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That’ll be the moment I lose all pretense of pretending this can end differently.
His jaw tightens, the muscle popping in intervals.
Yep, that’s me. Zoey Walker, Trailer Park Princess. Another of my nicknames. “Sixth on the left, the blue one.”
Blake pulls up and parks, and I try to see my home through his eyes.
A long metal rectangle, long ago painted a pale blue, with bright blue shutters and an entrance hidden behind a white screen door that’s seen better days. There are three wooden steps up to the front landing, where I placed a plant in an attempt to make it seem welcoming.
My secret?
It’s a fake plant because I can’t keep a real one alive, and publicly killing plants is the last bit of fuel on the fire I need. Through the window’s open blinds, I can see flashing lights that tell me Jacob is home and playing video games.
“Stay there,” Blake says as he puts the car in park and runs around the front bumper. He opens my door and scoops me into his arms.
“Put me down, I can walk!” I hiss.
“No.” Blunt and inviting zero argument, so of course, I argue.
“Seriously? If Jacob sees me—”
But he’s already on the porch, pulling the screen door open. “Key?”
“It’s probably open. Jacob’s inside.” He glares at me disapprovingly and I shrug. “Country courtesy.”
I reach down and open the front door, and Blake half turns, threading me through the doorway with me still in his arms.
I groan in frustration.
If he had the least bit of hope left after the whole trailer park thing, it’s definitely gone after he gets a glimpse of the frat boy party happening in my living room.
Okay, not a whole party.
But at least a frat boy hang-out session.
Jacob and his best friend Angelo are flopped back on the couch, headphones on as they yell at each other and whoever is on the other end of their microphones. Their big, dirty tennis shoes are on my secondhand coffee table on either side of an open pizza box old enough that the cheese has congealed and I can see the cut lines on the three slices left.
“Come on, asshole. Get the key and meet me!” Jacob says, holding his game controller up as though that’ll help his on-screen character do what he wants. The movement of the door must catch their attention because I know they can’t hear us. Jacob’s eyes don’t cut away from the action on the screen, his fingers pushing buttons seemingly randomly, just tossing a greeting over his shoulder. “Hey, Zoey!”
But Angelo does look my way. His jaw drops open, and then he mouths, “What the fuck?”
He backhands Jacob, who shoulder checks his friend back. “Get the damn key! What are you doing?” A second later, he growls, “You let me die, asshole!”
When Jacob finally looks to Angelo, he follows Angelo’s eyes and his jaw drops, matching Angelo’s look of confusion at seeing me in some strange man’s arms just inside our front door. “Uh, Zoey?”
I wave, figuring I might as well fucking own this one. “Hey, guys. This is Blake. Blake, this is Jacob and that’s Angelo.”
Blake lifts his chin in greeting because his hands are full of me. “Where’s the bedroom?”
“You are not taking me to bed, Mr. Hale!”
Oh, yeah, I’m back to using his last name because he’s acting like all this is no big deal when it’s a Huge Fucking Deal. He’s in my house, I’m in his arms, and I’m introducing him to my family. Distance is needed.
Blake grunts, his face determined. “Yes, I am.”
“Zoey?” Jacob says, harsher and harder as he stands up, the game forgotten. He’s ready to defend me, which is so sweet of him. Angelo squares up next to Jacob, also ready to battle for my honor.
Before I can explain, Blake does it for me. “Zoey hurt her ankle. It’s not bad, but she needs to rest. You, come help me get her situated in bed. You, get me an ice pack or a bag of frozen veggies, something to keep the swelling down.”
Just like that, the entire vibe changes. The true alpha male has spoken and he’s not threatening my safety, so Jacob and Angelo hop to follow Blake’s order. It’s actually annoying as hell because they never do what I ask them to do, as evidenced by their filthy shoes on my coffee table even though I’ve told them dozens of times that it’s disgusting.
“This way,” Angelo tells Blake, leading the charge toward the back of the single-wide. It’s not like there are lots of options. The living room and kitchen are in the middle with the front door, and the bedrooms are on either end. Even the bedrooms are nearly identical. The only thing that might make mine the ‘master’ bedroom is that mine’s just past the bathroom, which means I don’t have to walk as far if I have to pee in the middle of the night.
