Striding to the bathroom, I stripped off my clothes in aggravation and cranked the shower to its coldest setting, hoping a cold shower would shock my system. Five minutes later, I stood with a towel around my waist, glaring at the traitor between my legs. It's not like I was sexually deprived. Something about Ashton just appealed to me. Well, not just something. It was everything. She was smoking hot.
My cellphone vibrated on the nightstand, pulling my mind from the gutter I couldn't seem to get out of. It was a little late for this call, but considering I neglected to check in today, I wasn't too surprised.
"Yes, sir," I answered.
"Did you find her?" the voice on the other end asked, offering up no greeting.
The words of affirmation were on the edge of my tongue, but I surprised myself by answering negatively. "Not yet, sir. I have a lead though. It should only be a matter of time before I locate her."
"You gave the impression the last time we conversed that you were following a lead."
"It's the same lead," I lied. "It's only a matter of time before I pinpoint her location."
"The sooner, the better," he grumbled, hanging up without any further words.
I returned the phone to the nightstand and slid back against the pillows. That was unsettling. I'd never lied to a client before. For three weeks I'd been on Ashton's trail. I should have been happy to finally close up the case and head back to my condo in Tampa for some much needed R&R. Just that morning I'd been dreaming about taking several months off to catch up on some fishing and scuba diving. This case was ready to be wrapped within twenty-four hours, but now, suddenly, I was dragging it out. All for her. From the moment I laid eyes on Ashton I've been acting like a complete jackass, letting my little head outthink my big head. As soon as I walked in the bar tonight, I was taken in by her. I'd scanned the smoke-filled room, spotting her with her friends, joking and carrying on in the far corner. It was obvious the moment they noticed my presence as their voices came out in short bursts of excited chatter followed by whispering. I figured it was only a matter of time until I was approached. Bar scenes didn't get their hook-up stigma for no reason. Eight years ago, it would have been my buddies and me in the far corner of the bar playing the game. All of us banking on getting laid that night. More times than not, we'd all gone home alone. We were young, dumb, testosterone-crazed maniacs that most chicks wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole.
Then I met Jessica and fell head over heels in love with her. She was poised, polished and challenged me to be better. Jessica wasn't into the whole club scene, so I gave it up, without a fuss. My buddies were pissed, claiming I was pussywhipped, but I didn't care. What did I need the clubs for anymore? I'd found the perfect girl. A year later, I realized perfection was nothing but an illusion. She shredded me to the point I swore I'd never let a woman have that power over me again. I jumped back into the bar scene a changed man. I couldn't have cared less about trying to get any girl's attention. Instead, I made them come to me. The guys thought I was crazy, but my aloof attitude worked better than any of the stupid one-liners or any other shit we used to do. I always laid my rules out in the open to avoid any future complications, and most of the time, the relationship would end amicably. Only one had called me a bastard, but I held steadfast to my rule. No attachments. Take it or leave it.
I kept my eyes on the trio in the corner through the mirror over the bar, waiting to see who would make the first move. I had several game plans in place. If I was approached by one of them, I would suggest buying a round for her and her friends so I could get close to my target. If they chickened out and never made their move, I'd order a round anyway and see if I could strike up a conversation that way. One thing was certain. I would not walk away tonight without making contact.
It took fifteen minutes for the group of girls to finally make their move. Much to my astonishment, it was Ashton instead of her heavily-endowed friend who approached me. After listening to her boisterous friend, I would have bet money that she would be my first contact with the group. The night was shaping up to be filled with surprises. My good fortune continued as Ashton awkwardly began to flirt with me. Seizing the opportunity, I ordered a round of drinks to see if that would loosen her tongue further. Much to my pleasure, the whiskey not only loosened her tongue, providing me with information, but it also provided a glimpse into something more. Her voice washed over me like a seductive caress, laced with an equal share of innocence and wisdom that hinted at a hidden inner pain. Something was bothering her, but regardless, whatever it was didn't concern me. It wasn't my job to rescue her. She was just an assignment, nothing more.
With each round of drinks though, that fact continued to dissipate. The more she talked, the more I was pulled in. Even her fumbled attempt at sexual banter was endearing and erotic at the same time. When she asked if I wanted to put my trunk in her, I got rock hard and wanted to hoist her up on the counter and take her right there in front of everyone.
I reached over for my cellphone to check the time and was shocked when I realized I had been lying there, thinking about her for the last hour. I reached over and flipped the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. As I contemplated my next move, the sane part of me knew I should call my client first thing in the morning and hand over Ashton's location, but the slightly insane side considered the possibility of waiting a few days to see if I could flush out why she had run away. The irrationality of this thought wasn't lost on me. It shouldn't matter why she'd run off. I was paid to locate her, plain and simple. It wasn't my business to ask questions. The fact that I had the sudden urge to hunt down my client instead, and bury my fist in his face for ever hurting her, shook me to the core. It had been years since a woman had this effect on me.
Insanity. That's all it was. I would turn her in tomorrow. It was the only way to get my mind back on track. I had no problems keeping the women I dated at arm's length for the last six years. I wasn't about to screw that up over some girl I'd been tracking for the last three weeks.
Chapter 3: What happened last night?
Ashton
My head felt like I was in hell with a herd of elephants in tap shoes. Dragging the pillow off my head, I looked around to find my room empty, but someone was insistently pounding on the front door.
"Oh, mother of all things holy, shut up, and stop the goddamn pounding," I squawked out as I attempted to sit up. The sound of my own voice made me cringe and want to curl up into a ball as needles of pain shot through my head. Stumbling to my feet, I grabbed the pair of yoga pants and t-shirt I'd left draped over the foot of my bed the previous day. I nearly fell over trying to pull them on before I shuffled my way to the front door of my rental cottage. I threw open the door, ready to poke the eyes out of the offending knockers.
"Took you long enough. You were supposed to text us, you bitch. We were worried sick," Tressa yelled, making me cover my ears with agony as my eyes watered in pain. My stomach flipped, making its own displeasure glaringly obvious. Lurching past my two astonished friends, I stumbled to the bushes that bordered the front of my cottage and expelled all the liquor I'd consumed the previous evening. My stomach muscles clenched as I continued to heave even after there was nothing left to come out. Ironically, the last time this happened, I swore I'd never puke again. The waves of nausea were not foreign to me. I had spent more time kneeling before a toilet puking than I liked to think about. Of course, those circumstances were different, and the poisons in my blood stream at that time were worlds apart. If this is what resulted from a night of drinking, I was out.
"Holy shit, that's a lot of puke," Tressa said behind me as Brittni handed me a cold rag to mop up my face. "I think you might have drunk a little too much," she said.
"Oh, you think, ole wise one?" I sniped. "Can we use our indoor voices?" I asked, holding a finger in front of my lips for emphasis.
"You have a headache?" Tressa asked, snickering behind me as I stumbled back into my cottage and sank down on the couch.
"A headache I could handle. This is a freaking jackhammer," I mumbled, letting my head fall back against the cushions of the couch. "Please tell me why I drank so many shots?" I moaned.
"More importantly, how was the sex?" Tressa interrupted impatiently.
My eyes flew open at her words. Stumbling to my feet, I hurled my way across the living room to my bedroom. I swept my eyes around the room, checking to see if I'd missed his presence in my mad bolt out of the room earlier.
"Are you expecting him to crawl out from under the bed, or maybe jump out of your wardrobe?" Brittni asked dryly, peering over my shoulder at the large wardrobe that served as the only closet in the whole cottage. I had cringed at first when I walked through the place before renting it and realized there were no closets. How anyone could function without closets was beyond me, but the charm of the cottage had overlapped the lack of storage space, and I've managed to make it work.
"You're a riot," I replied, sinking down on my bed.
"So, did Tall, Dark and Sexy do the old bang-and-bolt?" Tressa asked, surveying my room critically.
"Um, I don't know. I can't remember," I admitted mortified. How much did I drink that I couldn't even remember whether I'd had sex?
"You mean, you don't remember him leaving, or you don't remember banging, Bang-a-licious?"
"Either," I answered weakly, cupping my throbbing head in my hands while fighting a fresh onslaught of nausea. It was official. I was a slut. Not only did I pick up strange men in a bar, but I also had sex with them without remembering it.
"What's the last thing you remember?" Brittni asked, sinking down on the other side of me.
"I remember talking with you guys in the bathroom and then joining him. I also remember talking to him…Oh god," I squawked.
"What?" Tressa demanded.
"I'm pretty sure I asked him if he was going to put his trunk in my head, or his trunk in me or something," I mumbled through my fingers.
"What?" Tressa busted out before laughing. "Well, that's one way to tell him you're interested," she gasped.
"I didn't mean it. The whiskey had my tongue all tied together. I meant to ask him if he was going to put my head in his trunk. And stop laughing. It's not that funny," I grumbled as Brittni joined in her laughter.
"Oh my god, that's classic. How did he respond?"
"How do you think?" I said, peeking through my fingers that covered my face.
"Okay, so you asked him to put his trunk in you," she snorted, trying to choke down her laughter. "What else?"
"Well, after that it gets kind of hazy. I know he ordered more rounds and at one point I believe I may have suggested strip darts. God, kill me now."
"Wow, you went all out," Tressa quipped, laughing again. "So, how far did the game of darts go?"
"I have no idea. I can't remember fuck-all after that. For all I know, I probably ran around Joe's buck naked."
"If you had, my mom would have been on it like white on rice, and it wasn't included in her daily scandal rap sheet, so I'd say you're safe," Brittni reassured me, grinning wickedly. "Were you wearing that when you woke up?" she asked, pointing to the clothes I'd pulled on.
"No, I was wearing my bra and panties," I answered, looking down at the t-shirt that was on backward.
"Hmmm, I find it hard to believe he'd bother to put your bra and panties on after ravishing your body, so chances are you passed out on Prince Hotness. Judging by the glass of water and bottle of aspirin on your table, he's part Prince Charming too," Brittni observed, pointing to my nightstand. "Here, take these," she said, popping open the bottle of aspirin. "Maybe you can just ask him where he put his trunk the next time you see him," she added laughing.
"I can't, he was just passing through. He's some kind of journalist and was on his way to his next story," I said, tossing back the pills before lying back on my bed. "So, you don't think I slept with him?" I asked, not sure if I was relieved. Sure, I wanted to get that one item marked off my list, but I kind of felt like it was cheating if I didn't remember it.
"I don't know. What do you feel like down there?" Tressa asked.
"What do you mean?" I asked, wary of where this was going.
"I mean, are things messy down there?" she replied, pointing between my legs.
"Oh, Jesus, Tressa, come on," Brittni piped in.
"Okay, I'm just kidding. I'm guessing he did not stick his trunk in your head or any other orifice on your body," Tressa confirmed, snickering again.
"Laugh it up. Karma's a bitch," I mumbled, throwing my arms over my eyes in a halfhearted attempt to block out the sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains over the bay window in the room.
"Don't you have to work today?" Brittni asked, straightening up my bed around me.
"Yeah, but not till noon," I said as the lull of sleep pulled me toward it.
"I don't know how to break it to you, sweets, but it's eleven fifteen," she pointed out.
"What the hell? Are you kidding?" I bolted upright in my bed, peering at my clock in dismay. "How did it get so late?" I said, jumping to my feet and racing toward my bathroom.
"Why do you think we were freaking out when we didn't hear from you? By ten thirty I was ready to call in the cavalry, but Brittni convinced me the sane thing would be to check on you first. Didn't your phone go off from all the messages we sent you?"
"Frick, I'm not even sure where my purse is," I said, scanning the room for my purse. "Maybe Nathan only pretended to be interested so he could rob me blind while I was drunk and passed out. 'Nathan' probably wasn't even his real name."
"Chillax, girl. Your purse is on your chair," Brittni said, striding toward the chair to pick up my purse. "Your phone is here, but it's as dead as the road kill Creepy Freddy likes to eat," she added, holding up my phone.
"Damn, I better charge it," I said, glancing at my clock again.
"Go shower and we'll plug it in for you," Tressa said, shooing me toward the bathroom. "Text us after you get off work," she called out as I closed the bathroom door behind me.
Thirty minutes later I pulled into the dusty side lot of Smith's General Store. When I first arrived in town four months ago, I knew I wanted to work here. Not because I had some deep desire to stock shelves or bag groceries, but because it was a blast from another time. When I was thirteen, I was obsessed with the TV show Gilmore Girls. The show was about a young single mother raising her teenage daughter, and although the show delved into deep issues occasionally, it was the quirkiness of the small town that pulled me in. I'm sure some psychologist could have a field day comparing my attachment to the show with the loss of my mom. That was probably part of it, but after living in an overly populated city in Florida all my life, I'd always yearned for a small town. A town where friendships went deeper than just acquaintances you went to school with. I wanted friendships that couldn't be shaken, no matter what obstacles might get in the way. I wanted a town where if you got sick, people actually cared. Maybe they would even care enough to check up on you, or bombard you with soups and casseroles, or who knows what. The point is, they wouldn't shun you, or refuse to come near you because they thought they might catch something. Before I arrived in Woodfalls, I thought a town like that only existed on TV, but so far this place has lived up to my expectations. Woodfalls was charming and quirky and certainly not perfect, but that just made it even better. I fell in love instantly and was able to cross yet another item off my bucket list.
