Disrupt Page 10

  She’s single-handedly putting cracks in walls I need in place in order to survive. Each time she looks up at me with those innocent doe-like blue eyes my brain goddamn melts. Maybe—fucking maybe—I could deal if it was just the never-ending need I have to be inside of her, but it’s so much more than that. I’m celibate and damn good at it because the idea of being touched makes me ill. Until now. Until her. I want to fuck, mark, protect, and claim her as mine. Each one of those desires is alien to me but, it’s the need to claim that has me up pacing every night. I don’t do need, and I sure as hell won’t ever be able to do anything about my desires.

  I grimace as I glance down at my still semi-hard cock. Stubborn fucker wants her bad enough to stay hard in spite of the deluge of icy cold water beating down on me. Setting my forehead against the shower wall, I turn the situation over in my mind. It was easier to keep her at arm’s length in the beginning. Things started to change the night I went to get my mail and saw how distraught she was. When she explained that she was upset because of her dad, a little sliver of I don’t even fucking know what thawed inside me. The next thing I knew I was announcing that I’d find him. Ever since then I’ve been far, far nicer to her than I should be because it feels like being an asshole to her is equivalent to kicking an angel. After that night at the front desk I knew she didn’t deserve to have some jaded asshole treat her like an annoyance, which has really fucked me up.

  Suddenly the fog in my head clears and a lightbulb goes on. That’s it. I haven’t been able to shut her out because I know she’s in a rough spot. All I need to do is double down and find her father. Once that’s taken care of I can go back to not caring. And maybe, just maybe, things will work out so well with her dad that she’ll leave and go back where she came from.

  Ignoring the rolling wave of discomfort that thought evokes, I grab my bar of soap and start lathering up. Operation find Eden’s dickhead father is getting kicked into high gear. I’ve been looking for him, but not in a desperate way because part of me has been afraid that shit will go from bad to worse for her if I find him and he doesn’t want to see her. Now I realize that I just need to go hard. If he doesn’t want to see her when I find him, I’ll make him change his mind—no matter what it takes. She deserves a father that cares about and protects her—and I’ll do whatever it takes to make damn sure that happens.

  13

  Eden

  My brow furrows as I hold two hangers up and try to decide which fleece I want. I’ve narrowed it down to aqua and black, but I’m having trouble pulling the trigger. I know the black will go with everything, which of course makes it the more practical choice, but I’m no Donovan. I like color. Thinking of him makes me cringe because last night was a freaking disaster. I know how to do many things, but I guess it’s obvious that being a good hostess is not a skill I possess. Scowling, I hang the black fleece up and head to the part of the store where the leggings are on display.

  With the aqua fleece slung over my left arm, I start searching through the black leggings for a pair in petite small. I’m not even a little surprised when I can’t find my size. Stores don’t cater to shorties the way they should. Ah well, leggings are easily acquired online, so it’s fine. Satisfied that I was able to find a fleece I like, I head to the register. Like everywhere I go in town, I’m greeted by name. I smile and make small talk with Linda, the owner of the store. I love knowing the people around town—and I really like that they’ve all welcomed me. This town has become my home, something I didn’t realize I would need as much as I have in the aftermath of what happened with my dad.

  To get my mind off the other stressful situation in my life, I’ve spent the last two hours thoroughly exploring Main Street. When in doubt, a little retail therapy always helps, and after my failed attempt at dinner conversation with the man in black, I definitely need it. I gave myself a two hundred dollar budget to shop and so far I’ve only spent a hundred and sixty. A hundred at the clothing store went to the fleece, some fluffy socks, a pale pink t-shirt, and a pair of cheap sunglasses, and then sixty on a lacy bra and underwear set from Decadent Lingerie a few blocks down. I tried and failed—miserably—not to imagine what Donovan would think if he saw me in the champagne colored set.

  Stepping out of the clothing store, I turn my face toward the sun and take a deep breath. As I do, the feeling of being watched slides over me. Letting out a heavy sigh, I glance around and look for the source of the sensation. Ever since the night I went off half-cocked and accused Donovan of watching me, I’ve gotten this same sense a few more times. As usual when I look around, I see nothing. My senses are clearly playing tricks on me, which is annoying. It’s not like I’m freaking myself out or anything—yes, I feel like eyes are on me, but it’s not as though I feel there’s malice to it.

  Shoving the idea of being watched aside I walk a bit farther down the street to Kandy Land to treat myself to some candy and to order something special for Margie. The bell above the door jingles as I enter, the scent of sugary confections assailing my senses. Looking up from the display case, Kandy waves at me. “I hope you like vanilla pomegranate acai,” she says in a singsong voice. “I’ve been experimenting with flavors again and I think this one is a winner.”

  There’s a little extra pep in my step as I hurry across the shop to the counter. “Sign me up,” I laugh. “Your candy is so good that even if you told me the new flavor was road tire and apple butter I’d try it out.”

  Kandy snickers as she bends down, opens the display, and takes out a purplish blue candy from one of the top trays. As she passes it across the counter to me, I take it from her hand, unwrap it from the clear plastic, and pop it into my mouth. As soon as the flavor hits my tongue, I’m in heaven. “It’s perfect.”

  She grins like I just told her she won the lottery. “You made my day, sweetie. Tell me what you’re here for so I can get your order started and I’ll throw a few of these into your bag on the house.”

  “I’d like a quarter pound each of pumpkin spice latte and caramel swirl. While you do that I’m quickly going to go through the book and choose a piece I’d like for Margie’s birthday.”

  When she nods and heads off to fill my order I walk to the table at the side of the room and start flipping through the massive photo album of centerpieces and wreaths she makes out of candy. Margie’s birthday is coming up and since she is addicted to Kandy’s lemon sherbet lollipops, this is really a no brainer. Back at the counter, I put in an order for a large lollipop bouquet that will be finished with pink and yellow ribbon.

  Leaving the store, I’m once again hit with the feeling that I’m being watched. Annoyed, I mentally chastise myself for being such a weirdo. Forcing myself to shake it off and ignore my overactive imagination I begin the walk to where my car is parked down by Jackson’s Market. Walking along, I get distracted by the sight of a township worker on a ladder changing out one of the pretty town banners that hang on each of the antique looking light fixtures. As I watch, he replaces what was a banner with pretty fall leaves with a banner that says Happy Holidays. Halloween was a hot second ago and already the changeover to Christmas is starting. Ugh.

  I frown as I’m hit by the thought that I won’t see my dad during the holidays. Even if Donovan manages to find him for me there’s a real chance that Dad won’t care to see me. He did skip out, after all. Immediately my lower lip starts to tremble as I fight to hold back tears. If I don’t see him during the holidays, they will be the first in my entire life that I haven’t spent with him. Suddenly a horrifying and heartbreaking thought slams into me. If my dad doesn’t want to be in my life, it means that for all intents and purposes I’m essentially an orphan. I have nothing to hold onto and nowhere to turn. Without him, I have no family left. Before I can stop it, two tears slide down my cheeks. Embarrassed, I duck my head and start power walking to get to my car as I dash away the tears with the heel of my right hand.

  Relieved to finally be at my car, I open my purse and start digging arou
nd for my keys. Nothing. I’m not surprised since I’m carrying what my mom used to joke is a Mary Poppins bag—essentially it’s full of everything but the kitchen sink—but now is not the time for this. Holding back a string of curses that would result in the entire town thinking I’m nuts, I slam my bags down on the hood of the Jeep. Opening my purse wide I start searching through the contents in search of my keys.

  “Saint Anthony please come around something is lost that cannot be found,” I chant, just like my grandfather taught me. It was one of his little oddities that people liked to scoff at, but in my experience, it works. I repeat the prayer a few times as I begin emptying the contents of my purse, plopping things down on the hood of the car as I work my way through the clutter. Three wallets, my favorite yellow wristlet, a makeup bag, an emergency sewing kit, an old butter container full of safety pins, my Bluetooth speaker, my iPhone, a baggie of ibuprofen, a bottle of water, a small flashlight, two things of pepper spray, a granola bar, a medium sized photo album, a just in case t-shirt and a packet of tissues come out, but I still haven’t found the damn key. Andddd now I’m on the verge of sobbing. Awesome.

  “Saint Anthony—”

  “Eden.”

  The sound of that voice stops me dead. Lord help me, I really thought I’d have more time to recover from the way I humiliated myself last night. Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I turn my head and look at Donovan. As usual, he’s clad all in black and he looks good enough to eat. That’s just my luck—I look like a woman on the verge of a breakdown and he looks like a model for men’s cologne.

  “What?” I snap.

  He gestures to the growing pile of stuff on the hood. “Are you holding your own flea market or something?”

  My lower lip trembles as I look from him to the pile. Granted, it doesn’t look like a display at Tiffany’s, but it’s mine. “No,” I croak before I open my purse and start digging around again, more desperate than ever.

  “Saint Anthony please come around something is lost that cannot be found.”

  When Donovan sets his hand on my arm, I just about jump out of my skin. God help me it’s like being hooked up to a generator—even through my jean jacket. Sniffling, I look from his hand up to his face. Shocker, he’s frowning.

  “Why are you praying to Saint Anthony?”

  Blowing out a harsh breath I hold up my purse. “Because my life is a gong show. On top of everything else I’ve now lost my goddamn car keys,” I snap.

  “And praying to Saint Anthony would…” he trails off, the unvoiced question hanging in the air.

  “He’s the patron saint of lost things and that prayer has never failed me. Of course today would be the day,” I snap.

  Completely overwhelmed I yank my arm away from him and grab the bottom of my purse, turning it upside down and letting the remainder of the contents spill out. I choke out a sob when my keys fall from the purse down onto the pavement. Dropping to my knees I start shoving my stuff back into my purse. When Donovan crouches down next to me and begins helping I start openly crying. Of all the people to see me breaking down, why does it have to be him?

  My fumbling attempts to pick things up aren’t going so well, mostly because I’m having issues seeing through my tears. I don’t know whether to be thankful or angry that he deftly manages to get everything back into my purse in quick order. After shoving my keys into his back pocket, he takes the purse from me, stands and then reaches his hand down to help me up. I’m a little dazed as I accept his hand. Once we’re both standing, he moves swiftly to return the rest of the so-called flea market on my hood to its rightful home inside my purse. While he does that, I do my best to get myself under control. Swallowing back a sob, I reach out and take the packet of travel tissues from the hood before he can put them in my purse. Opening it, I pull out two tissues so I can blow my nose.

  Once he has everything back in my purse, he hands it to me before he turns to grab the two bags on the hood. When his hand stops short of picking up the bags, I follow his gaze to them. I immediately see what’s brought him up short and when I do, a flush spreads across my cheeks. Holy crap—the classy pale pink Decadent Lingerie bag might as well be bright orange neon. I move fast, grabbing it and the bag from the apparel store in one fell swoop.

  Donovan blinks and then shakes his head like he needs to clear it. When his gaze settles back on me, I know he’s doing a thorough assessment. Fantastic—I know I have to look like absolute garbage. My eyes are puffy from crying and I guarantee my face is all blotchy. I’m not what you’d call a pretty crier.

  Rubbing at my cheeks with a fresh tissue, I do my best to make myself look quasi-presentable. “What’re you doing here?” I ask.

  He gestures back over his shoulder with his thumb. “Just came out of the market.”

  “Oh. Well thanks for the assist with my—”

  “What’re you doing for the rest of the day?”

  I raise my brows. “Uh, I was going to go back to the motel and watch Antiques Roadshow.”

  “So you’re free,” he says in a dry tone.

  I stare up at him in confusion. “Free for what?”

  “I’m going to meet my parents for a movie and dinner at their favorite Chinese place. Come with me.”

  I can’t tell which of us is more surprised by the invitation. Oh hell, who am I kidding? It’s got to be me. Now in addition to looking like a wreck because of the crying, I’m pretty sure I look nuts because my eyebrows are closer to my hairline than Carrot Top’s are from all the surgeries he’s had.

  “Really?” I ask with utter incredulity.

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he nods. “Yeah.”

  I bite my lip as I try to figure out a way to ask a question without sounding rude. “Are they… um… like you?”

  I about fall over when he smiles an actual, honest to God, real smile that stays in place for more than one second. “Are you asking if they’re standoffish pricks?”

  I wince but nod anyway. “Basically.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Will they be okay with you bringing some random to a family outing?”

  “They’ll be thrilled. Say yes. You’ll like them and they’re always up for more company.”

  “What movie?” I ask, like it freaking matters.

  He rolls his eyes. “Blade Runner 2049. My mom has a thing for Gosling.”

  I chuckle because Margie is also nuts for him. I’m not sure what it is with women of a certain age and the Gos, but whatever it is must be potent. “Would it be okay to go like this?” I gesture down to myself to point out that I’m kind of a mess. My hair is up in a huge messy bun and I’m wearing a pair of black yoga pants, a black top, my jean jacket, and a pair of black fringe booties. Not exactly high fashion.

  He straight up laughs. “Um, my mom will probably be wearing a t-shirt and jeans and my dad sure as hell won’t be dressed up either.”

  For whatever reason, he’s letting me in. Maybe he feels sorry for me or maybe he wants to really be friends. Either way, I’m doing it.

  “Okay. I’ll go.”

  “There’s one catch,” he announces.

  I should’ve known. It’s probably something really fun like putting a bag over my head or maybe he’ll put duct tape across my mouth. “What?” I ask suspiciously.

  “I’ll drive, but we’re going to need to take your car. You cool with that?”

  Ah. He must have his bike with him. “Um, sure. Yeah, that’s no problem.”

  “Put your stuff in the car and get comfortable while I grab the muffins I got for my mom,” he says as he pulls my keys from his back pocket and hands them to me.

  I nod and take the keys before I turn and walk around to the passenger side. As I go to unlock the door, I see Donovan picking a market bag up from the hood of his truck, which is parked three spots down. Confused, I put my stuff in the back and then slide into the passenger seat, watching as he comes back to my car. After he puts Jackson’s bag in the back, he opens the
driver’s side door, puts the seat all the way back and then gets in. He’s barely got the door closed before I blurt, “When you said we needed to take my car I assumed you had the bike with you. How come you don’t want to drive your truck?”

  He hesitates for a second before he holds his hand out. “Keys.”

  I hold them up but don’t drop them into his hand. “Answer me.”

  He huffs and narrows his eyes. “Because my truck is… a fucking mess. No room for anyone but me in there.”

  Satisfied with that explanation I nod and drop my keys into his palm.

  After we’re both buckled in, he reverses out of the spot and heads out of town toward the highway.

  14

  Eden

  Pulling out my Bluetooth speaker and phone from my purse I scroll through my music library. “Any music you hate?” I ask.

  Donovan shrugs as he changes lanes. “As long as it’s not techno dance shit, I’m good.”

  Nodding, I hit shuffle on one of my playlists and then smile when Stone Temple Pilots Sour Girl comes on. Setting the round speaker in the cup holder, I sit back and get comfortable as Donovan merges onto the highway.

  “You wanna tell me why you were upset?”

  I wrinkle my nose and look out the window. “Dad shit.”

  He makes a growly noise. “Give me a little time, Shortstack. I’m going to do whatever it takes to find him for you.”

  I nod but don’t look at him because I don’t want him to look over and see the fear on my face. I believe he’ll find Dad, eventually. It’s the uncertainty of what happens after that scares me the most.

  “Hey.”

  Schooling my expression, I turn his way. He takes a quick look at my face before turning his attention back to the road.