Chapter Two

Linkin

Lately, it’s rare that I find a moment’s peace. Between working two jobs and catching a little bit of sleep, I barely have time to eat, let alone sit on the couch and catch up on some grease monkey show on television. But that’s what I find myself doing this Sunday afternoon.

My apartment is a mess–like always–but that’s just because of the pair of yahoo visitors I had over last night. Two days’ worth of dishes are stacked in the sink, there’s crumbled cereal on the floor in front of the couch, and my laundry pile is big enough that I wonder if I even have a pair of clean jeans to wear to work tonight. But there’s a smile on my face.

There’s always a smile on my face when Jack and Jeff are here.

Ignoring the mess, I choose to relax a few minutes before heading to Lucky’s to work my shift. I’m a mechanic and restorer at Stapleton Auto, a small family owned auto business who restores classic and antique cars to their original state. The Stapletons have been in business two generations, from servicing cars and trucks of all makes and models, to specializing in the classics. One job restoring a souped-up a ’69 Shelby Mustang, that won fucking car shows all over the state of Virginia, changed the business. Sure, we still get the occasional standard repair job, but for the most part, we just refer them to the shop down the street.

Most nights, after the shop closes, you can find me slinging drinks at Lucky’s up town. I’m there four nights a week, including weekends. I get one Saturday night off a month and I use it to take my little brothers off my mom’s hands. At eight, they’re a handful, and without any help from the asshole who fathered them, I do everything I can to lend a hand.

And then some.

I grew up in another small town in Virginia called Westville, where I lived until about six months ago. Things happened between my mom and the asshole sperm donor of my little brothers that caused us to have to relocate. Staying in Westville wasn’t much of an option; not when everywhere she looked, everyone was watching with their fucking judgmental eyes.

Life hasn’t been easy for her and the boys, and I’m doing everything I can to make it simpler on them. That means working two jobs and living on little sleep so that I can be available when she needs some assistance.

A loud knock echoes from the hall. Glancing at the clock, I realize it’s getting close for me to head to the bar. I almost make it to the bathroom when the banging rings out once more, followed quickly by a voice. And he sounds pissed.

The voice doesn’t belong to Levi, the guy cattycorner to me. His voice is deeper and more masculine. This voice has a higher pitch to it, which instantly grates on my nerves. After the third round of pounding, I decide to find out what in the hell is going on.

The hallway is empty except for a guy standing in front of Abby’s door. My neighbor is quiet, never causes a problem, and is sleeping with the dude across the hall. I’ve talked to Levi more in the last month than I did total the five before it. He’s an all right guy, comes into Lucky’s every once in a while. I helped him carry some groceries and shit up to his apartment one day. We chatted for a bit about music and cars before I headed back to my place.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize the man standing before her door isn’t Levi. This guy is much shorter than my six-four frame, with barely an ounce of muscle to him. His Dockers are pressed and his polo spotless. He screams trust fund douche from a mile away, and I instantly don’t fucking like him.

And I haven’t even seen him from the front side.

“Hey, man, if you’re looking for Abby, she’s probably across the hall,” I holler from my doorway, eager to get the guy out of here.

“I’m not looking for Abby,” he says, turning and facing me. His lighter colored hair is styled with more product than I’ve used in my lifetime, and his eyes are a mix of blue and green. But what really catches my attention is the disdain dripping from his lips when he says, “I’m looking for my wife.”

“Wife?” I ask more to myself than the asshole in front of me.

“Alexis. Abby’s sister,” he says, walking towards me.

“You mean Firecracker?” I ask, instantly perking up a bit more as I recall the gorgeous spitfire I had a run-in with in the hallway a while back.

The jerk’s eyebrow rises to his hairline. “You know my wife?” he asks, skeptically.

“Uhhh, just met her once in the hallway with Levi. She was eating his ass for something.”

“My wife can be…difficult at times.”

“You don’t say,” I quip, fighting the grin that threatens to take over when I think about the way those hypnotic green eyes turned on me that morning several weeks back. I had never been so damn turned on by a woman threatening to cut off my balls before in my life. Hell, I thought about her for weeks after I left her standing in the hall with Levi, a look that can only come from Satan himself reflecting in those gorgeous eyes.

I was hooked from that moment on.

“I’m Chris Jacobson,” he says, extending his hand towards me.

My gut tells me he’s more trouble than meets the eye, but I’m not about to cause a scene in the hallway of my building. This guy’s obviously married to the woman I jerked off to more times than I can count, which probably puts me safely in the same douchebag category that I’ve got Chris safety tucked into. “Linkin Stone,” I say as I shake his hand, squeezing a little tighter than necessary.

“So you live next door?” he asks after pulling his hand from mine and giving it a slight shake. Probably to get circulation back in his fingers. Fucker.

“Yep.” Dumbass.

“You haven’t seen Alexis lately, have you?”

And because I can’t help myself (and I really don’t like this guy), I ask, “You don’t know where your wife is?”

He stammers and stutters a few moments before averting his eyes. “Well, we’ve had some trouble lately. She was staying with her sister for a short period of time, but I’ve come to collect.”

“Collect her?” What is this, the 1950s?

“Yes. It’s time she comes home. Where she belongs,” he says very matter-of-factly, like it’s a no-brainer.

“The only place I belong is away from you,” I hear behind me in a voice that screams sex. It’s raw and full of passion. Of course, there’s enough venom laced in those words to kill a cobra, but that just adds fuel to the burning lust I already have for her. What can I say? Her attitude and take-no-shit demeanor turns me on.

Bad.

“Alexis,” Chris says, stepping around me and walking towards his wife. Yeah, that fucking hurts to think about. Her eyes are hard with laser-sharp beams shooting straight at the man in front of her.

“Firecracker,” I whisper, not meaning to say it aloud. But when her eyes clash with my own, I swear the entire earth moves. Those deep green eyes soften a little and her breath catches. She scans my face, then takes in the way my black shirt molds to my arms and chest, before returning her gaze to my face. My dick goes from zero to sixty in less than a second.

My view of her is cut off when the douche steps in and kills the fantasy. “Listen, Alexis, I know you’re upset, but we can work this out. It’s time to come home,” he says directly, but I can hear the desperation in his words.

“Ain’t fuckin’ happenin’, Chris. There is no home. There is no us! There is nothing left because of you, and what you did!” she exclaims, stepping around him and heading towards the apartment next door.

“Sweetheart, I know you’re upset, but if you’d -” he starts, but is cut off when his wife spins around and gets in his face.

“If I’d what? Just listen to reason? Screw that and screw you, Chris. You got the papers Friday. This marriage is over. Over. Done. Finished. I want you to leave,” she says with force before turning her attention to opening her door.

“Alexis, don’t be difficult,” Chris says behind her, and I swear I can actually feel the loathing roll off her body. Of course, it’s not directed at me, but I can feel it the same. With my arms crossed over my chest, I relax against the wall and watch the show.

“Difficult? Difficult?!” she hollers. “Read my lips, Chris. I want a divorce. I want you out of this building and out of my life. There’s nothing difficult about that. It’s a simple signature on the indicated line. You sign, I sign, and we both get what we want.”

“That isn’t what I want. At all.”

“Yeah, well, now you know how it feels.” I have no clue what she’s talking about, but the asshole must. He lowers his head. “Go.”

“This isn’t over,” he whispers.

“It’s over,” she confirms with conviction. “Go.”

“I’m not leaving until we talk this through. We can make this work,” he starts, and that’s when I move. I’m walking up to them before I have a chance to consider my actions.

“I think the lady asked you to leave,” I state, arms still crossed at my chest.

He opens his mouth as if he’s ready to argue, but must think better of it. My face is hard as I give him my best “try me” face. I’ve perfected the look over the years; it comes with bartending at some pretty rowdy joints back in Westville.

“I’ll be in touch,” he says, turning and heading towards the elevator. Fortunately, it’s still on our floor since Lexi’s arrival just a few minutes ago.

“You can contact me through my attorney,” she replies, her own arms crossed at her chest. Only her actions push her perfect tits up and spilling out over the top of her shirt. It’s a marvelous view.

Silently, we watch and wait for him to leave, my eyes shifting to the elevator.

When the door is closed, I turn my attention back to her. “So, that was the husband, huh?”

“Ex.”

Stepping forward, I invade her personal space. Her eyes are alive with fire, but not in the way they were a moment ago with the douche. No, her eyes dance with a heady mixture of excitement and lust as she glares back at me. “Watching you tear him apart and eat him alive was so fucking hot,” I confess, touching the side of her cheek with my finger.

Her gasp echoes in the hall, invading my soul and filling my mind with dirty images. Ones of her and me, naked, and making little noises just like that. “I hear cold showers work wonders to help cool you down,” she suggests with a smirk.

“Are you joining me in said shower?”

“Not in this lifetime, bucko.”

“Shame. I’m sure you’d really know how to turn up the heat in the shower, Firecracker.” Again, I touch her face. I can’t seem to stop touching her. She should probably run in the other direction, fast. Hell, I should run the other way as quickly as possible. The last thing I need is a woman clouding up my brain, distracting my focus from helping my mom.

But I’m just a man.

A man with urges and needs, and those are directed at this little spitfire of a woman who makes me want to turn all caveman on her and throw her over my shoulder. I bet I could extract another of those sexy little gasps if I were to swat her ass.

Plus, throw in the fact that she’s technically married. That point alone is enough to make me want to look away. But I can’t. I’m drawn to her, like a moth to a flame. This desire I felt, even after only a brief meeting several weeks ago, clearly isn’t going away anytime soon. Not when she stands there with fire dancing in her eyes and a sadistically little smile on her lips. Oh, this woman is trouble, and I’m going to get burned.

“Well, whether that’s true or not, I guess you’ll never know,” she quips. My brain is picturing exactly what she’d look like naked in the shower. Of course, having my eyes glued to her ass when she turns to walk away helps those images. A lot.

“Maybe,” I reply with a smile.

“No maybe,” she fires back, returning her attention to me. Or at least I think she turns it back to me. I can’t tell. My eyes are still focused on the same spot her ass was just occupying. When I glance up at her eyes, I swear I’m scalded from the heat.

“Stop looking at my ass,” she chastises.

“It’s a nice ass,” I defend, refusing to look away from those hypnotizing green orbs.

“You’re impossible.”

“You like me.”

“No, no, I don’t. You’re…annoying and impossible and just like rattling my chain.”

Stepping closer yet until I can smell the scent of her lotion and see her throat bob as she swallows hard (a result of my nearness), I say, “You. Like. Me. You just don’t know what to do about it.”

Rolling her eyes, she fires back, “Don’t be so sure of yourself. You’re not that likeable.”

Lexi reaches back and finishes unlocking the door. Before she steps inside, she pauses, making my heart skip a beat and my boner stand up and say hello. “Thank you for helping me get rid of him,” she says softly, without turning and looking my way.

“Anytime he gives you trouble, come get me.”

Before she can slip inside and disappear on me, I reach forward and touch her arms. My gut tightens as my fingers dance along smooth, soft skin. I’ve never had a reaction like this to a woman. Never. So why her? Why this little hellion in heels? She’s already given me sleepless nights and wet dreams and I don’t even know her. I should stay as far away from her as possible, but if I know one thing about myself, it’s that I love a challenge.

And Lexi is that challenge.

I need to know if she’d be as dynamic in my bed as I imagine. I need to know if her skin tastes as sweet as a peach. I need to know if the rest of her body is as perfect as the parts I can see. I need to know the answers like I need my next breath. She’s ingrained on my mind, and there’s only one way to work her out of it.

The problem is, I just don’t see myself willingly letting go once I’ve had a taste.

Maybe I’ll end up being just like the douche who just left. Can’t let go, even though she’s clearly done. Though, I’m one hundred and ten percent sure there’s more to the story than. I’m nothing like that bastard, except that my eyes are set on her. I don’t know what their story is, but I’ll find out, and then I’m going to convince her to give in to this chemistry I know she feels. She’ll fight it, obviously. She’ll fight me. But in the end, she’ll cave. I know it.

Oh, it’s going to be damn fun convincing her.