Perfect Kind of Trouble

  I scoff. “Not a problem. Consider yourself forgotten.”

  He scoffs back. “I already have.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I pull back, struggling to decode his expression. I shift my jaw. “Is this about last night?”

  “Nope. Last night was no big deal and nothing happened,” he says with contempt. “Nothing that mattered, anyway.”

  His words cut deep—deeper than I’d like to admit—and he doesn’t even look remorseful.

  My mouth falls open. “What a shitty thing to say.”

  “Shittier than you using me to get your daddy’s money?”

  “What?” I shake my head in disbelief. “If anyone is being used it’s me. You’re just using me to get the money—and maybe get lucky along the way,” I snap.

  He looks like I just slapped him. And in a way I guess I did.

  His face falls. “Are you for real right now?”

  I don’t really think he’s been using me. If anything, I think he just doesn’t know what to do with me. But his words still sting and I’m too hurt to care about his feelings.

  I shrug. “Well that’s what you do, isn’t it? You’re an opportunist, trying to get laid at every corner.”

  He clenches his jaw and angrily nods. “Yep. Yeah. You’ve got me all figured out. I found out we were going to be handcuffed together and I was like, ‘You know what? This would be a great opportunity for me to get in frigid little Kayla’s pants.’ ” He scoffs. “I’m not the one who was practically begging for it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Oh please. You spread your legs and practically begged me to do you.”

  My throat closes in as I feel all the blood rush to my face. I’m embarrassed and furious, but mostly I’m in pain. My heart aches like he’s stabbed a butcher knife into its core and is mercilessly twisting. All I want to do is hurt him back.

  I glare at him. “Don’t flatter yourself.” And just because I’m a horrible person, I add, “I felt sorry for you, that’s all. You’re homeless, for God’s sake. You sleep on the floor and can’t even afford to eat. You have no future and any women who knew the truth about you would run away screaming. Nobody wants you, so I felt bad. It was going to be a pity lay.”

  Oh God. I went too far. The look of heartbreak on his face cuts into my lungs, making it hard to breathe as I watch his every fear claw at his self-esteem, stripping him down into the tattered shreds of worthlessness he already thinks he is.

  I open my mouth to apologize but he cuts me off before words can form.

  “Well good thing it didn’t happen then.” His face turns to stone. “It was just going to be a victory lay for me. Just another notch on my belt. But now? Meh.” He shrugs. “You’re not really worth my time. There’s really nothing to you except some tits and an ass. And I can get that anywhere.”

  Pain.

  Pure, black pain. That’s what this is.

  We’re piercing each other, one sharp arrow of insecurity after another, puncturing holes in our already ruined facades. I’m pissed and hurt, and on the verge of tears. All I want to do is run away from him. Goddamn these fucking handcuffs!

  I swallow and try to keep my tears at bay. “You know what?” I say calmly. “I don’t really need the money. We’re stuck and can’t figure out the clue anyway.” I look him over. “I’m done.”

  He shifts his jaw and looks me over as well. “Me too.”

  More pain.

  “Good. Let’s go.” We head back to the car and climb inside. I’m proud of my ability to keep the keys from shaking as I jam them into the ignition and turn.

  Nothing.

  I try again. The car makes a whirring noise but doesn’t turn over. Again and again. Still nothing.

  Daren grunts in frustration. “Here, let me try.” He grabs the keys and tries himself, but the car won’t work.

  “The battery’s probably dead,” I say.

  Daren mutters, “Fuck.”

  We sit in silence for a good full minute.

  “What now?” I stare at the steering wheel.

  He rubs a hand down his face and exhales. “I don’t know.”

  “We’re in the middle of nowhere with no food or water.” I pull out my phone. “And no freaking service.”

  “I know.”

  “We need a plan, Daren.”

  “I know! I don’t know what to do… Wait. Yes I do. Get out.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Just get out of the damn car,” he barks.

  I sneer at him but get out anyway.

  “Willow Inn is about a mile away,” he says. “If we hike through the forest we can be there in half an hour and Angelo, one of my coworkers, will be able to get these damn things off of us so we can figure out what our next move is. So come on.” He marches past me, leading us into the trees. “Let’s hurry,” he says without looking at me. “I want to get these damn things cut off of us as soon as fucking possible.”

  “Me too,” I say, but even as the words leave my mouth a little piece of my heart falls away.

  30

  Daren

  I’ve never been in this heavy of a fight with a girl before. I’ve never had a reason to fight like this with a girl before—probably because no girl has ever meant anything to me or mattered in a way that I felt was worth getting hurt over. But this hurts like hell.

  Kayla’s words about me being a pity screw… I know she didn’t mean them. I could tell by her quivering lip that she was just trying to lash out at me, but I’ve never been more hurt by words in my life. Except maybe when my mom left and told me her love for me wasn’t enough for her to stay in an unhappy life. That rejection was pretty awful. But Kayla rejecting me is a whole different kind of pain.

  I don’t know why she matters so much to me, but she does. And now she’s marching through the trees beside me and all she wants to do is be done with me. She’s even willing to give up the inheritance money to get away from me.

  This is what I do. I drive valuable, important women away from me. Women are willing to leave behind great wealth just to flee from me. I could almost laugh out loud.

  I’m completely unwanted.

  We walk for a little over a half hour—in tense silence—until I see the inn in the distance. At first, I’m relieved. But then I see two figures out back and I bite back a curse.

  Levi and Ellen.

  Of course Ellen and Levi are out back when I’m trotting up to the inn with a girl chained to my wrist. I swear to God, it’s like I’m trying to ruin my questionable reputation. Or at least keep it intact.

  They look like they’re having a deep conversation. Good. Maybe Kayla and I can sneak past them without being noticed. That would be good. Levi and I aren’t exactly pals right now. Or ever.

  The last time I saw him, Levi was choking me on Monique’s hood because I’d tried to drive drunk—with his girlfriend, Pixie, as my captive. Needless to say, Levi’s not one of my biggest fans.

  His eyes shoot to mine. Ah, hell. I hate the way he’s staring at me, and I hate the way Ellen is now staring at Kayla. And I hate myself for bringing all this on.

  “Daren?” Ellen takes a step forward as we near.

  “Uh, hi.” I smile sheepishly and start to wave with my cuffed hand, causing Kayla’s wrist to yank up with mine.

  She whips her arm down and hisses, “Use your other hand.”

  “What the hell…?” Levi stares horrified at me and points to Kayla. “Did you kidnap this girl?”

  “What? No!” I say. “Hell, no. You think I wanted to be handcuffed to this girl?”

  Kayla glares at me. “Oh. Like I wanted to be chained to you?” She rolls her eyes. “Please.”

  “Will someone please explain what’s going on?” Ellen looks around in confusion. “And where you guys came from?”

  I sigh. “It’s a long story.”

  “It’s a stupid story,” Kayla corrects. She sneers and my anger bubbles up.

  I glare at her. “Are you
incapable of shutting up for even a second?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she snaps back, raising our cuffed wrists. “You’ll have to excuse my bad mood. I’ve been attached to a douche bag for two days.”

  “And who are you?” Ellen asks.

  She holds out her free hand. “I’m Kayla.”

  “Ellen.” Ellen slowly shakes her hand, glancing between the two of us.

  Kayla cuts her eyes back to me. “See how I used my non-cuffed hand to do that? It’s not rocket science.”

  I narrow my eyes at her before turning back to Ellen. “Is Angelo here?”

  Ellen hesitates. “Uh, yeah…”

  “Excellent. If anyone can get us out of these things, it’ll be him. Come on.” I pull Kayla by the cuffs to the back door and inside the inn—while she mutters death threats and curse words at me—and walk us through the lobby and into the dining room.

  Angelo is behind the bar, right where I thought he’d be, wiping it down with a white rag. His bar is always ridiculously clean, but still the guy insists on polishing its surface day in and day out.

  He looks up from his shiny bar top, glances at our cuffed wrists, then goes back to wiping like seeing a guy chained to a girl is an everyday occurrence for him.

  “Looks like you two had an interesting day,” he says.

  “Something like that,” I say. “You don’t by any chance have a pair of bolt cutters here, do you?”

  “At the inn?” Angelo laughs gruffly and shakes his head. “We ain’t got no bolt cutters here.”

  I curse under my breath and see Kayla’s shoulders slump from the corner of my eye.

  “But if you’re trying to get out of those handcuffs, I might be able to help,” Angelo says, waving at our metal manacles.

  “Really?” I say.

  He nods at a nearby dining table. “Sit down and put your wrists on the table.”

  We do as we’re told and Angelo walks up, reaches into his back pocket, and pulls out a leather case. Pulling out a thin tool with a hook on the end, he shoves the case back into his pocket and slips the hook tool into the lock on the cuffs.

  I’m not at all surprised that Angelo carries a lock-picking kit in his back pocket. Because why wouldn’t a guy tote a shady tool kit around in his back pocket?

  First he pulls the broken bobby pin from the lock, then ten seconds later our cuffs pop open and we’re free. Just like that. Where was Angelo two days ago when I wanted to pull my hair out and pee in private?

  “There you go,” Angelo says. He smiles at Kayla. “Sorry you were attached to this schmuck.”

  She half-smiles back. “Me too,” she says, but there’s no venom in her voice.

  Her eyes meet mine in a sad exchange, both of us feeling remorse but neither of us brave enough to apologize.

  We nod our thanks to Angelo and leave the dining room and enter the lobby, where Ellen is behind the front desk. When she sees us, she lifts her brows.

  “I see you found Angelo and were able to… untangle yourselves,” she says, nodding at our unchained wrists.

  Kayla shifts away from me, like she’s just realized she’s no longer bound to my side and can now put space between us. That hurts.

  “Yeah.” Rubbing my wrist, I clear my throat. “Hey, um… I know this is unprofessional, and probably crossing the line, but I was wondering if maybe you might—”

  “Of course you can stay here tonight,” she says then looks at her computer.

  “Seriously?” Gratitude and relief flood my veins.

  “Seriously,” she says. “But I only have one room available. Is that going to be a problem?” She looks first at Kayla then me.

  “Uh…” I glance at Kayla, who quickly looks away.

  “That won’t be a problem at all,” Kayla says.

  I look at Ellen and pinch out a smile. “Right.”

  No problem at all.

  31

  Kayla

  When Daren said he worked at an inn, I pictured something like the Quickie Stop. Something with doors on the outside, peeling wallpaper, and chipping paint.

  But the Willow Inn is cute, and even kind of quaint. It sort of reminds me of every inn I’ve ever read about in a book or seen on TV. It has a very “Sweet Home Alabama” feel to it and there are dozens of purple flowers in the field out back.

  Ellen seems nice. She looks nothing at all like what I pictured Daren’s boss to be. She’s sexy and confident, and she smiles at me like she actually cares. And not once has she looked me up and down, sizing me up like most women do upon meeting me. That alone makes me want to hug her.

  She hands us our room key and Daren leads the way. I trail a few steps behind him, my eyes fixed on his broad back. It’s weird to be anywhere other than at his side. It’s weird to be free of the handcuffs. Nothing about the tension between us feels liberating at all.

  By the time we reach the top of the staircase and get into room number seven, I’m exhausted and eager for a shower—one without a guy attached to my wrist.

  Thinking about last night makes my heart ache and my throat close in. I swallow and blink and wring my hands, not sure what to do with myself. I’ve never felt so torn up by a guy before.

  Daren flicks on the light switch. The room is really cute, with pale green walls and honey maple furniture. A king-size bed sits against the far wall, flanked by two nightstands. A chaise lounge is positioned under the large bedroom window and off to the side is a bathroom with vintage faucets, a walk-in shower, and a claw-foot bathtub.

  “You can take a shower first,” he says, not looking at me.

  I shift my weight. “That’s okay. You can go—”

  “No, really. You go first,” he says firmly.

  I silently roll my suitcase into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. The moment it latches shut, I let out a long breath and lean against the door. Daren shouldn’t matter so much to me. He shouldn’t. But here I am in this sweet little bathroom wishing I could go back in time and undo all the damage of the day.

  I quickly shower, rinsing the dust off my body and washing my hair methodically. Suds run over my wrist, where there’s a small bruise from Daren and me yanking on each other these last few days. He probably has a small bruise too.

  I run my thumb over the bruise and my heart twists. Being handcuffed to him was annoying and difficult, but it was also kind of fun. And it meant I was never alone. I don’t think I realized how lonely my life had been until I had Daren chained to my side every day. Being locked together wasn’t convenient, by any means, but having someone just be there was… well, nice. It was more than nice. It felt like I was home.

  And now I’m lost.

  I turn off the shower and towel myself dry before changing into a clean pair of pajamas. I stare into the mirror. My hair is wet and stringy, sticking to my head in a tousled way. My blue eyes are framed by blonde eyelashes, making them look small and plain without any makeup on. I look as average as possible—and this is the best I’ve looked the entire time Daren and I have been looking for the inheritance.

  I’ve been a mess around him. Dirty. Wet. Haggard. And he’s been a disaster around me. But as I think back over the last three days, I can’t recall a single time when he assessed me. I saw attraction in his eyes, but for the most part, he looked at me like I was a person and not just female. I can’t remember a guy ever doing that before.

  Gathering my things, I exit the bathroom and step into our room. Daren is sitting on the chaise lounge with the phone to his ear. Our eyes meet and longing flashes in his gaze—not just sexual longing, but emotional want. As if we’ve found something in each other we didn’t know we needed. Compassion. Friendship.

  Acceptance.

  And now, without the handcuffs to physically bind us together, we’re afraid we’ll lose everything we just found.

  Whoever he’s speaking with on the phone must say something because he drops his eyes and says, “Yes. I’m glad to hear that.”

  I step over to the b
ed and crawl under the soft covers on the left side.

  “Yeah, well it was the right thing to do, Eddie,” he says. “Let’s not give him more credit than he deserves… Okay, yeah. We will. Later.” He hangs up and glances at me.

  “Was that about your dad?” I ask, pulling the sheets up to my chest.

  He nods but doesn’t look at me. “He pleaded guilty.”

  I nod as well. “That’s good.”

  Daren clears his throat. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  He enters the bathroom and a few seconds later I hear the water turn on. I turn off the lamp on the nightstand beside me, and the room goes dark except for the single lamp on Daren’s side of the bed.

  I rub my wrist and look at the small bruise. It’s barely there and barely hurts but it’s a little reminder of my attachment to him.

  I frown at the ceiling, thinking about how we decided not to look for the inheritance anymore. My heart falls a little bit as I lie in the bed. I could really use that money to go back to nursing school. It’s always been my dream, and with my current circumstances it’s simply impossible.

  My palms start sweating and my heart starts to race as I think about how I have nothing. No plan. No money. No home. And no Daren.

  God, I miss him. He’s only a few yards away from me, but I miss him.

  There’s something about Daren—something vulnerable and honest that I connect with easily. Something I’ve never found in anyone else and can’t quite imagine living without. And when we leave this place and go our separate ways I’ll have to do just that.

  My heart clenches, and tears threaten once again.

  I’ve never known love before, at least not with a man who wasn’t my father, but this deep sadness in my chest is most definitely heartbreak. And heartbreak is an effect of only one thing: love.

  Is this what love is? This painful, unhinged thing? This polarizing madness that swings from joyous to suffering in the blink of an eye? And if so, why do we let it consume us the way it does? Why do we so willingly surrender to its violent currents and unpredictable winds?