Page 22 of Chasing Wildflowers
He takes a cautious step forward, hands raised in front of him. “It’s just me.”
My eyes cautiously rake over the dimly lit parking lot. It’s completely empty except for my car.
My eyes narrow slightly. “Why are you waiting out here in the dark?”
Then I see it, his green Bronco, parked down the block, in the shadows. Giving him the perfect view of the door.
Has he been out here waiting for me all this time?
I take a subtle step back.
He doesn’t move, arms loose at his sides. “I just pulled in a few minutes ago. I wanted to make sure Luke didn’t harass you after work.” He nods towards my now flat tires. “Looks like it’s a good thing I did. Can I give you a ride home?”
I chew my bottom lip nervously, weighing my options. It’s weird that he came back, that he was waiting for me, right?
The smart thing to do would be to call Kam and pray she wakes up. Taking a ride from a man I barely know, at three in the morning, is how women end up on murder mystery podcasts.
I shift nervously on my feet. Jameson doesn’t exude serial killer energy, though. Then again, people said the same thing about Ted Bundy.
“You can take a picture of my ID and license plate and send them to Kam.” he adds softly.
My eyes flick between my car and him. Finally, my shoulders drop and I relent. Kam sleeps like the dead and it would probably take multiple calls to wake her.
“That would be great. Thank you,” I say, offering a grateful smile.
We stride across the pothole-filled parking lot, and across the street, him keeping a few steps behind. I reach for the handle, but his hand beats mine. His fingers brush against mine as he opens the door, sending zaps of electricity up my arm.
I slid in, the door closing with a soft thud, before he rounds the hood, slipping behind the wheel. When he turns the key,Voicesby Disturbed fills the cab, the bass vibrating through me.
His overwhelming scent and the music, intoxicating and grounding all at once, fill the space as he drives along the dimly lit street, following the directions I spouted off.
Despite the effortless ease radiating from him, I hug the edge of the seat, hand hovering over the door handle, just in case.
After a few minutes he breaks the silence. “So what’s the story with that guy?” He glances at me; one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually against the open window, the cool evening wind ruffling his dark locks.
I let out a breath, I hadn’t realized I was holding. “We hooked up for a while. He wanted more, and I didn’t. So I ended it, and he’s pissed.”
His hand tightens on the wheel, voice dropping lower. “Has he done anything like slashing your tires before?”
“No. That was a first. He’s just pissed and embarrassed. It’s a small town. He knows by lunch time tomorrow, everyone will know he got told off by me and thrown out of the bar by you.”
He winces and gives me an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about that. But there was no way I was letting him get away with how he spoke to you.”
“He probably would have slashed them anyway because I threatened to have him banned.”
My house comes into view, and a pang of disappointment hits me. “Thank you for the ride, and for kicking Luke out,” I murmur, reaching for the door handle.
“Lane.” His voice stops me. When I look back he's holding a small white rectangle between his fingers. “Take this in case Luke bothers you again.”
I look down. It’s a business card for the motel with his phone number scrawled across the bottom.
I look back up at him, hesitating. “The owner will take care of him. Honestly, I think he will leave me alone after this.”
He doesn’t budge. “Take it anyway. Just in case.”
My lips tilt up as I take the card, and our fingers brush just enough to send a shock of warmth rippling through me. The look in his eyes tells me I’m not the only one who felt it.
I reach for the door handle again, but pause glancing back. “Thank you. Goodnight, Jameson.”
