Crash

If my history of failed relationships didn’t already prove it, this did. I was going to end up an old, malevolent shrew.

Taking a quick scan of the area, there was no sign of a man whose face, body, and smirk shunned the gods. I was irritated at myself for being disappointed.

Certain a guy like Jude knew exactly what he was doing and what his next play was going to be, I shot one more smile at the kennel before jogging to the Mazda. The mirror walls and wood floors were beckoning to me and, as I’d already admitted, dance came before boys.

With perhaps the exception of one.

Shaking my head and putting a heavy lid on my irresponsible, internal evil twin, I turned the key over in the ignition and blasted music until the speakers sounded like they were about to blow out.

I still couldn’t erase Jude Ryder from my mind.

I wiped out. Fell so hard on my ass it knocked the wind right out of me. The last time I’d taken a fall of any kind was when I was ten and on the second day on my pointes. I was mad the fall had cut my practice short. I was madder Becky Sanderson, who’d been bragging she was a shoo-in for Julliard since we were in grade school, had had a front row seat to it. I was maddest I’d have a bruise the size of Cape Cod on my derriere until winter break because I’d been thinking of a certain someone I most certainly shouldn’t have been.

Whatever and why ever it was, Jude had set off a grenade in my life that was decimating even the most sacred pieces in less than a twenty-four hour period.

I wanted to curse the maker for not completing the female cast with a delete slash purge button when it came to men, but I was too superstitious. I was convinced swearing at the divine was followed by a one way ticket to hell. And not the otherworld, Satan and demon dwelling hell. Hell on earth.

Let’s face it, I was already so close I needed to be on my best behavior every second of the day.

Pulling into the driveway, I slammed my head down on the steering wheel, trying to conceive of a viable equation for time travel so I could fast forward my life one year.

Because dogs were the most sensitive creatures on this earth, a hot, wet tongue slid up my cheek.

“Why can’t you be a teenage boy, Rambo?” I asked, scratching him behind his ears.

A yap and a doggy smile was his answer. My newest pet project, pun intended, earned himself a name last night at the Darcys’. Apparently a Rambo marathon played all night long and whenever Mr. Darcy had attempted to turn off the TV, the pup had gone all nutso on him, so he left it on and, by dawn, neutered male, mixed breed, scheduled for euthanization the same day I adopted him, had a new name.

“All right, boy,” I said, frowning at the beach house. “Let’s get this over with.” Scooping up all of Rambo’s twenty pounds, I beelined for the kennel like it was safe territory. Like if I proved I could contain him, I could keep him.

“Here’s your new house, Rambo,” I whispered as I shooed him inside. “Be a good boy and don’t dig, bark, or tear your doggy house to shreds, okay?”

He began inspecting the kennel right away, growling in the corners where I guessed a certain set of hands had spent a lot of time fastening nuts and bolts together.

“You’re not a big fan of Jude’s, are you?” I said, kneeling outside the kennel door. “Why is that?”

“Probably because dogs have great intuition.”

I was so startled by the voice behind me and its proximity to my neck that I stumbled back, falling on my butt. For a grand total of two times that day. At this rate, I was going to become the first prima klutz ever.

“Dammit, Jude,” I said as Rambo broke into a tirade. “There were these great one syllable words referred to as greetings that were invented so one person”—I motioned at him—“could alert another person before they—”

“Fell smack on their ass?” he finished, offering me that same grin that had been my undoing yesterday and, as my twisting gut was proving, today as well.

“Startled them,” I finished, about to push myself off the ground when he reached for my hands and pulled me up. I told myself the warmth, the heat, that trickled into my veins at his touch had everything to do with the hot as Hades summer day.

Even in my most authoritative voice, I wasn’t very convincing.

His smile ticked higher. His eyes flickered. He knew exactly what his touch was doing to me. And I hated that he knew.

“Sorry I startled you,” he said, letting go of my hands.

“Sorry you knocked me on my ass, you mean?” I smirked at him, wishing he wouldn’t look at me like he could see and hear everything taking place below my skin.

His eyes rolled to the sky. “I’m sorry for all prior, current, and future offenses I make in your presence.”

From behind, I heard Rambo start lapping up some water from his bowl. “All jokes and banter aside,” I said, “thank you. This is quite possibly the nicest thing anyone’s done for me.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he stared at me. “It was no big deal.”

“Yeah, it is,” I said, not about to let him wave this off as no big thing. “Although I’m curious as to how you got this thing built without anyone hearing or noticing.”

“It helps that I’m a fence making ninja,” he said, giving me a twisted smile, “and it also helps that I live next door.” Pointing his chin at the next cabin over, he arched a brow at me and waited.

“It was your family that bought the place from the Chadwicks last fall?” I asked, gazing at the A-frame cabin next door. I’d been under the impression it was still vacant.