live in a place as well put-together and impressive as this.

  My phone rings next to me, and I glance down, seeing Kimberly’s name flash across the screen. “Hey,” I say, answering her call because usually, she’s somewhat normal to talk to, unlike my parents.

  “Babe,” she replies and breaks out into a fit of giggles.

  “Hardy har har.” I pause, waiting for her to get in her laughs at my expense.

  She clears her throat. “Sorry. I couldn’t stop myself.”

  “I just got off the phone with my mother.”

  The sound of her sucking in a breath between her teeth is unmistakable. “And how did that go?”

  “Oh, you know…a dash of insanity mixed with overdramatics.” I rise to my feet, not able to sit any longer.

  If I am going to spend the next however long talking to Kimberly, I’ll at least use the time to check out the rest of the house since I’ve only seen the kitchen, living room, and bathroom.

  “Your mother will never change, Jo. She lives for the drama, and her crazy comes naturally.”

  “I know,” I tell her, walking down the hallway, pushing open the first door after the bathroom. My gaze sweeps around the space, not feeling guilty for invading his privacy. “She pisses me off.”

  “That is your one constant in life.”

  “Yeah,” I mutter, hesitantly stepping inside what I can only assume is his bedroom.

  “Are you okay? Are you safe?” Kimberly asks. “When are you coming back?”

  “I’m fine and, yes, of course I’m safe,” I reply, pressing my finger against the black comforter neatly laid out across his king-sized bed. “I don’t know when I’m coming back. I need a reset.”

  “Did you find a new hotel?”

  “No. I’m at his place.”

  “Wait,” she says, papers rustling in the background. “You’re still there?”

  I explain the situation, how Nick went to the hotel and then invited me to stay on the way back, and how I said yes without hesitation. I tell her all this as I crawl on top of his bed, stretching out and letting my body melt into the softness, and somehow, unlike her normal self, Kimberly stays quiet and lets me ramble.

  “He sounds so, so…”

  “Yeah,” I whisper.

  “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “No. You don’t. Maybe I was going to say he sounds like an ax murderer.”

  “Liar,” I mumble as my eyes begin to grow heavy, exhaustion from the last twenty-four hours starting to take hold. “You were going to say he sounds dreamy.”

  She chuckles. “You know I don’t like these Hollywood pretty boys. I prefer my men to be more…manly. Chop me some wood or fix my flat tire kind of guys.”

  This isn’t news to me. Kimberly went out of her way to find men who didn’t fall into either the bohemian way of life in California or who were part of the Hollywood establishment.

  “Is he hot? His driver’s license photo was blurry because you’re a shit photographer.”

  “Shut up. My hands were shaking, and he’s sure as hell not hard on the eyes.”

  “Send me a photo,” she tells me as I yawn. “Shirtless preferred.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “I don’t know, but make it happen.”

  “He’s not the selfie type of guy.”

  “Girl, you’re ticking my boxes.”

  I place the phone next to my head and curl onto my side, flattening out one leg and curling the other toward my chest. “His house is unusually clean.”

  “Maybe he has a housekeeper.”

  Now it’s my turn to chuckle. “He is not the housekeeper type.”

  “All kinds of people have housekeepers or maids who come to clean their house.”

  “If this guy has a housekeeper, I’ll buy you a new pair of your favorite red-bottomed shoes.”

  “Now you’re speaking my language. Well, I hate to cut this short, but I have a conference call in a few minutes.”

  “It’s fine. I think I’m going to close my eyes for a couple minutes anyway.”

  “Promise me you’re okay.”

  “I promise. I’ve never felt more certain about things. I’m right where I want to be, and no one knows where I am, which couldn’t make me happier.”

  “Text me later after the hottie comes home. Keep me updated and get the damn picture. Bye,” she says, lingering on the last word for a few seconds.

  “Bye, Kimberly,” I say, watching the screen go black before closing my eyes.

  The bed dips, and my eyes fly open.

  “Comfy?” Nick asks, sitting next to me, staring down at me.

  I scramble to a sitting position, my eyes blurry from sleep and my heart racing. “What time is it?”

  “Six.”

  “Six?” I widen my eyes, my sleepiness suddenly gone. “I slept for six hours?”

  He shrugs. “Don’t know, babe. I got here and found you lying in my bed, curled in a ball.”

  I look around, forgetting I’d crawled onto his bed, a bed I wasn’t invited into but made myself at home in, nonetheless. “I’m sorry,” I say, moving toward the edge.

  He grabs my wrist, stopping me before I have a chance to scramble to my feet. “Stop,” he says gently, and I freeze.

  I turn my head to see his face. His eyes are soft, a smile playing on his lips, and looking nowhere near upset. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, and I never should’ve come into your room.”

  “When you’re tired, you’re tired. The only cure for that is some shut-eye. And since my room has the only bed and it’s the most comfortable thing in the world, I don’t blame you for crawling on top and getting some rest.”

  I stare at him. “You’re not mad?”

  “If a man finds you in his bed and he’s mad about it, he needs to get his head examined and his manhood checked.”

  I blink, gawking at him. “Um…” I mumble, sounding like an incoherent idiot.

  “Anyway, I came home early to see if you wanted to go out with us. Some of my buddies are headed to the bar for a few beers.”

  “How fancy do I need to get for these beers?”

  “There’s no dress code, babe. You can go like that.”

  I peer down, taking in my wrinkled clothing. There’s no way I am going out in public like this, let alone meeting any of his friends. “Can I have ten minutes?”

  “I need a shower. Grease,” he says, and I let my gaze travel down his body, lingering on his chest, which is indeed covered by a white tank top and splotches of black grease.

  I gulp, trying not to choke on my tongue at the way his muscles are more pronounced thanks to the tight, bright material. “A shower would be nice,” I breathe.

  His smile widens. “On your own or with me?”

  I blink again. “My own,” I snap, not trusting myself in the shower with him. There’s also the fact that I don’t really know him, although I’ve slept all night on his couch and now in his bed.

  He laughs. “You can shower first,” he tells me, tipping his head toward the bathroom behind him that’s attached to his bedroom. “Use mine. It’s nicer than the guest one.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve already overstepped my welcome.”

  He shakes his head again. “I don’t want
an argument. There’re fresh towels and everything you need in there. I’m going to go make a sandwich while you shower, and then it’s my turn. Save me a little hot water, okay?”

  I nod, blinking like a mute idiot.

  “I’ll use the guest bathroom, and you can get ready in here.”

  “Okay.” I find his selflessness unnerving and oddly refreshing.

  “Jeans and a T, babe.”

  “What?”

  “Wear jeans and a T. None of the over-the-top shit you no doubt have packed in that pretty pink suitcase.”

  I scrunch my nose. “Who says I have fancy shit?”

  He barks out a laugh as he stands, the bed righting itself with the loss of his weight. “You’re funny. Thirty minutes,” he calls out as he makes his way toward the open bedroom door. “I’ll put your suitcase in here for when you’re finished.”

  “Um, thanks,” I say, but it comes out sounding more like a question than an honest reply.

  And with that, he’s gone.

  I sit on his bed, staring at the open door and empty bedroom. “What the fuck?”

  “Thirty minutes,” he yells out like he heard me or my inability to move. “Starting now.”

  I scramble to my feet, running toward his bathroom and sealing myself inside. Plastering my back against the door, I’m momentarily stunned by the gray-and-white marble and floor-to-ceiling shower encased in glass, looking like it was built more for a party than a single man.

  “Holy shit,” I say softly as I push away from the wooden door, moving toward the shower that’s calling my name.

  Maybe, just maybe, this isn’t the worst idea in the world.

  6

  Jo

  Nick lied.

  The buddies weren’t buddies at all.

  “These are my cousins—Mammoth, Tamara, Pike, Gigi, Jett, and Lily.” He points at each person as he rattles off their names. “This is Jo.”

  “Hi,” I reply, trying to keep calm as my stomach twists, but I still plaster on a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

  Six sets of eyes are on me, studying me with curiosity as I stand next to Nick, his hand lightly pressing against the small of my back. The heat of his palm seeps through my thin T-shirt, and I hate to admit it, but I like the feel of his hand on me.

  The second girl he gestured to leans forward, narrowing her eyes. “Have we met before?” she asks.

  “Nope. I don’t think so. I’m not from around here.” I keep the smile on my face, praying she won’t recognize me.

  “Nicky, when you said you rescued a girl in a parking lot, I never expected her to look like this.”

  I swing my gaze his way, glaring at him. “You did not rescue me from a parking lot.”

  He smirks. “Technically, I did.”

  “I was trying to grab a few hours of sleep before I could drive, but you stopped and badgered me until I said I’d come home with you.”

  “Badgered?” He laughs, putting a little more pressure on the small of my back with his hand. “Babe, be real.”

  One of the women motions toward the two empty seats with a shit-eating grin on her face. “Sit down. We have a lot to discuss.”

  I quickly slide into one of the open seats, needing to get away from his touch because I like it too much. Nick plops down next to me but moves his chair closer so our thighs are almost touching.

  “Now, I’m Tamara. The best cousin,” a woman with dark hair, hazel-green eyes, and a vibrant pink tube top says. She’s holding a bottle of beer in one hand, elbow propped on the table, and sitting forward with her gaze firmly planted on me. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

  “She’s from Cali,” Nick answers for me.

  Tamara’s eyes flicker to him. “Let her talk.”

  He lifts his hands but stays quiet.

  “Cali?” she asks.

  I nod.

  “You want a beer?” he asks me, motioning toward the waitress.

  I nod again, and he holds up two fingers to the woman as she heads our way and then spins on her heel.

  “Whereabouts in Cali?” Tamara asks.

  The man next to her, his body covered in tattoos on every patch of visible skin except his face, lifts her like she weighs nothing and drops her in his lap. “Princess, maybe she doesn’t feel like being grilled.”

  She turns her head, smiling at whom I can only assume is her man. “Sparky, I’m not grilling. This is called talking, something I know you guys don’t always seem to do so well in crowds.”

  “Hi,” another woman says. “I’m Gigi, the oldest cousin. Ignore them all. You don’t have to answer any questions. Tonight is about getting out of the house and unwinding.”

  “Thanks,” I say softly, twisting my fingers in my lap.

  Gigi winks at me and then turns her attention toward Mammoth and Tamara. “How was work today?”

  “Same shit, different day,” Tamara answers. “The guys finished up a car that’s been in the shop for the last two months. I’ll be happy to see it off the books.”

  “Is that the kick-ass Chevelle?”

  “Yep,” the tattooed guy replies with one arm holding his girl and his hand resting against her stomach. “It’s sweet as fuck now too.”

  “There’s something bittersweet about finishing a project and having to start on something else,” Nick says as the waitress returns with two beers.

  “Hey, Nicky,” she purrs. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Missed you around here.” As she places the beers on the table, she leans forward, putting her tits right in his face.

  He doesn’t seem fazed and does nothing to move out of their orbit. “Been busy, Corinne,” he says dismissively.

  “You shouldn’t work so hard.” She doesn’t move back and sure as hell doesn’t move her giant tits out of his face. “If you need to relax—”

  “Relaxin’ now,” he cuts her off. “Hanging with my family and my girl.” He ticks his head toward me. “So, while I appreciate the offer, it’s a no.”

  My girl. My mouth opens and closes as my eyes widen. Unless I’m hearing things, he called me his girl, and to say I’m shocked is an understatement.

  She raises her hand and twists a finger around a lock of his hair that’s fallen against his forehead. “When you get done playing with girls, you know where to find a real woman,” she says, grinning down at him, almost salivating.

  “Noted,” he mutters.

  The man next to Gigi, with a heavy beard and colorful ink covering his arms, clears his throat. “We could take another round, ’Rin.”

  Her gaze flickers to him, but her tits are still in Nick’s face. “Coming right up, Pike.” She winks his way before sauntering off.

  “I hate that triflin’ bitch,” Gigi mutters. “I really want to pop her in the tits and then her face.”

  “Darlin’,” the man next to her says, lifting her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers. “No fighting. She’s not worth it.”

  “My hormones make me ragey, and she’s a thirsty bitch for the way she talks to all the guys even while y’all are sitting next to us.”

  The other woman at the table laughs. “Girl, you know the hormones are ridiculous when you’re preggers, and yes, she’s extremely thirsty.”

  “Thirsty?” I ask, confused. “And wait, so if you’re all cousins, then…”

  The woman laughs. “We girls are Nicky’s blood cousins, and the men are our husbands—which, by default and legally, makes them his cousins too.”

  “Phew,” I mumble, laughing softly. “That would’ve been awkward otherwise.”

  “We’re in the Deep South, Jo, but we’re not backward. My guy, Mammoth,” Tamara says, running her fingernails across his arm that’s around her middle, “was in an MC, and he and Pike go way back.”

  “MC?” I ask.

  “Motorcycle club.”

  I swallow, letting my gaze rake over the men for far too long, but not out of lust.

  “Anyway,” she sighs, continuing without making a comment about how I�
��m staring a little too much, “they’re not anymore. Want to know more?”

  Nick pushes the beer in front of me. “You’re going to need this because nothing Tamara does is quick, especially talking.”

  “Fucker,” she mutters, narrowing her eyes.

  “I’ll tell her,” Gigi offers. “Lily and Tamara can talk for hours, giving you a headache like you never knew existed. Pike and Mammoth were in an MC but aren’t anymore, as she said. Mammoth, Tamara, and Nick work at an auto body shop together, but they also own it. Pike, Lily, and I work together at our family’s tattoo parlor, and Jett works for our uncles at their security company. I’m married to Pike, Tamara’s married to Mammoth, and Lily is married to Jett. We’re only four out of the eleven cousins in our family, but we’re the oldest and best.”

  Tamara laughs. “I’m pretty sure Mello and Rocco would disagree.”

  “Those two little bastards disagree with everything,” Lily rolls her eyes. “The older they get, the more trouble they become.”

  “They’re boys, baby. That’s what we do,” her man, Jett, says as he slides his arm around the back of her chair, resting his hand on her shoulder.

  “So, what do you do, Jo?” Tamara asks, moving back to me, making my head spin.

  I lift the beer to my lips, taking a sip while I try to figure out a good way to answer the question. All eyes at the table are still on me except Nick’s.

  “You don’t have to answer any questions,” he tells me as I guzzle the beer like I’m a professional drinker.

  “I work in PR,” I tell them as soon as I stop drinking and come up for air.

  “Really?” Tamara gasps.

  “Yeah.” I smile, lying like it’s second nature.

  And it almost is, especially with parents like mine. They wouldn’t know the truth if it smacked them in the face and left a mark.

  Tamara perks up, resting her chin on her hand. “I have a degree in marketing. It’s what I do at the garage. Which firm? Maybe I’ve heard of it.”