Give Me Yesterday (9 page)

Not with kid gloves.

But instead with bare, naked, strong hands.

She slides into the car as if she was born to do so and I close the door behind her. Once I get in and settled behind the wheel, I flash her a grin.

“I hope you like barbecue.”

I don’t give her time to argue before I pull away from the building. The engine craves to be tested and abused. But, I never drive more than the posted speed limits. Oftentimes, the tiger beneath the hood bucks and jumps against her cage with the desire to peel out or haul ass down the highway.

I never give in to the beast.

“Why are you driving so slowly?” she questions in horror as I travel down Whacker Drive going thirty miles per hour.

“Because that’s the speed limit, babe.”

She huffs and I’m not sure if it’s from the pet name or my refusal to go any faster. I let her stew in silence as we drive toward the place where I’d like her help. When I pull into the parking lot of the home improvement store, she jerks her head toward me.

“Why are we here?”

The smoke from the cooker out front, boasting Billy’s Bada$$ BBQ, blurs the air within the parking lot. As soon as I park the car, the heavenly aromas waft their way into the car.

“That,” I say and point at the barbecue stand, “is why we’re here.”

Her stomach growls again and I chuckle. “And,” I tell her, reaching for my paint swatch in the backseat, “We’re here because I need to pick out some paint. You’re a girl and girls are good at that shit.”

Not waiting for her to respond with some feminist remark, I climb out of the car and make my way over to her side where she’s already scrambling out.

“I can’t waste my entire day traipsing around with you, Chase,” she barks. But, I don’t miss the way her eyes cut a sideways glance to the barbecue that is making my mouth water and no doubt hers too.

“An hour, Tori. That’s all I ask of you.”

Moments later, we’re parked at a dirty picnic table which buzzes with annoying flies, but neither of us are deterred from devouring our chopped brisket sandwiches that are dripping with the best-flavored sauce this side of the Mississippi.

“Oh my God,” she whines after polishing off her sandwich and picks at her fries. “You’re going to make me fat.”

I bellow with laughter. “Hate to break it to you, Grumpy, but your ass needs some meat on it.”

She scrunches her nose at me and she’s cute as fuck doing it. “There’s nothing wrong with my ass.”

My lips draw up in a crooked grin. “No, babe, there is certainly nothing wrong with that ass. But, I could inspect it further, just in case.”

A giggle—so damn sweet—rings out in the air and she tosses her rolled up napkin at me. “Why am I here with you again?” she mutters in faux annoyance.

The truth is, though, she’s having fun. Much to her apparent disbelief.

Good, I’ll make sure she continues having more fun moments in her life.

“Come on, time is money, Tori,” I chide as I stand and hold my hand out to her. “Someone wise once told me that.”

She rolls her eyes but meets my hand with hers, not an ounce of hesitation in her movement. My heart fist pumps the air at breaking her down little by little. I’m telling her about a few more places that have great food as we enter the store and make our way to the paint department.

When Cliff, a full-time worker who I know by name, sees me, he pretends that he hasn’t and mutters to the other gal that he’s taking his break. I frown, but push it away the moment I stand in front of “Darla,” according to her name tag.

“Can I help you?” she questions in a flat, bored tone.

Not releasing Tori’s hand, I slap the swatch down on the counter. “I need a gallon of the expensive indoor paint, eggshell, in this color.”

She nods and snatches it from the counter. But, before she leaves me, I stop her. “And,” I say with a tight voice, “it has to match exactly. Pay close attention to the numbers you enter. We’ll need to open it after so I can be sure.”

Tori’s hand sweats in mine and I risk a glance at her. She’s watching me with a frown, not her usual frown, though. A concerned one. And while I love the new expression on her face, embarrassment slinks down my spine and I can feel it heat my cheeks.

“Sure, whatever.” Darla smirks before turning away to her task.

The moment she’s gone, Tori speaks, “Why is this paint color so important?”

Dropping my gaze to the countertop that is speckled with many different paint colors, I shrug my shoulders at her. “It just is.”

I can tell she wants to ask more questions, but she drops it, accepting my lack of desire at wanting to explain my reasoning.

“What are you painting?” she asks finally.

Turning to her, I notice her eyes darting back and forth—the lawyer quick at work inside her head—as she tries to figure out my unusual behavior.

“A wall.”

My short answer drives her mad, and I revel in how cute she is with her brows pinched together in annoyance. “I hope you have fun painting your wall,” she clips out.

I laugh and it breaks down the mood. “Don’t get all mad at me. You’re going to help. Tonight.”

And the Ice Queen with the dagger eyes and mouth that devours baby kittens is back…

I
nside my head, I’m sputtering for a response to Chase’s outrageous claim that I would help him paint a wall. I manage to keep my face set in stone, but I’m sure that my eyes reflect my astonishment.

“I don’t paint, Mr. Monroe.”

It’s meant to be a kind of dig and put some distance between us, but amusement flashes in his eyes. Those sexy as hell, molten chocolate, panty-melting, shiver-inducing eyes.

Get it together, girl!

Ten years of abstinence and in a matter of days, it goes out the window?

Pathetic.

I stifle a sigh at my turbulent emotions—and physical reactions—and glare at Chase. He winks at me. Ugh—damn sexy, fucking wink. Is there anything about this guy that doesn’t scream naked bodies and twisted sheets?

“Dr. Monroe.” Obviously seeing the confusion on my face, he continues, “It’s Dr. Monroe. Feel free to call me that in the bedroom. Otherwise, it’s Chase, babe.”

This time I can’t keep from stammering out loud, fighting off the heat that nickname just shot straight to my core. “I don’t—that’s not—I don’t do bedrooms either.”

“Seriously?” Chase looks utterly flabbergasted. “You sleep on the couch in your living room? I hope you aren’t camping out on the floor. Mice and bugs and stuff.”

His shudder is over the top and his laughing eyes give away that he’s teasing.

“First of all, you would never find mice or bugs in my apartment. Second, I meant I don’t do bedroom activities with the opposite sex.”

Immediately, I want to call the words back.

“Really now?” Chase looks intrigued. “With the way your body reacts to me, I wouldn’t have pegged you for a lesbian. Or…do you mean to tell me that your bedroom activities are limited to you and Mr. Buzzy? Which, by the way, you could do so much better if you upgraded to a doctor.”

I stand there, my mouth open, wordless, and feel heat on my cheeks spreading down to my neck. I can’t remember the last time I blushed, which renders me even more speechless. Once I get myself together, I finally speak, “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

I applaud myself for my even and somewhat haughty tone, convinced it will shut him up and close the door on this ridiculous topic.

“You know that ‘sexy librarian’ voice is a total turn on, right?”

At this point, I’m so flustered I can’t think straight. Lucky for me, Darla returns at that moment and Chase is distracted. His entire countenance changes, becoming agitated and serious. I want to ask him about it, dig for the reason behind this change. But, that might prompt him to think he has been given the green light to do the same with me.

Darla drops the can on the counter and turns to the register, tapping her fake nails on the side of the machine. Chase thumbs the counter with his knuckles impatiently. “I need you to open it, please.”

She rolls her eyes and turns back to the paint can, prying it open, then placing her hands on her hips and raising a brow, her own impatience radiating. I want to snap at her to stop being such a bitch, but it’s Chase’s fight, not mine. So, I stay silent.

He examines the paint, turning it right and left, inspecting it close to the swatch. Finally, he seems somewhat satisfied and returns the lid to the can.

“That’s close enough.”

Again with the eye roll—this girl is getting on my nerves.

I put on my bitchiest, Ice Queen face and lean slightly forward, satisfied with my intimidation factor when she steps back awkwardly. “I sincerely hope that you are simply having a bad day and don’t treat all of your customers this way. Even so, your personal life should not affect your professional life. Now, I suggest you put a smile on your damn face and at least
pretend
you know what customer service is, and treat Dr. Monroe with some respect.”

Darla blinks and then smiles tremulously. “Let me just seal that lid back up, Dr. Monroe. Will there be anything else for you today? Or for you?” She swallows and casts me a timid glance. “Ma’am?”

“Nah, we’re good Darla, thanks.” Chase’s voice sounds weird, so I turn to look at him and see him struggling valiantly not to laugh. I narrow my eyes at him, daring him to let it out and ruin the intense atmosphere I’ve created.

He purses his lips and turns back to inspecting the can of paint Darla has just placed before him on the counter. After paying, he thanks her with a brilliant smile and a wink. She blushes and I feel an odd, sharp sensation in my chest. A growing irritation at their interaction. I don’t like to see him winking at another female. I’m struck when I come to this realization. Holy shit, I’m jealous.
Unacceptable Tor—Victoria.

We leave the store and return to Chase’s sweet ride. Even for someone who doesn’t know much about cars, I understand the sex appeal of this one. It’s an orgasm on wheels and with Chase as its driver, the combination is lethal. The ride back to my office is quiet, but it’s a comfortable silence, without the aura of awkwardness I expected.

He maneuvers the car into the drive and puts it in park. He turns to me and reaches out, tucking stray strands of hair behind my ear. “I’d walk you up, but I get the feeling I’ll have an easier time getting you to come over tonight if I don’t piss you off.”

I almost laugh, but I focus, needing to make it clear that I will not be joining him this evening. Before I can get a word out, he sticks out his hand in front of me, palm facing up. I stare at it, not understanding the gesture.

“Phone, babe.”

He smiles at me and before I even realize what I’m doing, my phone is in his possession and he is tapping away. Then I hear his cell start playing “Highway to Hell.”

Seriously?

“Now you’ve got my number,” he says as he tosses my phone back to me. “What’s your address? I’ll pick you up tonight at seven.”

I start to shake my head, but he cuts off any reply I might have made, “Nope, you’re not going to meet me at my house. I’m not giving you the chance to back out last minute. Besides, I don’t want you taking the train so late at night. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

With a reluctant huff, I ramble off my address.

Then he leans over and places a chaste kiss on my cheek before running a finger down my nose and taps the tip. “Now scoot, you’ve got work and I’ve got shit to do.”

There’s that smile again…

In a daze, I grab my purse and get out of the car, meeting his eyes one last time before turning and walking to the entrance of my office building. Despite the presence of the valets and the fact that it’s broad daylight, he waits until I am inside before driving slowly away in that chick magnet of his. I hope his speed was indicative of the fact that he was staring my way as well, seemingly a little bit lost in a fog caused by me.

Many minutes after he’s gone, the hazy fog in my own brain begins to clear and I am suddenly able to think again. What just happened? The little devil on my shoulder is laughing and pointing at me.
You got handled.