Next to Never (Fall Away #4.5)

But he just took the money and smiled lazily, like all was right with the world now. “Thanks,” he replied and then looked around me to Kat. “Nice doin’ business, Kat.”

And they both turned and headed back to their car. I stayed in front of her, feeling the heat of her anger on my back.

But I had my own fury swirling like a tornado under my skin. What the fuck was the matter with her? Why would she come outside the shop if she’d noticed a car lurking around? And what the hell would she have done if I hadn’t shown up?

What would they have done to her?

She came around me, her face twisted in anger. “I don’t need your help.”

“Then why the hell did you call me?” I barked.

“I forget!” she yelled back, spinning around. “Screw off, College Boy.”

I widened my eyes and ran my hand through my hair, fisting it. Jesus Christ! What did I do wrong? She called me.

I watched her walk back for the garage, her tight blue jeans ripped to hell, grease stains up her forearms, and her dark gray T-shirt falling off her shoulder, exposing her skin, and I didn’t know if I was angry or turned on or both. Every single one of my muscles was hot and as hard as a rock. Every. Single. One.

Charging after her, I grabbed hold of her arm, twisted her around, and threw her over my shoulder, hearing her yelp as I stood there, wrapping my arms around the backs of her thighs.

“What are you doing?” she screeched, and I saw her black baseball cap fall to the ground and the ends of her dark hair sway around my waist.

“I don’t know, but it’s fun,” I told her. “I can hold you like this all night. I’m kind of enjoying it, actually.”

“Let me down!”

“Not likely.”

“Jase!” she protested again. I actually don’t think I ever introduced myself. But then I remember having written my nickname with my cell number on the back of my business cards.

I stood there like I was waiting for the fucking bus until she calmed down and stopped acting like a child.

“Actually, you are getting kind of heavy.” I grunted and shifted her on my shoulder. “Maybe if I stripped you down, it’d be a lighter load? You game, Trailer Park Princess?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Then stop calling me College Boy.”

She tried to twist out of my hold, throwing my balance off. “Please!” she cried.

And when I didn’t budge, her breathing slowed, and she finally lowered her voice. “Jase?” she said, and my fingers tightened on her, loving the sound of my name on her lips. “I’ll let you take me home, okay?”

Okay. But I didn’t put her down.

Instead, I carried her all the way to the car, hearing her angry little growl behind me, because she knew I didn’t trust her to not run away. She dragged my ass all the way out here and put me in the middle of her drama. I was taking her home safely.

I put her feet on the ground and opened up the car door, letting her climb in. More like she just plopped down in the seat, pouting, but she was in the car, nonetheless. Walking around to the driver’s side, I climbed in, fastened my seat belt, and started the car.

“Who were those guys?” I asked her, turning on my headlights and pulling onto the dark road.

“It doesn’t matter.”

I arched a brow, turning to look at her. “I asked you a question.”

I’d forked over four hundred dollars to get her out of trouble—what she did with the other four hundred I’d left last week, I had no idea—so she could damn well give me some answers.

“Dealers,” she finally answered. “My ex owes them money, so they were shaking me down, trying to find him.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“He’s never far.”

I shook my head, turning my eyes back out to the road.

Dealers. She said it as if it’s all so normal.

What would they have done if I hadn’t been there? What if they’d shown up at her goddamn house with her son there? Is that what she wanted him growing up around? Fucking losers and trash and drama . . .

I tightened my fists around the steering wheel, hearing the leather grind in my fist. “You’re a mess,” I bit out in low voice. “How the hell can anyone live like that?”

I saw her turn to me out of the corner of my eye. “You don’t know me. Don’t forget that.”

And then I saw her put her baseball cap back on, folding her arms over her chest.

We sat in silence, and I stared ahead, the white lines in the middle of the road racing past my car as I considered what the hell I thought I was doing. She had a point. I had no right to judge her. Her reality was far different from mine. I had money, an education, experiences that constantly reminded me how big the world was. She was a teenager who would probably struggle for everything for the rest of her life.

But . . . given our very different lives, we were both here, weren’t we? She, coming to me, because even though she would never admit it, and given how little she knew about me, she did know I would come through for her. And me, racing to her in the middle of the night, because all the money, education, or experiences in the world couldn’t buy what she made me feel.

“I do know you,” I admitted. “Because I’m just as much of a mess as you are.”

I could feel her eyes on me, and I wondered what she thought of me. Was I the asshole rich guy trying to prey on her? Was I some idiot she thought she could hustle to feed her kid?