Rush Me (New York Leopards 1)

The officer didn’t even look up. “The whole line. There’re protests going on at Grand Central.”

“But—but I have to get downtown.”

He shrugged. “Better take a cab. Subways aren’t going anywhere.”

I bit my lip. Now what was I supposed to do? I’d have to take a taxi, even though I didn’t really have the money to do that. And what with traffic—who knew how long it would take me to get there? Maybe there was a bus...

My shoulders slumped. How could I get a job if I couldn’t even get to an interview? This was a disaster. I was a disaster. I should have left earlier, should have checked the Metropolitan Transport Authority website, should have known what the hell I was doing with my life a year ago...

“Subway’s closed?”

My stomach lurched, and I turned, ready to have been wrong. But, no I recognized that voice, deep and rich and male.

Right on the street’s curb, Ryan Carter had pulled his motorcycle over and his helmet off. He shook his unruly blond hair into place, and flashed perfect white teeth at me.

Nerves and unwanted lust collided sharply to form snarkier words then I’d intended. “You look like a shampoo commercial.” I wished that in the middle of a crisis I didn’t notice how good he looked in his black-and-crimson Leopards jacket and well-worn jeans. I determinedly kept myself from scoping out how well-worn they were.

He just grinned. “Nah, I only do cars. Are you going somewhere?”

He did car commercials? He’d probably never worried about money in his life. “I’m trying to.” I redirected my anger at him since the MTA didn’t seem to care. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be practicing or something?”

His expression hardened and he spoke caustically, as though I’d insulted him. “Thanks. We just finished, and we’ll do better this week, okay?” When I stared at him blankly, he sighed. “Don’t suppose you watched?”

“I was probably busy...washing my hair.”

He shook his head, and his lips curved in an exasperated, offended smile, the kind that said he needed to either smile or punch me. “Well. Tough break about the subway. Good luck.”

I frowned at him. “Wait. Um. Aren’t you going to offer me a ride?”

He smirked, reaching up to ruffle his hair. I tried not to stare at his muscled arm. I’d never cared this much about arms before. “I don’t think so.”

I jerked my attention back to his face. But he had a speedy form of transportation that snuck through traffic! And he was my only chance of making it to Trophy Press. “Please? You have to.”

“Actually, I don’t.”

“This is important! I have a job interview downtown.”

He shrugged. “That’s too bad, ’cause I live just a few blocks uptown and that’s where I’m headed. Besides, what would I get out of it?”

My eyes narrowed. “It could be your apology for being such a nasty jerk the other night.”

He laughed. “‘A nasty jerk?’ You were in way better form the first time we met.”

My cheeks warmed. “I might have made some—insulting—comments, but you were the one who accused me of trying to lure in one of your friends—” I stopped and took a deep breath. “Look, are you going to give me a ride or not?”

He pursed up his lips like he was considering it—forcing me, totally against my will, to stare at his mouth—and then gave a little shake of his head. “Not.”

My mouth dropped. “Seriously? What, do you want me to pay you or something?” I started digging in my purse for my wallet.

His laugh stopped me, bright with hard mirth. “I’m sorry, aren’t you on your way to a job interview?”

My cheeks burned hotter. “I’m not broke.”

“Right, no, of course not. What’s it you do again? Publishing? And that’s such a booming industry. Bet you make a lot of money in that one.”

My fists curled up. Who did he think he was, to mock me about what I did? After all, what was so great about football? “Fine,” I snapped. “I don’t need the help of a dumb jock anyways.” I started striding away, blinking hard. How the hell was I supposed to get there, now? I could call and let Trophy Press know I’d be late, or need to reschedule, but first impressions weren’t easy to shake, and late was late.

The motorcycle purred up next to me again. “Oh, fine. I’ll give you a ride.”