Page 17 of Hooked on Trouble

My lips twitch, but I keep them flat. His charm is a weapon I’m ill equipped to handle. Standing here, so close, I can easily forget the nights I spent staring at my cell phone, plotting his demise. Dismemberment by captive killer whale was high on my list, a close second to pitching machine shots to the balls. Still, some twisted part of me wants him to ask me out again. If he did, I could wrap my arms around his waist and kiss his stubbled cheek and say, yes, yes, yes. Or I could turn him down and flip him the finger. Also a feel-good option.

He doesn’t ask, though. “You shouldn’t be in this neighborhood at night. It’s dangerous.”

A moment ago these shadowed streets were the last place I wanted to be. But with Nico’s size and presence, I feel safe. Physically, at least. Emotionally, not so much. “I was heading home. Didn’t realize how late it was.”

He looks at his black boots, then at the streetlights, then at me. “Can I give you a lift? There’s something I need to do, but if you come, I can drop you home after. I’ll be worried if you take the bus on your own.”

Worried. About me. A shiver courses through my body, and I don’t think it’s from the cold.

When I first flirted with photography, I couldn’t get the shutter speed and aperture right. Too slow or too fast, too much light or too little—whatever I did, my shots weren’t crisp. I’d download them to my computer and trash everything. Fastest index finger in the West. Then I photographed Shay at the bottom of one of her ski races, and the images rocked. Each one was clearer than the last: blue sky, bright snow, excitement in the air. Everything just clicked.

Like my night with Nico.

For years I’d kept men at arm’s length, didn’t even realize I was lonely. Then the Sexy Beast slammed everything into focus. Maybe it was my vulnerability that trip, or simply our connection, but once back home, when I returned to my easy nights with men, no strings, no emotion, I knew what I was missing. One night with Nico, and I craved that closeness—someone to confide in, total honesty. My thoughts shifted to Rose. If I could have a sister in my life, real family, I wouldn’t miss the feelings Nico inspired. I would have an Unconditional Someone.

But Nico’s the one in front of me, asking to give me a lift home. I could stay aloof like I did after dinner last week, not let him any closer than need be. He hasn’t pushed me since then. Hasn’t called or sought me out. Maybe he’s just being a good guy.

“Sure,” I say. “Lead me to your chariot.”

He presses his hand to the small of my back, firm but gentle. His hand is so big the tips of his fingers span to my ass, probably on purpose. I should shake him off, not let him cop a feel, but I’m greedy for his touch. We walk in silence, him guiding me through the streets, hand on my back.

When we get to a parking lot and his truck beeps, I plant my feet. “So there’s this thing, called global warming, and it’s liable to melt the world. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

He faces me, a smile spreading. Not a full grin, just the corners of his lips tugging upward. Boyish for such a masculine man. “Sounds familiar.”

“I’m pretty sure your truck is responsible for vaporizing half the ozone.”

“Doubtful.” He moves around me and opens the door of his Ford F250, massive like him. Imposing, like him. He holds out his hand. “Your chariot.”

What he lacks in words, he sure makes up in charm.

Once on the road, he turns his ear-bleeding country music down. “Why were you on Hastings this late?”

“I, if you must know, just got a job.”

He glances at me, then back at the road. “That’s great. Teaching art?”

“No.” I point to the camera still around my neck. “Gopher girl for an awesome photographer. I’m not cut out for teaching. The whole being around kids thing was a challenge.”

“I imagine a roomful can be tough. But photography, that’s your passion?”

“It is.” I run my hand over the grooves and edges of my Nikon D750. Ever since Lily came by my house on my seventeenth birthday, she’s made a point of buying me gifts. When she asked my dad what we were doing to celebrate that day, he sneered at her and said, “Celebrate what? That she drains our bank account?” He was pissed I’d used his track money to buy vegetables.

I pull the camera over my head and secure it in my purse. There’s a Sports Illustrated magazine on the floor. Swimsuit edition. Considering Nico hasn’t dated in sixteen months, I bet the pages are sticky.

Chuckling to myself, I say, “Lily got this for me. I love shooting street life. That and colors. I’ve been going to Kitsilano Beach in the morning, early to catch the sunrise.”

He turns the wheel, edging onto a side street. I’m not sure what errand he has to run or where we’re going, but I watch each shift of his wrist, each twist and tilt. Thick veins pulse under his dark skin. I don’t normally ogle men as they drive, don’t study their movements and hand work, but Nico’s forearms flex in the most delicious way. Forearm porn.

He fists the wheel at ten and two. “I’d love to see your shots sometime.”

I eye the portfolio tucked in my purse. “Maybe.” Art is personal, those pictures a window into my world, my heritage. Keeping my distance from Nico doesn’t include sharing that. “What about you?” I ask. “What were you doing in that fine part of town? Detective stuff?”

Frown lines pucker his brow. “Things aren’t looking good for Josh—my brother. Have the girls told you about it?”

“A bit, not much. I know he stole a car or something.”

One hand clutching the wheel, he rubs his neck with the other. “Or something. They found meth when they impounded it. He had a minor drug charge the year prior, so they got a search warrant. He’s been out on bail for seven months, but the trial’s not far, and we’re running out of options.”