“Either of you know what happened?” I ask, leaning against the hood. They remain silent. The only response is a dashed look between them.
Settling my scrutiny on each one individually, watching them squirm, I save the blonde for last.
“Did you see anything?” I ask, turning back to the tall one.
Her weight shifts from one foot to the other as she runs a hand through her shiny hair like we’re talking about coffee or having a beer later. “Me? No. I didn’t see a thing.”
“Really? You were standing out here just now and you didn’t see anything?”
“No,” she smiles sweetly. “Nothing at all.”
Peck steps between us and inspects the damage. When he turns around, he bites the inside of his cheek. “If I were a betting man, Walker, I’d say it looks like someone walloped Daisy with a baseball bat.”
The blonde lifts a brow, something on the tip of her tongue that she holds back.
“You got something to say?” I prod.
“You named your truck ‘Daisy’?”
Her eyes narrow, almost as if she’s taunting me. That she has the guts to challenge me combined with those fucking blue eyes throws me off my game. “I did. Got a problem with that?”
“No. No problem,” she says, twisting her lips into an incredibly sexy pout that I want to kiss off her goddamn face. “Just never met a man who named their truck after a flower.”
“Me either. Now, before I go calling the Sheriff about this, I’m gonna give you two a moment to consider telling me what happened. And,” I say, cutting off the blonde, “I’ll give you a piece of information before you decide what to say. Doc Burns’ office has cameras installed that will show everything. Just let that sink in a second.”
Their eyes go wide as they instinctively move together into a protective huddle. The tall girl points to the blonde who responds with a frantic whisper. She’s guilty as hell.
On one hand, I want to break her down and get inside her in ways she’s never dreamed. On the other, I can hear my brain issuing an alert to back away slowly.
The longer they confer, the more time I have to watch. The blonde controls the conversation, the other deferring to her as they talk amongst themselves. It’s hot as hell.
The light bounces off the wounded plastic of the headlight and draws my attention back to the fact that Daisy is damaged, and in all likelihood, one of these two did it.
“You really calling Kip?” Peck whispers. “He’s not gonna do shit about this, you know.”
“He might throw them in the back of his cop car and fuck their brains out. Especially the blonde,” Lance whistles. “Can you imagine her in handcuffs? Shit.”
The thought shoots a flame through my veins that catches me off guard. The vision of her bound up with one of these assholes at the helm irks me. Bad. “You two stay out of this. Let me handle it.”
The sound of metal pinging against the ground rings through the air. The girls jump, the blonde leaping away from the aluminum bat as it rolls across the sidewalk and lands in the gutter with a flourish. Her eyes snap to mine, guilt etched across her gorgeous face. “It was an accident.”
“How, exactly, does a baseball bat accidentally strike the front of my truck?” I ask. “Did it just hop over there and smash itself into my headlight?”
“Well,” she gulps. “I . . .”
“She was imitating her brother,” the dark-headed one says. “So we stop using pronouns, I’m Delaney. This is Sienna.”
“I’m Walker. That’s Peck and Lance.” I rest my attention on Sienna. She’s leaned against the grey car, her arms crossed over her chest. “So?”
“I was swinging the bat,” she says, “while Delaney puked over there and it slipped out of my hands.”
“I think we’re gonna have to see your swing,” Peck chuckles.
Sienna rolls her eyes. “You do not need to see my swing.”
Imagining her ass popped out, her body moving for our benefit, seems like a fair trade for the hassle of dealing with this tonight.
“How else do we know it was you? It could’ve been Delaney and you’re just covering for her,” I explain, loving the frustration on her beautiful face. “Gonna need to see the swing.”
“No.”
“Lance, call Sheriff Kooch.”
“Wait,” Sienna sighs. “It was an accident. I can cut you a check for the repairs but please don’t call the police. I . . . I can’t have a record. You don’t understand.”
Looking away, it takes everything I have not to laugh. The plea in her voice is so damn adorable it almost makes me give in. Yet, she hasn’t shown any remorse, and that’s something I can’t get to sit right.
Swiping the bat out of the gutter, I extend it to her. The air between us heats, our fingers brushing in the exchange. The contact is enough to have her eyes flicking to mine. The light above may be dim, but it’s bright enough to see the way her lids hood, her lips part just barely as she pulls her skin from mine.
A zip of energy tumbles through my veins and I remind myself I can’t tug on the bat and pull her into me. There’s no way I can cover her lips with my own, sliding my tongue across hers, making her attempt at resistance to this proposed swing futile.
Instead, I step back.
“Batter up.” Peck motions for her to go. “Let’s see it.”
“Are you really going to make me do this?”
“Did you really just smash the front of my truck?” I ask. “The answer is the same to both questions, Slugger.”
Her eyes narrow, but there’s a fire in them that turns me the hell on. She steps away from her friend, zapping all the power I held just a few seconds ago with the flick of her tongue. It darts out, rolling across her bottom lip as the bat comes over her head. Sticking her ass out, bending her knees, her eyes still locked on mine, she slices the bat through the air . . . and stops it at the last possible second before impact.
It’s everything I thought it would be.
“Any questions, fellas?” she asks, propping it up on one shoulder.
“I have one,” I say, forcing a swallow, trying to redirect my thoughts. “If you could stop it that fast, then why the fuck didn’t you do that the first time?”
“Very funny.” She tosses the bat into the back seat of the car and crosses her arms in front of her again.
“Can I ask why you have a baseball bat to begin with?” Lance asks. “Do you belong to some softball league or something? If so, I just took a huge interest in women’s softball.”
Sienna laughs as Delaney’s face turns red. “Delaney’s car is like a scavenger hunt. You can find anything in there. So while she got sick, I just rummaged around in the trunk, found the bat, and fooled around.” She looks at me, her eyes softening. “Are you going to be here for a while? I’ll go home and get the money. I didn’t bring my debit card with me tonight.”
It’ll cost fifty bucks to fix the damage and about an hour’s time. Definitely not worth her going out of her way tonight. But it is worth making her come around again and say she’s sorry. It might do her some good.
Might not hurt me either.
She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, the motion driving me crazy.
“Come see me Monday morning at Crank. It’s two streets over,” I say, gesturing to the north, before I can talk sense in to myself.
“Smart,” Peck whispers behind me, getting an elbow to the side from Lance.
Her jaw sets, a glimmer of resistance clouding her baby blue eyes. “I have plans Monday. I can try on Tuesday.”
The nonchalant attitude cuts through me, like her fuckup is no big deal. I wasn’t set on Monday morning, but I am now. “Monday or I call the Sheriff. Your decision, but make it quick. I got shit to do.”
“Fine,” she huffs. “Monday.”
“Fine,” I mock. “See you Monday morning.”
We start back down the sidewalk, her gaze heavy on my back. I pause at the bumper of their car. “Peck got your license plate number, so don’t think about not showing.”
“I did not,” Peck hisses, catching another elbow from Lance as their car doors open and slam shut.
“What the hell are you going to do with that?” Lance asks once we’re out of earshot. “Because I have a list of suggestions if you need them.”
As we get farther away, the air clearing of Sienna’s perfume, I realize it’s not suggestions I need. It’s a heavy dose of self-control.
I DIDN’T EVEN SAY I’m sorry.
Groaning, I roll over and toss the magazine I was trying to distract myself with onto the coffee table. Out of all the things that could’ve kept me up last night, it was my conscience.
Tossing and turning all night, my brain feels like it’s been through the wringer and my body through a fight.
Shutting my eyes, I see Walker’s face just like I have every thirty seconds since I saw him. His thick, shiny black hair and bottomless brown eyes stare back at me. The controlled demeanor and intensity that swirled off him like a tremor foreshadowing an earthquake make me unsteady.
Putting him in a box seems impossible. He relaxes me with a smile and then puts my defenses up with an asshole remark. He’s playful when asking me to swing the bat, yet demanding with his “Be there Monday morning or Sheriff.” It’s dizzying.
“Hey.” Delaney’s voice jostles me from my daydream. “How long have you been up?”
“A while. The neighbor decided to mow his lawn at the crack of dawn,” I say, omitting the whole Walker thing for now.
She yawns, stretching her arms high above her head. “I just started a pot of coffee. Had any yet?”
“Nope. I’m too tired for even basic tasks this morning.”
“Do you have a busy day planned or can you just chill out?”
“Well, since we wrapped up the project that would never end and decided to take a couple weeks off before jumping back in, I’m chilling out.”