With one last deep breath, I open my door and get in. Once I start the car, I realize I still don’t know where she lives.
“What’s your address?” I ask.
“Oh, it’s really close. Just start driving and I’ll tell you when to pull over.”
I pull away from the curb and drive. Not even three minutes later, I’m pulling up in front of a small store down the street, only a few blocks from Bump & Grind.
“You live in a store?”
She laughs. “No, I live in the apartment upstairs,” she says as she unbuckles. “It’s creepy enough living upstairs from a vintage doll store. I can’t imagine ever being able to sleep again if all those dolls were staring at me all night. It took me months before I could get a proper night’s sleep just living upstairs from them.”
“Oh. Yeah, I guess that makes more sense.” I lean past her and look at the store window. Dozens of creepy dolls stare back. The shudder rolls through my body before I can stop it. I doubt I could sleep at all, knowing that much nightmare fuel was downstairs, just waiting for me to let my guard down. “They look fucking terrifying.”
“Shit,” Rhea says as she feels around her pockets. “I gave my keys to Xena to carry in that little fanny pack thing she was wearing. The pockets in these damn shorts are way too small.”
I swallow hard, remembering just how short those shorts looked while she was dancing. I’m surprised they had enough space in them for pockets at all, even small ones.
“That’s OK, we can go get them. Call Xena and tell her to have them ready for us.”
Rhea groans and lets her head fall back against the seat. “I can’t do that either. I gave her my phone, too. And before you ask, no, I don’t have her number memorized.”
I grab my phone and pull up Devon’s contact information. I don’t have Xena’s phone number, but Devon might still be with her. I press the call button and it doesn’t even ring, just goes straight to voicemail. That’s weird. He must have it turned off.
“Well, let’s just drive by her place and see if she answers the door.” I pull away from her place and start driving again. “Assuming you at least remember where she lives?”
“Give me your phone,” Rhea says, holding out her hand. “I’ll put the address in your GPS. Thank god I havethatmemorized, because I get lost every time I try to get there on my own.” She laughs and shakes her head. “For a cop, you think I’d have a better sense of direction. I mean… for someone who used to be a cop.” That’s going to take her some getting used to, I’ll bet. She frowns for a moment before shaking herself out of it.
Shortly after she takes the phone from my outstretched hand, the GPS voice begins telling me directions.
“So, tell me about this car. There has to be a good story behind why a famous rock star drives a vintage station wagon.”
“Uh, well, it’s nothing special. It’s just… When I was a kid, everything was shit at home. I’d see families in cars like this and imagine their lives were perfect. When it was really bad I’d lay awake at night picturing myself as part of one of those families.” Why am I telling her this? I could have just made something up instead of giving her a glimpse into my shitty childhood. What is it about her that makes me want to open up like this?
She sits quietly for a moment, and I hope she doesn’t ask what I meant about things being shit at home. I didn’t even mean to tell her this much. So I’m certainly not ready for that conversation just yet. It’s not something I’ve ever told anyone the whole truth of. No one could ever forgive me if they knew the truth.
“So you bought this car and what? You’re going to make your own perfect family to fill it?” She asks. “You and the wife, and your two kids going on family road trips and stuff? Go see the world’s biggest ball of twine?”
“Ha! No, I’m not planning on having a family at all. I just like the things the car makes me remember.” Like how I’m never going to have a perfect family, or any family, because I can’t risk having a kid of mine laying awake at night, imagining he’s part of a different family just to get a little glimpse of happiness. It’s more like a reminder of the things I need to stay away from, than the things I want to have for myself. A lot of possessions in my life serve that purpose.
And that’s the main reason I can’t pursue this attraction I’m feeling to Rhea. I can’t allow myself to get too close to anyone or I risk hurting them the way my father hurt my family.
I need to just get her home, go back to my place, and take a nice, long, cold shower.
Chapter 9
Rhea - Great, We’re Having a Sleepover
Aiden drives the rest of the way to Xena’s place in silence. I don’t think he told me everything about why he drives this car, but it’s not my place to push it. We barely know each other. He doesn’t owe me explanations for anything. Plus, it’s not really a big deal. I’m notthatinterested in why the drummer for a famous band drives a really old station wagon. Even if it is super weird.
“Here we are,” Aiden says, pulling up in front of Xena’s little house. “I’ll go check if she’s here. Be right back.”
I watch him as he walks up the path to her door. His butt flexes in his jeans as he moves, and a little groan escapes my throat. That ass is so gorgeous I suddenly feel a desire to just sink my teeth into it, and I’m not normally a biter. Does he seriously not work out much? Every part of him I touched tonight felt like it was made of solid muscle, and his ass looks to be no exception. I have a hard time believing drumming could be responsible for all that. And if it is, it’s the best kept workout secret of all time.
Maybe I can convince him to teach me to play, just so I never have to work out again? No, that won’t work. I like my trail runs too much to stop them altogether. But some extra time around a sexy man wouldn’t be a bad thing, would it?
All the lights are off in Xena’s place, and Aiden is waiting on the step. Even if she is home, she’s probably asleep already and can’t hear the doorbell. He must be cold standing there in just that tank. I can’t believe I just pulled it off in the club, and that he traded me his own shirt.His super amazing smelling shirt, I remind myself, and pull the neckline up over my nose and take a deep sniff. How does he smell so good? The combination of his soap and some light cologne reminds me of the smell of running through a forest trail after a rain. Fresh. Clean. Earthy. It calms me, just like running a trail does.
I’m still not one hundred percent certain that he is the drummer for Sleeping Dogs, though. Of course, Xena and Devon have no reason to lie to me about that, and I have no reason to doubt them. He just doesn’t look much like the picture on the shirt. Maybe I can get him to let his hair down? That could have something to do with it.
