Chapter 1
Kace
Chance meetings. Some call it destiny or fate . . . But I'm not a philosopher. I want to know what makes it plausible before it makes any sense. I want to understand the psychology of these life-altering encounters that inevitably set the course of a person's life. It's how my mind works. It's what keeps me up at night.
Tap. Tap. Tap.My fingers fidget on the steering wheel. Destiny or not, here I am on the rainiest day in spring, about to do the one thing I swore I would never do. "Not on my life," I'd scoffed at the suggestion from my brother's fiancé.
“You never know, Kace. She could be exactly what you need.”
At the time, I rolled my eyes and shook my head, thinking that a blind date was the furthest thing from what I wanted or needed. What was the real reason behind these matchmaking endeavours? Did she want me to meet someone so I wasn’t so much of a fixture in their lives anymore?
I close my eyes and suck in a breath.Hold. Release. Hold, release,but then I open them, and it's back again. That nagging feeling that the earth will cave in on me. It won't, I remind myself. It hasn't for 4.54 billion years, and today was no exception. The rain pounds on the roof of my car, and the loud thrum does nothing to settle my nerves.
"Shit, it's pissing out there," a female voice shrieks, and I widen my eyes as a silver-haired stranger climbs into the passenger seat of my car uninvited.
She throws a few shopping bags in the backseat, grinning to herself, and then gasps when she finally notices me.
"What the fuck are you doing in my sister's car?" she yells. Her azure-blue eyes are wide with shock and confusion.
I stare at her, speechless at her audacity. She climbs into my car, sodding wet, might I add. and drenching the seats of my recently washed Toyota Corolla.
“Your sister’s car? I got news for you lady, this right here, is my car!” I object, and she grabs me by the lapels of my jacket and shakes me vigorously as is possible for a girl her size.
“You’re a thief, aren’t you? Oh my God! What have you done with Mac?”
I clench my jaw to stop myself from losing control. She’s invading my space, questioning me like a lunatic? Heat creeps up my face, and I try to shove her away. She’s pretty intense for a tiny thing.
A knock at the passenger window has us both glancing toward it. A woman in a hoodie which covers most of her face stands shaking her head, motioning for my passenger to exit the car.
Snowflake’s lips form a perfectO, and she lets go of my collar. She smooths it, pats it a few times as she flashes me a sheepish grin, and I shake my head. "Just go," I hiss.
"I'm so sorry," she says in a small voice as she gathers her bags and climbs out of my car. I don't bother responding. I just wave her off, watching as the two women brave the rain and make a dash to their car, which is the exact replica of mine, parked a few rows in front of me.
The nerve! My main concern is how to get my heartrate under control after that, how to loosen the tightness in my chest, and how I’m ever going to get out of this vehicle when it’s raining so hard. I slam my hands hard on my steering wheel.
Why the fuck am I so angry all the time? Why am I so anxious? Why am I justme?
I eventually bite the bullet and make a run toward the restaurant. The rain pelts down on me and I take it as the first strike. A few minutes later, I find myself sitting across from a petite blonde with eyes as blue as the summer sky. She's overly expressive, her hands moving around as she speaks trying and failing to fill the awkward silence that settles between us. I hate that I am sitting here soaking wet while she looks like she’s just stepped off a runway. I didn’t miss the once-over she gave me when I walked in.
“So, what do you do for a living?” she takes a large sip from her white wine glass. I’ve barely touched mine. My irritation from the events of the last hour and the girl with the white hair play over in my mind.
The age-old question. What do I say?Don’t tell them the truth.My brother's words ring in my head.Facts won't get you laid.But it sure as hell won’t make me feel like a fraud.
“I’m a dentist.” I clear my throat. I fold my hands across my chest.
She straightens in her chair, her interest immediately piqued. "Oh," she flutters her eyelids. Isn't it odd how a fancy title makes you a lot more interesting to women?
That infuriates me, and I have a good mind to leave her here with the bill, escaping through the service entrance.
I sigh. “How about you?” I twirl my food around my plate, my appetite diminishing by the second.
"I'm a fitness instructor," she tells me enthusiastically.
Go figure. This whole conversation is getting old. What happened to picking up girls in bars like the good old days? And then I remind myself I was never good at that. Jax was. He was the one who knew all the right things to say and do, and more often than not, I was left at the bar alone.
“You’re welcome to stop by my gym if you’re around. Not that you need it.” She reaches over and wraps an arm around my bicep.
I look down at her nails, painted bright pink, and I realize that the last thing I want is to see this woman again, but I'll play along.
