Page 33 of Airhead

Since he wasn’t going to admit he always got distracted from his cards by watching her, he bought some time by glancing down at his watch. His gut dropped when he saw two minutes were already gone.

Shit.

He looked back over his shoulder at the theater’s door. No Adler, but he had to be coming soon. “Look, we don’t have time to talk about that right now.”

“Why not?” she asked.

Again with the questions.

What in the fuck was wrong with him that he was getting turned on and annoyed at the same damn time? He didn’t have time for this.

They didn’t have time for this.

He had to get her out of there. Now. Short of throwing her over his shoulder, he had no fucking clue how to do that.

A loud car honk blasted through the early evening air, yanking their attention toward the vehicles speeding down a four-lane road toward the exit for the bridge into the city. Frank sent a quick thank you heavenward.

“Because,” he said. “I have to be in Harbor City, and you trashed my car, which means you’re going to take me to make up for this.” He wiped a finger through the smudge of melted chocolate on the outside of the DeLorean’s door and then held it up in front of her.

Her cheeks turned a soft shade of pink. “Can’t someone else do it? What about your brother?”

Finally, something he didn’t have to lie about. “He’s on shift at the firehouse. So is my dad.” He took a step forward, closing the distance between them. He wasn’t as close as they were in the closet at Marinos, but there wasn’t a lot of light from the setting sun between them. “My mom can’t help because she’s visiting her sister in Boca.” His whole body tightened, being this near her. Tall with the kind of full curves that a man could really sink into, she wasn’t a delicate flower. Fuck, she was mostly thorns, and God help him; he wanted to kiss, lick and rub every one. “You’re it, Katie Madigan.”

The air around them snapped and sizzled with something he couldn’t name. It was like a summer storm’s first bolt of lightning was about three seconds from cracking the sky in half, and he was a lone man on a hill holding a golf club straight up in the air.

Katie bit down on her bottom lip. He had to fist his hands to keep from reaching for her. Now wasn’t the time.

Later.

Please, God, let there be a later.

“Fine,” she said, her voice husky all of a sudden as she pulled her keys out of her purse. “Come on.”

They started toward her car. He’d made it three steps before a different kind of awareness made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Before he even glanced back, he knew in his gut what he was going to see, and he wasn’t wrong.

Alder and his friends had walked out of the theater and were headed for the trashed DeLorean.

Adrenaline rocketing through his veins, Frank pressed his hand to the small of Katie’s back and started fast walking, propelling her forward with him. They had about thirty seconds before the shit hit the fan. As soon as they got to her Pinto, he took the keys from her and unlocked the passenger door, and held it open for her.

Wide-eyed, she stared up at him. “Do you think you’re driving my car?”

“Katie, I love that you want to know everything about everything, but now is not the time.” He gave her a light shove into the passenger seat. “Sorry, but we gotta motor.”

He shut the passenger door on her shocked face and booked it around to the driver’s side. He unlocked the door right as the unmistakable sound of Yuppie rage rang out across the parking lot. Alder’s face was as red as the station firetruck when they locked eyes.

“Hartigan!” Alder yelled. “I’m gonna get you for this.”

Cocky smile in place, Frank gave that declaration all the respect it deserved by flipping the bird at the shithead. As long as he left Katie alone, Alder could come after Frank all he wanted.

Ignoring the other man’s hollering, Frank slid into the Pinto’s driver’s seat—or at least he tried to. There were definitely disadvantages to being six-six, and fitting into a subcompact was one of them. Katie was almost six feet, but Frank’s knees were nearly pressed into his chest when he folded himself behind the steering wheel, then reached beneath the seat for the lever that would slide it as far back as it would go.

Shooting Katie a grin that she did not return, not even a little bit, he pressed the clutch to the floor and turned the key in the ignition.

If this had been a movie, this was when he would have left behind nothing but burned rubber and the lingering scent of victory.

Instead, the piece of shit Pinto’s engine didn’t catch until the second try and then wheezed in its effort to pick up speed as he drove toward the parking lot’s exit. He shifted into the next gear and kept his eyes on the straight shot out of the parking lot even as Alder’s yelling got louder.

Fucking A. Did that douche canoe still run every day like he had in high school?