A. Arthur: Hunger for You

With a frown, I dismissed that thought and kept my eyes on Dex as the light fell over his vehicle and his leather-clad shoulders. He wore those big boots again, fitted black jeans, and a blue T-shirt with faded writing on the front. He reached into his front pants pocket and pulled out a lighter. In seconds the cigarette was lit and at his lips, the strong and undeniable scent of marijuana floating on the air.

After the first few puffs I wondered what the hell I was doing standing in a parking lot staring at some guy like I was going to rip his throat out—which by the way I totally wanted to do. I was about to turn away when I caught another scent, sifting slowly through the thick streams of marijuana odor and every muscle in my body tensed.

Dex looked up at that second, catching my gaze and staring at me with the cigarette between his lips, his fingers poised to take it out so he could blow more smoke from his mouth. It was a complete stare down, like men did just before a duel, except I had no weapon and I was guessing neither did Dex. The stench intensified and I was struggling to identify it while still keeping my eye on Dex when the front door of the bar opened and out came Dex’s laughing cohorts, followed by Zoe.

I took a step forward, to do what I wasn’t quite sure, but the sight of her now standing at the front of the vehicle with Dex and his goons right behind her, didn’t sit well with me. Dex grinned in my direction as he reached out and pulled Zoe by her waist up to him. Her hands went to his chest and she followed his gaze.

It felt like she’d reached across the parking lot right into my chest to squeeze my heart. I opened my mouth to air that wanted release, clenching my fists at my sides when she shook her head at me. Dex continued to laugh, his hands on her ass now while behind Zoe’s back his two friends gyrated and clapped. I wanted to run across that street, to grab her and pull her away from them. She didn’t belong with Dex, didn’t belong in that big-assed truck that looked more like an army tank. She belonged with …

Shaking my head, I broke all eye contact. Zoe did not belong with me. I belonged with myself, now and forever. It was safer for all concerned that way. The shaman back in Brazil had told me that. People that I felt like saving rarely wanted to be saved, he’d also said as he’d reflected on my mother. The parallel here was with Zoe. Like my mother, she had chosen who she wanted to be with, chosen the path she wanted her life to take. And no matter how much begging and pleading—or in this case, arguing and possibly fighting—I did, Zoe’s choice would still be her own.

So I turned away. I climbed into my truck and I took myself home, trying my damnedest to ignore the raw scrape of emotions that burned my chest as I looked through my rearview mirror to see Zoe climbing up into Dex’s truck. I turned out of the parking lot, this time my wheels screeching over asphalt, and I drove away.

Unable to breathe while anger and some unnamed sentiment clogged my senses, I rolled down my window to get some air and the stench that had searched for my attention back in the parking lot was there again, almost as if it were following me. It was slightly familiar, officious and raw and my eyes opened wider when I pinpointed exactly what it meant.

Dex and his merry men were rogues.

He hadn’t come into the bar again last night. This made a whole week since I’d spoken to Caleb. I’d seen him, three days after the night he’d blocked my car door, sitting in his truck in front of the bar. I’d walked out with Dex’s friends right behind me. Caleb looked at me and then pulled off.

And I was one lame-ass goofball for keeping such meticulous track of these events. Pushing my cart through the dairy section of the supermarket, I tried valiantly to recall what I’d wanted this week. I’d been cooking since I was eight and had to pull the chair over to the stove to put on six eggs. Two for me and two each for my younger brother and sister. I waited patiently that day, sitting in the chair and watching the clock on the microwave until it was exactly fifteen minutes later. I’d seen on a cooking show that it took that long to boil eggs. From that day on, when my mother was too badly beaten to get up out of bed, I went into the kitchen and fixed something for me and my siblings to eat. After a while I became pretty good at it.

That thought refreshed my memory and I picked up a container of sour cream for the new sauce I wanted to try with my pork chops tonight. Today was my day off so I had a lot of errands to run. Daydreaming in the supermarket was going to throw me off schedule, so I picked up the pace. I’d just cut the corner from the dairy section, going down the snack aisle when my cart collided with another one.

The rattling noise scared me much more than it should have and I let go of my cart handle, both hands going to my chest in an effort to still my thumping heart. Then I looked up and swallowed the last couple of thumps.

“Hope you don’t drive your car as recklessly as you’re driving this cart,” he said, his voice smooth like honey. The sound rippled through me in warm rivulets.

“I’m sorry,” I replied. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

He nodded, his gaze darkening and going lower. “And are you paying attention to what you’re doing now?”

I didn’t know what he meant so I looked down and goddammit! The fingers that were supposed to suppress the thumping of my heart were now cupping my boobs, which only added to the effect of his voice and now had my nipples hard. And as if I could not be any more embarrassed, I wasn’t wearing a bra. Again, goddammit!

“Oh!” I gasped and yanked my hands down ten seconds too late. “Stop staring at me.” It was making me uncomfortable. No, that was wrong, it was making me aroused. Hotter for him than I had been previously was more like it. Not only were my nipples hard now, but my thighs were shaking as if they either wanted to clamp shut like they did the night he’d summoned this same response, or like they wanted to spread open wide for him. I felt my cheeks flushing at both thoughts.

“Can’t,” he said with a shake of his head. “Nothing more enticing to stare at right now.”

“Whatever,” I replied, grabbing the handle of my cart and maneuvering so I could pass him.

I was intent on getting away from him, intent on stopping the storm of emotions that wracked my body each time he was in the vicinity. I took about three steps and then, because insanity seemed to be my state of mind when I was near him, I turned back only to see that he’d been staring at my ass. If I’d been properly dressed—meaning wearing clothes that I hadn’t fished out of the bottom of my closet and having my hair styled instead of in a messy braid down my back—I might have been flattered. But my yoga pants were a little on the small side and the jean jacket I’d thrown over the T-shirt was short and I just felt like I was a mess. A very hot and bothered mess. Apparently, Caleb felt differently.

“You can go now,” I said with a huff.

He had the audacity to smile. And if they could, my boobs would have sung a melodious tune at the sight. He wasn’t a cutie, not by a longshot. Instead he was a hottie, with a capital H and all the other letters all cap too! Something about the scruffy look of his beard and the hair that desperately needed to be cut and those bedroom eyes, and those arms that looked like cannons and … goddammit again!

“I like what I see here,” he replied eventually.

“You don’t have the right to look,” I said and wanted to bite off my own tongue. How juvenile did that sound? He could certainly look since there was no way I could stop him without gouging his eyes out, which would definitely be classified as overreacting.