Thankfully, the guy who embodies entirely too much sex appeal and all the good stuff that makes my pussy purr takes pity on me. I can’t even tell if he knows what he’s doing with that amusement plastered so thickly over his face, so much of it, in fact, that there are no traces of anything else that I can pick out. But his hand sneaks into the back pocket of my sweats, one I’d admittedly forgotten I had until this very moment, and pulls out a rattling collection of keys and keyrings.
The moment he frees them from their prison, he takes a step back, and I can suddenly breathe again. I accept the keys, nodding like I’m impressed at having forgotten about my own pocket and him finding it for me. “Oh. Who knew?”
“Would have thought you would,” he comments, just before biting his lip in that way those sexy stars in movies do. You know the move. That subtle but spank-bank-material-worthy lip bite that looks equal parts playful and hot.
Distracted now, my vagina perking up with a cautious amount of interest, I mutter some mumbled form of gratitude while I do my best to get my heart back under control and contemplate the dangers of breath-stealing men who look as gorgeous as this one. And the three others in his apartment. It only serves to send my heart into another tizzy, its beats palpitating in ways no organ should.
Wow. I might actually die before I see my next birthday. That’s an actual shame, since that only gives me three months to truly appreciate my life and the handsomeness it’s very recently been blessed with.
Without a backward glance at a very amused Baxter, who is making a very poor attempt at restraining his beautiful grin, I climb inside my car with expert movements, almost positive I hear a rumbled laugh just as I shut the door on myself. Baxter joins me a moment later, and I don’t dare look over at him for fear I might swoon some more.
The first few minutes of the drive go by in comfortable silence despite my body being all too aware of the one parked in the passenger seat, Baxter lounging in his seat like he’s completely relaxed where he is. Music filters through the speaker, a crooning country song that I know all the words to, and the windows are rolled down, letting in a cool breeze to counter the early-morning warmth of summer.
“So, you skate?” Baxter wonders suddenly, luring my eyes over to him before I snap them back to the road and nod with a fond smile.
“Sure do. My parents got me into it when I was three. I think Mom was hoping she’d end up with a pro figure skater, one who would end up in the Olympics. Sadly for everyone involved, I didn’t have the drive to compete. I’m not a competitive person by nature, and we learned that pretty early on when I’d steal any hockey stick I could get my hands on and end up playing ice hockey with the boys in the rink over from where we figure skaters were training. So, I skate recreationally and have since my last failed attempt to compete at the ripe old age of seven,” I explain, shrugging a shoulder while I round a corner.
Baxter flashes a grin. “You played ice hockey?”
“Nope. Not at all. I’d chase the boys and knock them over with the hockey stick. Used to hook their skates and send them skidding across the ice. Made getting the puck and scoring easier,” I explain with another shrug and a grin firmly in place when I hear the tatted Adonis beside me laugh. “After the last time it happened, since apparently I was such a write-off to my coaches that they paid me no attention until the boys started snitching, Mom offered to let me try one more competition, and if I didn’t place, then she would give up the dream and let me skate as a hobby instead. We soon realized that I paid attention when I wasn’t forced into it, learned that I actually loved skating, and kept it up on the weekends and days off.”
“Wow. I can only imagine what kind of kid you were,” Baxter replies, shaking his head with a smirk.
“Depends on who you ask, really. Mom would consider me a nightmare she loves like a dream, Dad would call me an angel despite knowing about the horns under the halo, and my friends are all just as bad as me and will lie if you ask themotherwise,” I inform him dutifully. “It takes a lot to embarrass me, so that made for a very interesting childhood.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Baxter comments, flashing that grin again and sending my heart into another flurry, settling deeper into his seat with his legs parted in a lazy way that appears much too attractive.
Risking a glance over at the burly guy, I ask, “How about you? What was your childhood like?”
Baxter shrugs, a nostalgic smile tugging at those sinful lips, and he says, “Just your average childhood, I suppose. Spent most of my time in the garage with my dad and brother, always under the hood of whatever car we were working on at the time. My mom died when I was young, so Dad did what he could and had me spending every spare moment with him and my older brother, teaching me all the ways to fix up beaten and worn-down cars. They helped build my company. My brother, Benji, actually manages my shop in Texas.”
“I’m sorry about your mom. But your dad sounds pretty cool,” I tell him honestly, flashing him a gentle smile.
“He’s the best, for sure,” he answers fondly, smiling back.
“So, you have a shop in Texas. What brought you to New York?” I wonder, hoping I’m not being too invasive. Personal boundaries are a challenge for me, especially after being raised by two celebs who don’t know the concept of such things. My parents are invasive as fuck, and though I try not to be, it sneaks out more than I care to acknowledge.
Baxter clears his throat, a blush tinting his cheeks that intrigues me to no end, and he answers bashfully. “I, uh, I actually have a few shops all throughout the country. Pretty well-known, too. You ever heard of Zone Out?”
My mouth falls open in shock, my focus turning to him just as we reach a red light. “Have I heard— Oh, my God, Dad took my baby to Zone Out because he didn’t trust anyone else tofix her up. Had to drive her to Ohio, but it was so worth the drive. You own, what, the whole franchise? Wait, Baxter Marshall? Didn’t they make a whole show about your shop? You weren’t in it, though, right?”
Baxter nods, the blush deepening while he cringes. “One and the same. Benji took the reins on that whole shitshow, because I wasn’t about to have a camera shoved in my face at every turn. I wanted the company to do well, though, and what better way than to have a show about it? Started Zone Out from the ground up with Dad and Benji before expanding to several different states, before the show was picked up by a production company. We’re opening a shop here in New York in the next few months.”
“Holy shit. I’m going to have to tell my dad. He’s going to die. He’s a big fan,” I blurt with a laugh. A laugh that dies when I’m reminded that this guy, this very popular guy who has celebs lining up at his doors wanting their cars done up by him and his team, witnessed my demise this morning. “Oh my God, no. Lubegate was witnessed bytheBaxter Marshall. Now I’m going to die.”
I groan before pulling off when the light turns green, ignoring Baxter’s laughter while I think about everything in my life that led to that moment. I decide that I’m going to have to plot the downfalls of my best friends so thoroughly that they know they ruined my life the moment they cannonballed into it. Those fuckers are the cause of this whole disaster, and I won’t believe anything else.
A disaster that’s made a whole lot worse when Baxter dutifully informs me, “Pretty sure you’re going to die again when I explain what the others do for a living.”
“Please, for the love of my fleeing dignity, tell me they aren’t well-known mechanics, too,” I plead, gripping my steering wheel so tight my knuckles turn white.
“They aren’t well-known mechanics,” he answers instantly, though there’s a gleam in his eyes that screams trouble. “Rayne’s a celebrity tattoo artist, though. Almost had his own show but had the good sense to turn that shit down. Ryan is pretty high up in the business world, trading and stocks and shit, and Caiden owns several high-end gyms throughout the country. Pretty sure he said his PR rep has been trying to book you for promotional photos.”
My mouth is hanging open so wide that you could likely fit at least four cocks in there all at once. No joke. My jaw is practically resting on my lap, my mind reeling a mile a minute.
“You didn’t know any of that?” Baxter wonders, a bemused smile teasing those full lips.
Shaking my head slowly, I answer as though I’m on autopilot. “Nope. I don’t keep up with celebs and such. I found that the world of the stars is a shallow place to be. Learned the hard way that people will use you to get what they want or get to where they want to be on the social ladder. Decided not to immerse myself any more than necessary. Meaning, I only know a few celebs, those who reach out for work, and a couple of friends. I only know of you because of my dad. And now I’m thinking I actually remember Freya mentioning a sports-related shoot she wanted me to put in my calendar… Fuck my day.”
