Detour: A Creekwood Novel (Creekwood Series Book 1)

“Hey, neighbor girl,” Beckett singsongs from their back balcony. “Have fun at school today. Make sure you learn something new.” He laughs when I flip him off without even turning to face him.

I continue walking all the while ignoring their commentary like I’ve done every other day this week they’ve done this. Ever since falling asleep on their couch, there’s been a companionable understanding between us. It’s been friendly, pleasant even, and they’ve chosen to celebrate our newfound friendship with an embarrassing send-off each morning.

Although I’d never admit it, I look forward to our new routine. The boys have such a laidback dynamic that it’s easy to get swept up in their easy ways. Plus, they make me laugh which is always a bonus, even if most of Beckett’s jokes are dirty.

Peeking up at them, I notice he has one of his signature bike shirts that offers up a double entendre, this one saying Put The Fun Between Your Legs. He’s donning work pants and a backward Seahawks hat. He’s adorable. And mischievous. Always mischievous, that one. He’s leaning his forearms over the railing, looking over at the school entrance. He’s just as protective as Coty, I’ve noticed, but is more selective as to when he lets it show. He has more restraint. When he’s not drunk anyway.

Coty, however, has the subtlety of a caveman banging his club over your head. I watch his eyes scour the other students before landing back on me. I smile shyly at being caught watching him. He knows the effect he has though and smiles back brightly. He’s wearing a crisp, white button up shirt today with the sleeves rolled up. His hair is styled like he gave it the old college try but then said ‘screw it’ making it look naturally mussed. He’s leaning back in one of the patio chairs with his ankles crossed on the table. His slightly distressed jeans counteract the nice shirt just enough to give him a bad-boy-who-also-means-business look. That man is yummy on a bad day and today he’s downright delectable.

I trip over my own foot, producing a round of laughter from above.

A pajama bottom clad Marc silently watches the whole thing but joins in when I stick my middle finger higher for the whole group. My bratty attitude only intensifies their amusement.

After saying our goodbyes, I study my shoes as they clap across the pavement the rest of the way. The entire student body is busy thrusting their yearbooks in people’s faces in hopes of getting some profound accolade they assume someone’s been thinking about them but never shared due to lack of opportunity. Eye. Roll. I skipped out on that tradition along with the class ring. I enjoy the freedom to buy things for myself but normally only out of necessity. My two exceptions to this rule being sneakers and sugary treats.

Ever since freshman year when some asshole pointed out I had holes in my shoes, I’ve made it a point to never get caught in ragged footwear again. They’d been my only pair of shoes for two years in a row—even after my feet had outgrown them by a size and a half. I used a toothbrush with bleach on them every night to give the illusion they were new despite them causing painful cramps and blisters daily. When my toes finally cut through the tops, having nowhere else to go, there was no way for me to cover what they were any longer. It was humiliating to have it pointed out by another person though. It’s one thing if it’s something out of my control but I tried really hard to make the best out of that particular situation.

My mother refused to take me shopping for school clothes, blaming my old ones not fitting anymore on me by saying I was “getting fat thanks to my nonstop eating.” A teenage girl going through puberty with a below average appetite from stress and lack of food available? What an inconvenience I must’ve been.

As for the sweets, well, that’s obvious—they’re delicious. I would spend my last dollar on a cupcake liner full of sugar topped with frosting. That’s just good sense.

* * *

It’s not until I park next to Joe’s F-250 later that I realize I forgot to grab a hat for work. Great.

I hop out, quickly clocking in. Joe stops me on my way to the dryer though and asks me to stay late to wash the bay windows. Groaning inwardly, I agree. Washing the windows is a bitch. It’s done after hours, meaning you don’t earn any tips, and takes forever. The employees take turns doing it each night. I haven’t had to for a while so it’s not that surprising, but I still don’t like it. Especially since that puts me here alone with Joe. I shiver at that thought.

Just as a tiny hatchback rolls through, I hear Joe call my name over the dryers. A thumb over his shoulder, he shouts, “someone’s asking for you out back,” then takes over for me.

It’s unusual for somebody to request me specifically but Drew’s done it before when he’s stopped by randomly. Which is why I’m even more surprised to find Beckett’s large Tahoe idling on the track.

I smile as I grab the spray gun, starting at the front grill. It’s not that dirty so I quickly hose it down then move up to wet the windshield. That’s when I realize it’s not Beckett looking back at me, it’s Coty. And he looks like the Cheshire Cat as soon as I notice him. Fighting a smile, I continue spraying, moving around to the passenger side as I go. I round to the back, soaking the entire SUV then reach over to activate the track. By the time the rollers make it to the tires, I’ve already hosed down the side, and am finishing up at the front fender.

I place the spray wand back in its holder but when I twist back around, I almost collide with the now open driver’s door. Before I can jump back, Coty darts his arms out, yanking me inside by my waist. I awkwardly land on his lap with an oomph. He closes the door just as the Tahoe begins rolling forward on the belt.

A look behind us reveals nobody’s waiting to be helped. Thankfully.

I reach for the handle but Coty blocks me with his hand. This can’t be happening. If my boss sees this, he’ll either fire me or expect the same treatment and I honestly don’t know which is worse.

Next, scrambling for the center console, Coty thwarts my attempt by wrapping an arm around my middle effectively gluing me to his lap. The side sprayers kick on, hiding us from view under the constant stream of water.

Barking out a humorless laugh, I lean forward so I can look at him. There’s no way he could’ve managed this in his Camaro. He knew what he was doing when he brought Beckett’s ride.

Although his outfit is still impeccable, he now has an all-black hat, slightly crooked, over his previously styled hair. The bad boy side that was merely peeking through before is currently in full view. He’s wearing an unapologetic smirk and damn if I don’t feel like making him sorry.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He counters my question with one of his own. “Guess who I just ran into?”

I shrug, having no idea who we could possibly have in common.

“Your boy Drew.” Coty leans forward, lowering his hands on my hips, making it difficult to concentrate. “And his girlfriend.”

Who? Wait, what?

“Yeah, funny story. He was all over some blonde chick and when I got in his face—you know, to defend your honor—she jumped in to explain the situation. That your friend Drew is her boyfriend and that you two have never even dated. Dude wasn’t very forthcoming but he agreed with everything she said.” He waits a beat then accuses, “You lied to me.”

A harsh laugh escapes me as I shake my head, feeling my fishtail braid brush the glass from the movement.

“I never said he was my boyfriend. I went along with insinuations you guys made all on your own. I didn’t disagree when you made the stupid assumptions, yeah, but I never lied. I moved in next to three grown men who party, ride motorcycles, and are always in my business. What the hell did you expect me to do? Wave a red flag in front of myself saying ‘easy target here’? I don’t think so.”

I study the rainbow soap coating the windshield. The incredibly fruity aroma with a distinct chemical undertone—a smell I should be accustomed to, but the fresh air usually helps to cut the detergent’s strength down significantly—now threatens to overwhelm my senses.

Coty crowds my back with his muscular chest, surrounding me. His signature scent overpowers the soap, helping me to easily drown in him instead.

“Bullshit. You wanted to make me jealous.”

I close my eyes, trying to trick my mind into thinking this isn’t really happening. Not here. Not now. “Why would you be jealous, Coty? I thought we were friends.” We were totally nailing that whole friend thing by the way.

“You know why.”

Fine, maybe we weren’t nailing the whole friend thing after all.

“What’s your plan here? To make me pay for some lie you think I fed you? You have less than a minute…” I cock my eyebrow in the rearview mirror, letting that thought sink in.

“Babe, I’d close this whole fucking place down if I wanted to teach you a lesson.” I could call his bluff but I’m not out of moves yet. “Go for a ride with me.”

His breath fans across my neck, producing goose bumps. Everywhere.

“No.”

Coty stomps on the brake just as the mitter curtain covers the entire front end, darkening the inside of the car. The tire goes over the roller, activating the alarm. The alarm is meant to stop an accident from happening if cars on the belt at the same time are close together and one jumps a roller. It shuts down the entire conveyor belt until someone can clear it for restart. He essentially just bought himself a couple more minutes, at least.

He’s smart, I’ll give him that.

His hands glide lower, causing me to wiggle with an ache that’s settled between my legs. He pushes down on my bare thighs, groaning for me to stop moving.

“Come for a ride with me. Please,” he murmurs again, this time against my cheek. He’s now wrapped around my entire back until I don’t know where I end and he begins. His touch is too much and not enough all at the same time, and I fight the urge to beg, shamelessly, for more. Or less. Anything to make this needy ache go away. He’s everywhere but where I don’t want to need him. His spicy coconut musk surrounds me much like the foam still surrounding the vehicle and I can barely function at this point.

“Why?”

“I want to show you something,” he pleads. Massaging my inner thighs brings me in even harder on his erection. At least I’m not the only one affected by this grinding.

Friendsville made for a nice rest stop and all, but it looks like we’re back on the road to something much, much more intimate.

I’m damn near panting as I try to clench my thighs together, however the steering wheel in the way forces my legs to stay spread apart. I scoot forward, anything to get some control back—if I ever had any to begin with—but Coty holds me firmly in place. I shift again because he’s right there and it’s taking everything in me not to start this ride he keeps asking for here and now.

“Stop. Moving.”

BOBI ANDONOV’s voice drifts through the car speakers, the alarm still blaring outside.

“I’m not going to have sex with you,” I rasp out, not even convincing myself.

His snicker comes out somewhat strained as well. “Who said I want to have sex with you?”

Fingertips dance across my thighs, igniting a fire that I know can burn him, too. I roll my hips achingly slow once on his lap, barely stopping when my whole body is dying to repeat the movement. We both groan at the friction. The sound alone has me dying to rub on him like a cat in heat but somehow, I manage to remember my original point.

I turn my head to the side, and lips against his, I ask, “You don’t?”

“Brat.”

“I’ve been called worse.” I shrug lightly.

His eyes bounce between mine. “By who?”

Cupping my jaw with his hand, he prevents me from turning away. Softly stroking my cheek, he closes his eyes then I feel his tongue ever-so-gently lick my top lip. It’s such a sweet gesture, almost like he’s asking for permission. My moan being the only sign he needs, he seals his lips to mine. The contact is thrilling yet unnerving all at once. The car wash is forgotten, the boundaries I’ve been setting all along are forgotten, hell, I’m pretty sure my own name is forgotten in that twinkling of time.

Tilting his head for better access, the alarm shuts off and the Tahoe jerks forward again. The sudden movement breaks both the kiss and the moment. I fly forward, trying to clear the fog Coty’s enveloped me in.

The final rinse showers the Tahoe from all angles, ridding the colorful foam along with the barrier it provided.

Coty doesn’t get the memo regarding space, however, as he runs his hand up my spine all the way to my hairline, then gently grips the back of my neck. He caresses the spot below my ear, pleading, “Say you’ll come with me.”

Afraid to use my voice, I nod.

Once the driver’s door clears the nozzles, I step out. I don’t know where Joe is but I don’t want him to see me on a customer’s lap. I won’t risk losing this job even if Coty is more than just some customer. I’ll use the alarm as an excuse for my absence, should he bother asking.

Skirting around the dryers, I’m relieved to find my station Joe-free. The alarm should’ve kept him plenty busy. No business wants a lawsuit on their hands, not even a mismanaged one like Hot Spots.

Towels in hand, I dry the Tahoe off, feeling the weight of Coty’s gaze the entire time. Saving his door for last like usual has my stomach in knots though. What if he tries to tip me? That alone would dirty something that already feels pretty damn risky.

When I’m done wiping the doorjamb, I see him reach in the back. Swiftly, I move to close the door when he catches it, presenting a takeout bag—not money.

“I brought you dinner. That’s what I was doing when I saw Drew and his girl. That was my plan from the beginning. I was going to bring you food for your break, that’s all.” He smiles, hands up in innocence. “I swear I didn’t have any ulterior motives.”

“You don’t need to buy me anything. I can pay for my own food.” I toss the towels in the hamper.

“Just take it. I already ate mine and it’ll go bad before the others get home.”

I purse my lips. His excuse is flimsy at best, but he did go through the trouble of getting me dinner, knowing I had to work.

On a sigh, I take the bag. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Where’s your hat today? Don’t you usually wear one?”

He takes his off, tossing it to me when I explain I forgot mine. I catch it easily but his eyes harden at something over my shoulder the next minute, then he’s pulling out.

Careful of my helix piercing, I put the hat over my head, pulling my braid through the back. Turning around, I jolt finding Joe a few feet away, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. How long has he been there?

I bypass him, hoping to skirt by without incident. Joe’s been so unpredictable lately. Luckily, he lets me go unbothered. I chance a look back from inside only to find Joe still staring after Coty.

I hear the dryers come on, so I hurry to drop off my dinner before I miss the car and the chance for a tip. Luckily, Joe’s gone when I return.

I’ll have to stay alert tonight. If there’s one thing I learned from my mother, it’s to never be an easy target. Judging from Joe’s lazy authority, his aim probably isn’t very good anyway but you never know. Even lightning can strike twice.

Just a little bit longer.