The sick and twisted part.
Turning, I make a hasty retreat to my bedroom. I glance over my shoulder before entering and see his eyes are glued to my backside. Closing the door, I click the lock just in case. My heart is beating out of my chest as I lean against the wood. It feels cold against my flushed skin.
What is he doing here? And how does he know where I live?
Ugh! Grayson.
That guy is going to be a pain in my ass, just like his friend.
I’m still reeling about them turning up at the shelter today, and I felt laden down with guilt all the way home for not saying goodbye to them. My father didn’t raise me to be rude, but I was angry.
Grayson brought Ashton there on purpose. How am I supposed to forget him—forget that kiss—if he keeps popping up at every turn?
It takes a few minutes for me to regain my composure before I rummage through my drawers looking for something to wear. I opt for my old college T-shirt and a pair of sweat pants. I leave my feet bare. It’s not the most flattering outfit, but I don’t want him to think I made an effort to look nice for him.
Moving to the mirror, I take a quick stock of my appearance. Yep, I look like shit. My hair was still damp from my shower when I laid down, so it’s dried in a crumpled mess on one side of my head. There’s also a deep red crease running across my cheek from where my face lay on the pillow.
I bet Ashton Barclay is the picture of perfection when he wakes.
Grabbing a hair-tie off my dresser, I frantically run my fingers through my matted locks before pulling it into a messy bun on top of my head.
I take a deep breath before my shaky hand reaches for the door handle.
You can do this, Emma.
He’s still standing where I left him. I’m pleased he, at least, had the manners not to invite himself into my apartment.
His eyes rake over me once more as I walk toward him, and even though I’m covered up now, I still feel completely exposed.
I hold my hands out at my sides. “Better?”
“I prefer the half-naked you,” he replies. “But at least I’ll be able to think straight now.”
“What can I do for you, Mr. B.?”
“I need your keys?”
“What keys?” I ask, perplexed. If he thinks I’m giving him the keys to my apartment, he’s insane.
“The keys to your pussy.”
“What?” I gasp, placing my hand on my chest.
“Grayson said your pussy wouldn’t start this morning.” I see him struggling to keep a straight face as he speaks.
My eyes narrow to slits. “You mean Kitty… my car?”
“Right, Kitty,” he says with a chuckle.
Ashton shoves his hands in his pockets as his head dips in an attempt to hide his growing amusement.
I stand here unsure of what to say. As annoyed as I am right now, my face softens.
He came here to look at my car.
His beautiful blue eyes meet mine once more. “Keys, Em.”
“I appreciate you coming here, but Carla’s going to organize one of the guys from the bar to come over and take a look at it for me in the morning.”
“What bar?”
“The bar where she works.”
His brows furrow. “Tell him there’s no need. I’m here, and I have a new battery in the back of my car.”
“You brought a battery with you?”
“Yes, Gray seems to think that’s all it is.”
I don’t know what to say. Maybe I misjudged this man. Although I still don’t trust him. I’m sure there’s a condition attached.
Trying not to overthink it, I grab my keys off the table and hand them to him. He turns, heading back down the corridor, and I follow. We walk in silence.
Ashton’s still dressed in the same clothes he had on earlier. A tight fitted black T-shirt and dark jeans. I stay a few steps behind him, needing the distance, but I do use the time to ogle him like he did me.
My eyes roam over his broad shoulders, strong arms, trim waist, and tight round buns. I want to reach out and give his ass a tiny squeeze. He’s perfection. The scent of his cologne lingers in the air as he walks, filling my nose with all of his deliciousness. I inhale deeply.
My eyes are still transfixed on his rear when we reach the top of the landing. I live on the top floor. The apartment complex is an older building with only two levels and no elevator. The place is a little run down, but it’s mostly cosmetic. The rent is affordable, and it is close to my work.
Ashton clears his throat, and my eyes snap up.
Busted.
“Like what you see, sweet-thing?”
I feel my face heat up as I straighten my shoulders, opting not to answer his question.
We walk down the path, and I notice a black Range Rover packed adjacent to my car, its front is facing mine. I’m surprised he doesn’t drive a flashy sports car like his friend. My tiny Fiat looks so small next to his large SUV.
When we reach my car, he unlocks the driver’s door, popping the hood. “I see why you named her Kitty,” he says, chuckling.
Carla got me the seat covers as a joke because I referred to my car as Kitty. But I don’t mind them. They’re black with an outline of Hello Kitty’s face embroidered in hot pink. I bought a hot pink steering wheel cover to match.
“The seat covers came later. My dad bought me this car when I was going away to college.” Since I was going to be in another state, and not close by, he wanted me to have something reliable. “The day we took it for a test drive, my dad said, “She purrs like a kitten.” I bow my head, I don’t know why I feel the need to explain this to him. “Her name came from that.”
He takes a step toward me, placing his finger under my chin and raising my face to meet his. “For the record, I think her name and your seat covers are cute, just like you.”
A smile tugs at my lips.
He thinks I’m cute.
“The car I had before Kitty was a hunk of junk.”
“Did she have a name, too?”
“He, and yes… Gregory.” We both laugh. “It was old and rough around the edges like Mr. Gregory, who lived down the road.”
I stand beside the car and watch him while he looks over the engine, checking the oil and water levels. He has beautiful hands, big and strong, yet well-manicured. They’re not worker’s hands like my dad’s, and I find myself wondering what he does for a living.
When he’s done, he pulls my car keys out of his pocket. “Try and start her. If she doesn’t kick over, I’ll jump start it.”
“I thought you said you brought a battery with you.”
“I did. But, I need to make sure that’s the problem first. I don’t want you breaking down again, especially if you’re on your own.”
I’m grinning to myself as I climb into the driver’s side. She doesn’t kick over, but the jumpstart gets her started.
I shove my hands into the pockets of my sweats as he collects the battery out the back of his car as well as a metal toolbox.
Ashton places it on the curb by my feet and fishes around inside before grabbing a combination wrench. He removes the black lead and unscrews the nut holding the red one in place before turning toward his toolbox.
“What tool do you need? I’ll grab it for you.”
He raises an eyebrow. “A socket wrench and an extender.”