She tucks a lock of her dark-brown hair behind her ear as the pink hits her cheeks again. “I could eat some fries.”

  “Burger too. They make the best here.”

  “They do?” she asks me, telling me she isn’t a regular, but I knew that because I would’ve zeroed in on her if I’d seen her before.

  “One bite and you’ll never want anything else,” I promise her.

  “Are you sure you don’t have anyone else to be with? I’d hate to keep you from someone.”

  “Babe, I came alone and planned to leave alone. I just wanted to stop by for a drink, watch all the happy bullshit, and go to bed. I have no plans. No hot date waiting for me. Nothing. Nada. No one.”

  “Okay,” she whispers.

  “Fries and a burger?” I ask her again.

  She nods with a smile so small I almost miss it.

  “Jimmy,” I call out as he breezes by us, the bar area busier than it was a few minutes ago. He looks my way, stepping back in front of where we’re standing. “Can I get two burgers and fries?”

  He grimaces, tipping his head and sucking in a breath between his teeth. “Kitchen’s only making fancy shit tonight, man. I can probably twist an arm for a basket or two of fries, but that’s about it.”

  “Fuck,” I hiss, my mouth already watering at the thought of a greasy burger. “Two fries will work.”

  “I’ll try my best,” he says before disappearing into the back.

  “Come here often?” she asks me, her eyes on the swinging door where Jimmy has gone.

  “Not often often, but I’ve known Jimmy most of my life.”

  “Small towns,” she sighs, bringing the glass of whiskey to her mouth.

  “Seeing as I’ve never seen your face, I assume you’re not from around here.”

  She shakes her head as she pulls the glass away, licking the liquid from her lips. “Chicago.”

  “No shit. I have family in Chicago. Great fucking city.”

  “It’s the best,” she replies, her lips no longer curved into a smile. “I wish I’d never left.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  She shrugs. “Sometimes life requires a fresh start.”

  “Ain’t that shit the truth,” I mumble under my breath.

  I’ve wanted a fresh start for years, putting the nightmare of that night behind me. But I know, no matter where I go, the memories will always find me. There is no escaping the reality, regardless of how far away I put myself.

  “Fries will be out in five,” Jimmy says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  “Thanks, man.”

  “Anytime,” he tells me before taking off toward the other end of the bar, where some barely dressed girls are using their breasts as a lure to get his attention.

  “My knees feel funny,” Arlo states before taking another sip of her drink.

  I grab on to her arm near the elbow as she starts to sway, and with the other hand, I push the tall stool behind her ass. “Sit.”

  She plops backward, her ass landing on the edge of the stool, and gapes at me. “You’re very…”

  “Handsome?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  She smiles, and it lights up the room. “Well, kind of, but that’s not the word I was going for.”

  “I’m wounded.”

  She tips her head back, laughing, and places her hand on my arm. The contact is innocent, but her touch scorches me. “You’re crazy.”

  “I’ve been called worse,” I tell her, doing nothing to move my arm away from her hand.

  “I find that hard to believe. You seem sweet.”

  “Looks can be deceiving.”

  “I didn’t say you looked sweet.” She smirks. “You look like sin, but what you did tonight is sweet.”

  “I look like sin?” I raise an eyebrow, giving her the smirk right back.

  “You look like trouble.”

  “Got me there, beautiful.”

  Beautiful is an understatement.

  Her green eyes are so striking, I can’t stop staring at them, even if they are framed by thick black glasses. My gaze doesn’t even wander lower to check out her rack, which is typically where it goes after I see a pretty woman’s face.

  Jimmy places the basket of fries between us, and Arlo instantly moves her hand away like we’ve been caught having a moment we shouldn’t be having.

  “These look great,” she says, immediately grabbing a fry, but I touch her wrist, stopping her before she pops it into her mouth.

  “Babe. You still want a tongue?”

  She looks at me funny before her eyes dip to the French fry hanging between her fingers. “What?”

  I tick my chin toward the little potato. “I don’t even know how you have skin on your fingers holding that fry, but your mouth won’t fare so well.”

  She drops the fry, the burn finally hitting her skin. “Shit.” She places the pads between her lips and slides them into her mouth. “I wasn’t thinking,” she mumbles around her fingers.

  “Happens to the best of us. Just give them a minute to cool down.” I nudge her glass of water in front of her. “Hold it.”

  “What?” she says, looking at me like I’m a weirdo again, but she’s the one with her fingertips still in her mouth. “Why?”

  “The cold glass will stop the burning.”

  She shakes her head, muttering under her breath. “Sorry. It’s been a long night.”

  “Don’t apologize. How could you know about the wicked ways of their French fries? But now you’ve learned—the hard way, mind you, but you learned.”

  She reaches for the glass of water and lets out a loud sigh when her fingertips slide against the cool condensation.

  “Better?”

  “Much,” she says, leaning forward over the bar, looking more relaxed than she was a few minutes ago. “Thank you.”

  I test a fry, giving her fingers a break. “They’re better now, but you may want to blow on them.”

  “You go ahead,” she replies, smiling at me again. “I’ll let you test them for safety reasons.”

  She watches my hands carefully as I place the fry against my lips before pulling it between my teeth. Her eyes are glued to my mouth, her lips parted, and the air changes, almost crackling around us.

  When my tongue sweeps across my bottom lip, taking in the salt, her lips part even more. “Guess they’re safe,” she whispers.

  “They’re perfect.”

  “They sure are,” she says, but she’s not looking at my eyes or the fries. Her gaze is still firmly planted on my lips in rapt attention.

  “You going to have one?” I ask her when she doesn’t move.

  Her cheeks turn pink. “I should go.”

  “You don’t have to leave.”

  She glances down at her hand still wrapped around the glass, gripping it like her life depends on the connection. “No, really. I have to go,” Arlo says, pushing herself away from the bar, releasing the glass. “It’s late, and I’ve been enough trouble.”

  “Wait,” I tell her, reaching into my pocket to grab some money and at least walk her out. “You can’t go out there alone.”

  “I’ve been alone my entire life,” she says, backing away toward the crowd. “You’ve done enough.”

  I barely get a fifty on the bar before she’s already a dozen feet away. “Hold up,” I call out, trying to be heard over the music, but she turns her back and rushes through the sea of people.

  I chase after her, worried about her safety and the creepy guy from earlier. My eyes search the crowd as I head toward the door, knowing exactly where she’s headed.

  When I make it outside, she’s hauling ass across the parking lot, checking to her left and right after each step. She may claim she’s used to being alone, but no matter what she says, she’s not comfortable with it either.

  I stay where I am, feet firmly planted, arms crossed, watching her every step until she stops at a black Mustang, unlocks the doors, and folds herself inside.

  And just like that…she’s gone.

  2

  Six Months Later

  The sun is setting, kissing the horizon as I blow past a car on the side of the road. I glance in my rearview mirror, catching sight of a woman sitting on the hood, elbows on her knees.

  I want to keep going, but I hear my parents’ words, telling me never to leave a woman stranded and alone. They drilled into me about doing the right thing even when it puts me out or makes me late. There are worse things they could’ve instilled in me, but there’re still times when the do-good ways are a complete pain in my ass.

  Victoria, the newest woman offering herself up to me on a silver platter, isn’t going to be happy about my being late. We’ve only been on two dates, and after tonight, I plan to end things with her. I don’t want her getting used to me being around or thinking she has a place in my future.

  No one has that spot.

  There has been a hole there since Carrie died, mingled with guilt, and no matter what I do, I can’t seem to bury it.

  The road’s empty as I swing the bike around, heading back toward the black car and the woman who may not need or want my help.

  Her head comes up as I get closer, her brown hair flowing in the soft, humid breeze that does nothing more than blow the hot air around, making it cling to your skin.

  She straightens her back, hopping down from the hood, her body going rigid and on high alert. If I could describe someone as a deer in headlights, it would be her.

  Rolling to a stop, I cut the engine and remove my helmet. Her eyes meet mine, green and big, emanating fear.

  “Need help?” I ask, running my hands through my hair.

  “Um,” she mutters, blinking. “I don’t think so.”

  I tilt my head, straddling the seat. “You don’t think so?” I repeat her words back to her, confused.

  “Well, I mean…” She glances down, kicking at the gravel below her shoes. “I think it’s overheated. It’ll be fine in a few minutes.”

  There’s something familiar about her, but I can’t place it. Maybe she’s a friend of a friend or someone I’ve seen around our small town.

  “How long have you been out here?”

  “A little while,” she answers, being evasive.

  “I won’t hurt you.”

  “Okay,” she whispers, but she’s holding her keys in her fist, a move I’ve seen many women make when taking a defensive stance. “But I’m really fine.”

  “Want me to take a look?”

  She shrugs, barely looking at me, almost hiding her face. “No. I’m okay. You can go.”

  I sit there, stunned and staring. “I can go?”

  “Yeah. You can go. I got this.”

  “I can’t leave if you need help.”

  “I’m fine,” she argues. “I don’t need help.”

  “We all need help sometimes, and I can’t leave you out here in this heat all by yourself and just go about my night.”

  “You can. You totally can. I’ll get by. I always do.”

  “I can’t leave you here alone.”

  “I’ve been alone my whole life, but I appreciate your checking on me.”

  Her words strike me as odd. The same words I heard from the pretty girl on New Year’s Eve. Words that have never left me, along with the sadness that hung from her lips.

  “Do I know you?”

  She shakes her head but doesn’t look my way, staring down and shielding her face from my view.

  “We’ve met before. Haven’t we?”

  The woman is beautiful, totally a face I’d never forget, but for the life of me, I can’t place her. One thing I know is I never forget a face, especially one as pretty as hers.

  She stares at me for a minute, studying my face before her eyes widen again. “Wait. I think… No way. That’s so weird,” she says, tilting her head, still soaking in the wonderfulness that’s me. “I think we met on New Year’s Eve.”

  Ding. Ding. Ding. She is her. The woman I met who was pinned against the bar by the sleazy bastard, the one who ran out without even tasting the French fries or waiting for me to walk her to her car.

  “Arlo,” I whisper.

  She blinks. “You remember my name?” she whispers, touching the scoop neck of her tank top, fiddling with the material.

  “I do, babe.” I smirk, unable to forget it after that night. “You ran out of the bar so fast, I thought your ass was on fire.”

  Her cheeks turn pink again. “I’m a little awkward sometimes. I don’t people well.”

  “I don’t think I people well either.”

  “You saved my butt that night. I’ll always be grateful for that.”

  “Looks like I’m about to do it again.” I climb off the bike and move in her direction. “Now, are you going to tell me what’s wrong with the car, or do I have to guess?”

  She throws her arm out toward her car. “Front tire is flat, but I can’t get it off. I’ve changed tires before, too many more times than I’d care to admit, but this one won’t budge.” She starts pacing in front of the car. “I don’t know why I can’t get it off, but I can’t, and I think I’m about to lose my shit. I was just sitting here, trying to figure out my next move, which also included taking a sledgehammer to this piece-of-shit car instead of calling for a tow. But then I couldn’t trade it in for a new car, so I scrapped that idea about thirty seconds before you rolled on by.”

  I stare at her, listening to her ramble on about the car, the tire, her decisions, and honestly, I’m dizzy. The girl had barely spoken to me before and had been cagey as hell since I’d rolled up to her this time, until now, when she decided to verbally shit her entire thought process for the last so many minutes.

  “I’ll change it.”

  She crosses her arms, her eyes trained on me. “The rim is bent.”

  “You bent the rim?” I ask.

  She rolls her eyes. “I just said that.”

  “You don’t drive on a flat, babe.”

  “Babe,” she throws back and starts to pace in front of her Mustang. “I know, but I didn’t know it was that bad. And based on where we’re standing, I didn’t have anywhere to add air in the tire either. I was heading to the gas station when it decided to take a complete shit. I kept driving, and poof—” she throws her arms wildly in the air “—fucked-up rim.”

  I don’t know why, but I can’t stop the smile from spreading across my lips. This girl is so weird. She’s quiet and shy one minute and totally off the rails the next. She’s shy, yet not. Strong, but weak. She’s a conundrum wrapped in a pretty package with big eyes, a stunning face, and a smokin’ hot body.

  “Did you call a tow?” I ask after she pauses long enough to take a breath.

  Arlo stops moving and faces me, her lips flat. “Of course I did, but they said it’ll be a few hours.”

  “Cancel them,” I tell her, reaching into my pocket to grab my phone.

  “What?”

  “Cancel. Them.”

  She gapes at me as I lift the phone to my ear, making the call that I know will get us a fix quicker than her current company.

  “Yo.” I hear from the other end.

  “Mammoth.”

  “What’s up, Mello?”

  I stare at Arlo as she continues to watch me, lips parted, eyes carefully studying my every move. “Can you send someone with a tow out to County Line near the Vet about two miles west of the tollway?”

  “Sure thing. Give him thirty to get there. You okay?”

  “I’m great. My friend Arlo busted a tire and bent the rim. Think you can squeeze her in tomorrow?”

  “One of the guys can do it. It’ll be done by noon.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “What’s Mello want, baby?” Tamara asks Mammoth on the other end of the line.

  “His friend’s car has a flat,” he tells her.

  “Oh,” she says in a dejected voice.

  “What’s with the voice?” he asks.

  “I was hoping for something a little more…fun.”

  “Sorry that a guy with a busted tire isn’t enough fun for you,” Mammoth replies.

  “Not a guy,” I throw out there, my eyes still on Arlo, studying the lines of her face.

  “Oh,” comes from Mammoth.

  “Oh, what?” Tamara asks.

  “Not a man, princess. A chick.”

  “Mello and all his pussy. You’re not doing a free job for one of his random bitches,” Tamara says in the background.

  “Not one of mine,” I say softly, and Arlo’s eyebrows rise. I shake my head. “She just needs some help.”

  “Not one of his,” Mammoth repeats.

  “Still not doing it for free,” Tamara mutters. “His wife? Yeah. Random chick? No. Piece of ass he’s tappin’? No. Fiancée? Sure thing. Get me?”

  “Got you, princess,” Mammoth whispers.

  “He got me?” she asks him.

  “I got her,” I grumble.

  “Got to go, man. Tow will be there soon, and I have a spicy chick to deal with.”

  “I’m not spicy,” she argues.

  “Princess, you’re not bland,” he says with a hint of laughter.

  “I’ll catch you two later,” I say, disconnecting the call before I hear shit I don’t want to hear.

  “Who’s Mammoth?” Arlo asks me, now leaning her ass against the hood of her car.

  “My cousin’s husband. He owns a body shop. Tow will be here in thirty, and your car will be fixed by noon.”

  “Noon as in noon tomorrow?” she whispers and lifts her hand to her mouth, biting on her thumbnail.

  “Yeah, babe. It’s almost dark, so the closest noon is noon tomorrow.”

  “Shit,” she mutters, chewing a little more on that poor nail.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she tells me as she pulls up her legs, going back into the same position I saw her in as I blew past her on my bike. “It’s fine.”

  “What’s wrong, Arlo?”

  She waves her one hand, still chewing on her other.

  I take a step forward, closing the space between us. There’s no logical reason why I’m putting in so much effort with a woman who doesn’t want the attention, but I can’t stop myself.

  I’ve become used to difficult women. I’ve been surrounded by them since birth.