Page 35 of Undeniable
She retreated inward, biting that lip again as she lifted her elbow off the console and turned her attention out the passenger window.
Several minutes passed as a soupy tension stretched between us.
“I’m sorry for bringing up Josh again, Midnight. But I need to know.” I got the vibe something bad had happened between them.
One thing I couldn’t stomach was a man physically hurting a woman. My cousin had been subjected to domestic violence, and she’d suffered greatly, and if it wasn’t for Chelsea House for Battered Women, she would probably be dead.
She bared her teeth at me. “Look, you’ve been a nice guy. I appreciate you giving me a ride, but I don’t have time for relationships.”
Whoa! I felt like she drove a knife through my heart. A minute ago, we were having an easy conversation.
“Is it so wrong that I want to protect you?”
“I don’t need protecting or feeling suffocated,” she bit out, sharp and cold.
For the final stretch home, I dialed up the volume on the radio and focused on the road. By the time I was pulling into the driveway of the well-landscaped Armstrong mansion, the tension was so thick that it would take a saw to cut through it.
I parked behind a Volvo and was about to jump out to open Mazzie’s door, but she beat me to it.
“Thanks for the ride.” She flew out as though I were a monster.
Gutted wouldn’t begin to describe how I felt. I guessed she wouldn’t be going to the homecoming game.
I sat there for a long minute as I watched her. Before she grabbed the handle, Bailey came out, and Mazzie rushed inside.
Bailey appeared dazed and confused as she hurried over to my truck in her bare feet. I could see why Erik was into her—big tits, curvy waist, pretty green eyes, and wavy strawberry-blond hair. All attributes right up Erik’s alley.
I rolled down my window.
“What happened to Mazzie?” Bailey asked. “I know she got fired, but when I talked to her, she seemed okay. Now, she’s upset.”
“I asked if Josh had hurt her before tonight. Did he?”
“Not to my knowledge. If he did, though, he wouldn’t have a dick left. Have you met Mazzie?”
I chuckled, but I wasn’t convinced that asshole hadn’t hurt her.
“Lucas, watch your back,” she warned. “Josh is super jealous. You know the type—if he can’t have her, no one else will.”
Josh didn’t matter. Mazzie did. But after tonight, I doubted she would want anything to do with me, and that made me want to crawl in a hole and die.
12
Lucas
Saturday at the casino had been both exhilarating and depressing. Since then, I’d been having a difficult time sleeping and concentrating on classes and everything else. It was no longer my dad who had my mind bending in ways that disrupted my life. It was Mazzie. I worried that Josh would do something to try to force her to see he was the right guy for her. Maybe I was jealous. Regardless, Erik had found out from a gal he’d dated who worked in student services that Josh Turley was a junior, studying agriculture. We also learned that he came from a family of big-time cattle ranchers in Cedar Ridge, which I already knew from Mazzie. As much as it pained me to keep my distance from her, she’d made it a point that she didn’t want to be suffocated. Not that I was that type of guy. But for fuck’s sake, I was only trying to keep her safe.
Hooking my sunglasses in my golf shirt, I ran into the Orchard Creek Country Club, darted down the hall lined with pictures of wedding events and PGA golfers who’d played the championship course, and slid to stop at the podium where a petite hostess was absorbed on her phone.
“Hi, Laura,” I said, reading her nametag. “I’m looking for my mom, Priscilla Allen. She has blond hair like mine.” I didn’t see my mom among the occupied tables behind the hostess.
My history professor had kept me after class to discuss my failed grade on a quiz and setting me up with a tutor, so I was late in meeting my mom for lunch.
The hostess pointed at the French doors. “She’s out on the terrace.”
I breezed through the club’s refined restaurant that screamed money. Warm wood tones, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the course, elegant atmosphere, and a list of wines I couldn’t afford. My mom had suggested this spot because she was scoping out the venue for Chelsea House for Battered Women’s charity event in early December. They were planning a golf tournament to raise money. Last year, I’d been involved in helping to set up an auction for dates with Lakemont’s football players.
My mom sat prim and proper, looking as pretty as ever in her flowered sundress, reviewing the menu.
