Honey (Full Throttle Series) Page 8

  Something sour hit my throat, but I tried not to show it as I casually strolled into the café. Honey looked up at my arrival, her eyes lighting up and a smile blooming on her face. She continued taking the order of the customer she’d been talking to, then handed it to the counter before walking over to where I was.

  “Good afternoon,” she chirped. “You actually came.”

  “I actually did,” I agreed, unable to take my eyes off her. Her hair was swept up in a ponytail away from her face, and she looked fresh and absolutely beautiful. “What is all this? How did you manage to hide this from me?”

  “I used to work here after the modeling gig didn’t work out, and I still wasn’t earning much in my races. Now I volunteer sometimes, to help out my friend who usually needs to go out of town at least twice a month for some important family thing. The owner doesn’t really like hiring temporary staff.”

  I nodded. “Is it a secret or something?”

  “Not really, but it’s sort of my private time. Sara knows.”

  “Hmm. And do you know there’s paparazzi standing outside observing the café?”

  A startled look crossed her face, but she managed to control it in a few seconds. “Really, now?”

  “Really, now,” I said.

  “What a bastard,” she said feelingly.

  I grinned. “You’re really enjoying cursing these days, aren’t you?”

  “You’re a very bad influence.”

  I snorted. Then I opened the menu and ordered some fries and a milkshake, telling her not to worry too much about it since I was already here. Her mouth tightened, and I knew she was pissed off—not at me, but at the idea that someone stalked her even up to here, probably to see if they could capture something scandalous or corner her for an interview later.

  That pissed me off, too, but I kept my calm and waited for my order. I made the pretense of using the restroom, then slid out the back to survey the area until I confirmed that there was no one else there, not even in the parking lot. That meant either this reporter was going solo, or this person wasn’t really a reporter at all.

  The scandal had given her fans—the type of fans that she didn’t need, as it was obvious they undressed her with their eyes and wanted to do all types of sordid things with her. I didn’t know what exactly she did in the video, but it must have been pretty explicit for men to get this type of idea, and for women to have that judgment in their eyes whenever they saw her.

  She didn’t deserve this. If I assessed everything correctly, she’d been young and had trusted someone she shouldn’t have and was now paying the price. But it already happened, and now she just needed to get through this.

  The food arrived piping hot, and I appreciated the fact that the café—which was more diner-style, really, and served decent black coffee—was cozy and didn’t really have that many customers during the weekdays. Honey sat across the booth from me during her breaks, and we tried passing the time conversing about whatever came to mind. We were deep in conversation when the door chimed, and Honey stood up with a bright smile pasted on her face.

  The smile dimmed when she saw the guy.

  I glanced to the side and found the same guy outside earlier. Honey obviously didn’t recognize him, but the camera around his neck had her wary. Still, she shot me a warning look to let me know that she would handle it, and she tried smiling again as she sauntered over to where he was sitting.

  “Good afternoon. What can I get you?”

  “My name’s Michael Cruz. Aren’t you Honey York?”

  “You’ve got a good eye,” she responded lightly. “What can I get you?”

  “You’re really pretty up close.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m a big fan.”

  “Of car racing?”

  “Of you racing,” he admitted candidly. “You’re such a good racer.” He seemed pretty harmless, really, from the way he talked easily and the way he addressed Honey. But there was something off, though I couldn’t pinpoint it yet. Call it instinct.

  “Thank you,” Honey replied, her voice a tad bit warmer now. “Have you been a fan for long?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve been watching from the stands. You were pretty then, but wow. Up close is…yeah.”

  There was a certain awkwardness in that statement that had Honey obviously charmed as she chatted him up and began to grow comfortable with him. Michael acted pretty casual as he gave her his order, and she kept conversing with him up until he asked her to sit in the booth, too.

  “Not in front of me,” he said when she sat across. “Sit beside me.”

  I glanced in their direction and watched a startled look appear on her face, but she laughed it off. “I can’t. I’m on duty.”

  “You were certainly pretty cozy with that guy over there,” Michael said, indicating to me. His eyes met mine, and he froze when he found that I was already looking at him. Then his own gaze narrowed. “Are you guys fucking or something?”

  A gasp came from Honey. I quietly stood up from my seat and walked in their direction, slow and sure. Honey gave me warning look again, but I ignored it and stood beside her.

  “Is this guy bothering you?” I asked.

  Honey met my gaze, then mustered up a smile. I could see she was trying to control whatever was about to come out of her mouth, as well as her temper. “Kind of.”

  Her answer obviously surprised the guy, and he turned to me again. “What’s it to you?”

  That was pretty bold if I did say so myself. I could feel his body vibrating, could sense him about to move as he waited for my response. I gave him a casual look, one that wasn’t threatening even while I pinned him in place.

  “It’s something to me, considering I’m paid to guard her. We’ve got a couple of witnesses here,” I indicated to the counter, where I found another waitress eyeing the scene worriedly. “And I’m sure they wouldn’t fail to tell the truth once questioned by…say, the police?”

  “I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” Michael snarled.

  I turned to Honey. “Was he making you uncomfortable, Honey?”

  “Yes,” she replied without hesitation.

  I turned back to the guy. “We can always skip the police, and I can always pound your head in if you do it again.”

  I stifled a smile and watched as the guy’s face paled. He muttered something about going to the restroom and slipped out of the booth. A few minutes later, when he still hadn’t returned, I checked the back.

  He was gone.

  For some reason, that pissed Honey off more than the encounter. I easily slid into the booth where the food the guy ordered was and shot her a smile. “I’ll eat it and pay. I got hungry from that confrontation, anyway.”

  Her mouth quirked at that, and her eyes lit up again. She went to the waitress at the counter and assured the woman that she was alright. I didn’t catch the rest of the conversation. But a few minutes later, Honey slid on the booth again—beside me, with a loaded burger on her plate.

  “I got hungry from that, too,” she commented lightly. Then she began to dig in.

  Our elbows were nearly touching, and from this distance, I could smell her again. I didn’t say anything. I just ate my food and appreciated the company.

  And I tried to ignore all the jolting in my body.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  HONEY

  The afternoon started off relaxed but began to grow busier just before dinner, when it was the perfect time for everyone to want a snack. I kept my attention on the customers and did my job, hustling on my feet and juggling trays on my hands with the expertise of someone who’d done it for quite a while. I remembered how incompetent I’d been at it in the beginning, losing plates here and there. It took a few weeks for me to manage two trays at the same time, and by the time I was done waitressing, I was so tired that I would just crashed into bed after.

  It had been a learning experience, though—juggling waitressing, car racing and practices and keeping bot
h lives separate. I was grateful the owner gave me as much leeway as she could without firing me until I was ready to quit, and now this was my way of repaying her.

  Finally, after the sudden influx that lasted about an hour, the crowd died down again, and the next waitress came in for her shift. We chatted for a while before I checked on Gavin, who was sitting on one of the side stools and reading a book while he enjoyed his coffee.

  I recognized the book instantly. “Where did you get that?”

  “Got it in a bookstore on discount,” he said. “Hid it in your car in case I got bored.”

  “I didn’t know you read.”

  “I can read.”

  I snickered. “I mean read zombie apocalypse books.”

  “It’s fun. Great escape book.”

  I eyed the cover again. “Want to know the ending?” I teased.

  That had him shooting me a deadly look. “If you tell me, I will ruin the ending of every movie you ever watch.”

  My eyes widened. Gavin was a movie buff, so I didn’t doubt it. I shot him a look back and shook my head. “Fine. I won’t. Are we going home now?”

  “Depends. Where do you want to go?”

  “I want to check out the bookstore for a little bit. It’s just across the street. I need some new books.”

  “Sure. I might find some more there too.”

  I grinned. Then I went to the back room and changed into my regular clothes, which were denim jeans and a black shirt. Ten minutes later, Gavin and I were walking towards the bookstore and debating the best dessert.

  “It’s got to be cheesecake,” I said firmly. “Non-fat or low-fat. All that creaminess is just the best.”

  “It’s sickening if eaten too much,” Gavin argued. “Ice cream is the way to go. You can get all the flavors you want.”

  “But ice cream is so…common.”

  “And cheesecake isn’t?”

  “Not really. It takes work to make cheesecake, its rich and fulfilling. Ice cream is too easy.”

  “Fine. Chocolate truffles are rich and fulfilling. And they’re delicious.”

  “And they’re boring.”

  “You certainly have weird thoughts on what’s boring,” he muttered.

  I grinned. “You certainly have weird thoughts on ice cream flavors.”

  “Matcha is the best flavor there is.”

  I giggled, then turned to him as I was about to argue his point. But before I could open my mouth, someone bumped into me and jarred me from the spot, and I almost stumbled. I managed to catch myself by leaning on Gavin’s chest, which was hard and had my cheeks heating up.

  Then he was yanking me to the back and making me stumble all over again.

  I blinked. Then I stared at the scene, horror roiling in at the sight in front of me. It was the guy from earlier—Michael Cruz—and it was obvious he was the one who pushed me. He and Gavin were currently grappling each other, with Michael looking so hateful as he stared at Gavin in what had to be intense dislike. Gavin was holding him off, not necessarily attacking back but not letting Michael come near me, either.

  Something flashed, and I yelled in panic. “Knife!”

  Gavin managed to evade it on time. But it was just a half second too late as blood appeared on his cheek, dripping down and making him curse. A dark look crossed those already dark eyes.

  Then he moved so fast, I could only watch and cover my mouth with my hands.

  In five seconds, Michael was up in the air. In another three, he was down on the ground and clutching his stomach as he groaned in pain. I watched Gavin stagger back, and I realized he was more injured than I thought.

  Then the sound of a camera shutter clicking perked my ears up.

  I turned to the side, where I found another man lurking and eyeing us with an eager look on his face. He turned to me and found me looking at him, and he winked and gave me a thumbs-up sign. Beside him, there was a female reporter, and she rushed over to me with the same eager look on her face. She introduced herself and the network they were affiliated with, obviously wanting to get it out of the way.

  “Honey, has this man been stalking you for long?” she asked.

  “Did you guys follow me?” I asked in return.

  The reporter blinked. “We got a tip that you were here, so we came.”

  Oh, boy. I glared in Michael’s direction, not doubting where the tip came from. I turned to the reporter again. “Karen, right? We should call for an ambulance. That man might need attention.”

  “Who is that man? Do you know him?”

  “No, but he obviously needs treatment.” Karen’s cameraman pulled out his cell phone to make the call.

  “Look, I need to get my bodyguard to a clinic. He’s injured. Can you please back off and I’ll give you all the details you need. We can set up an interview. Exclusive.”

  The word exclusive had her eyes widening in awe, and I realized I’d never given anyone an exclusive. But it was absolutely needed right now, especially if I wanted to do some damage control and get this chick out of our hair. I pasted a bright, assuring smile on my face. “What do you say to that?”

  “We would love an exclusive interview,” the reporter, Karen, said eagerly. She took a business card out of her pocket and handed it to me. “We want to delve deep into your old life…and your racing life, of course.”

  “I’m sure,” I said dryly. “I’ll call you tomorrow to set up a date. Now if you’ll excuse me. I need to get to a clinic.”

  With that parting note, I took Gavin by the arm and steered him out of there before he could protest. To my relief, the reporter didn’t follow us, and we managed to get into the parking lot without a hitch. Gavin wanted to drive, but I shot him a look and tossed him a small towel to stop his face from bleeding. Then I got in the driver’s seat and waited for him to get in the passenger seat, and we were out of there.

  Five minutes in, Gavin finally spoke. “Don’t go home yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “There’s a car following us. I suspect that Karen had a backup reporter to not miss anything and still get the interview you promised.”

  “These people are relentless,” which had Gavin chuckling. “Hang in there.”

  His hand clutched the ‘holy shit’ handle on the passenger side. I calculated the space between the cars, then went through a route in my mind. Then I floored the pedal and navigated my way out of traffic, taking twists and turns and using the less-used routes to get away from the black car. I didn’t like what Michael did, but I sincerely hoped they still took care of him.

  Around twenty minutes later, we finally managed to evade the car, and I stopped in an alley that wasn’t very visible on the main street. The club beside it was the same club where I got drugged, and I knew the owner was inside. I unbuckled my seatbelt and turned to Gavin, removing the towel from his cheek.

  “I’m fine,” he said.

  “Come on,” I replied. “We need to head inside.”

  He shot me a look of surprise, but followed me, anyway. We passed by the back, and I asked the bartender for the owner, Paula, who was busy on the phone in her office. I told Paula in short terms that I needed to use her first aid kit, and she signaled me to her other room before returning to her call. Five minutes later, I pretty much had to force Gavin to sit down on the couch as I opened up the first aid kit and rummaged for what I needed.

  “I told you I was fine.”

  “And I still think you need that cleaned up,” I said pleasantly. Wet towels took care of the blood, and I scrutinized the cheek and was relieved to find out that it was just a shallow knife scratch. That didn’t stop him from wincing when I put the alcohol on it, though. Then he jerked back when I pressed again. “Stop being a baby.”

  “That stings,” he grumbled.

  “It will sting more if you keep moving,” I snapped. He glared at me, and I glared back. Finally, he gave me a reluctant look and kept still.

  When he was all patched up, I checked his body, forcin
g him to remove his shirt and trying not to notice his chest. It was so sinewy with muscles, and I failed as I found my mouth watering while staring at it. Then I noticed the bruise on his chest and realized Michael must have hit him there, too. I placed my hand there.

  “Does it hurt?”

  His breath sharpened. “A little.”

  “Let me massage it with some Tiger Balm,” I said. I expected him to protest, but to my surprise, he never did.

  Silence reigned as I rubbed little motions on his chest area, checking him over for other injuries. I was used to this, having been taught to do a self-check-up in case I got involved in accidents. It was a professional move.

  But all I could think about while I was rubbing Gavin was how hard his body was, and how my hand wanted to inch lower. I shook off the urge and looked up, prepared to crack a joke and break the tense atmosphere.

  My breath caught in my throat at the molten hot flare in his eyes and the closeness of his lips.

  Without thinking, I moved my head, pressing my mouth against his. His lips parted in surprise before responding right away, and the way he pulled me closer had me going weak in the knees. My hands moved to his shoulder for support, afraid I would fall at any moment.

  His tongue slid in and tangled with mine, and all thoughts flew out of my head as I was lost in the sensation.

  He was so delicious. He was so skilled, and I was drowning. This kiss felt familiar and new at the same time, and I reveled in it, eager for more and hungry to touch him.

  So I slid my hands down his abdomen, delighting in his sharp breath that I caught in between my lips and sucked on. I bit his bottom lip and raised my hips, settling my butt on his lap as he clutched on my waist. I felt him pulsing, hard and long, and my body moved of its own accord.

  A hand slid down my shirt, down my bra, and rubbed on my nipple. A hot thrill went through me. I was on fire and moaned out my need, desperation sinking in as I pulled his hand closer.

  Then his mouth was gone, and his hands were gone.

  “God, Honey.”

  I blinked. The world swirled, and it took me a while to get my balance. When I finally did, Gavin was on the other end of the couch and eyeing me with a frustrated expression. No desire.