Joy Ride
49
Henley’s to-do list
* * *
—Get your act together.
* * *
—Straighten out this mess.
* * *
—Turn on your phone. You can’t hide forever in the couch, the chocolate potato chip ice cream, the tropical island Pinterest boards, and the Go-Go’s.
* * *
—But “Vacation’s All I ever Wanted” and the pictures of Bora Bora are calming me down.
* * *
—Buy cheese.
* * *
—Face the music.
* * *
—Fight for things with Max. He’s the one thing good you’ve got, and you will not lose him, too.
50
The great thing about being the so-called king of the Manhattan custom car business—sorry, John, it’s not you—is that your suppliers will take calls on a Sunday evening. They’ll open their warehouses in New Jersey and meet you after hours. They’ll do deals after hours.
And since I’ve got my black sports car, it doesn’t take me long to drive out to Jersey, grab what I need, and lug it back into the city. After a few pit stops and a sweaty run up the service elevator in my building, I snag a smaller version of my gift and order an Uber. The driver takes me to Henley’s block and I call her another time. It rings and rings and rings. No answer. Seems she’s turned on her phone, but now she’s ignoring me. That doesn’t bode well, especially considering I’m dragging fifty extra pounds for her right now.
But I won’t back down easily.
And maybe I won’t have to back down at all, since my phone buzzes with a text.
* * *
Henley: Missed the call! My arms were full of cheese! Dinner will be late tonight. But I promise it’ll be delicious. Does 9 p.m. work?
* * *
I glance at the time. It’s eight. Little does she know I’d wait all night for her.
* * *
Max: I’ll be here.
* * *
I park myself on her stoop.
Five minutes later, a beautiful brunette walks toward me, a grocery bag on her shoulder, jeans on her legs, combat boots on her feet. My heart speeds up, and it’s such a strange sensation, but one I’m going to have to get used to. I stand, swallow, and wait.
Nighttime casts shadows on her, but even though she freshened up, I can tell she wasn’t lying when she said she’d spend the day in tears. As she passes under a streetlamp, her face is illuminated. Her eyes are red. I walk down the street, and when her gaze meets mine, she flinches as if she’s surprised to see me. A well of nerves rises inside me. But screw that. I’m not nervous. I know this is right. I’m 100 percent confident I can help. My job is solving problems, and I know how to fix this one.
Then her expression shifts to something else. It’s hard to tell in the dark, but maybe it’s relief. Her lips part softly, like she’s simply glad I’m here.
I stop when I reach her. I cup her cheek. I press a soft kiss on one eyelid then the other. Her breath flutters as I touch her, and I’m grateful that I can make her start to feel better.
I step back and take the bag off her shoulder. She lets me.
“Did you spend the whole afternoon crying?”
She nods.
“Do you need to cry some more?”
She shakes her head, and then she fixes on a smile. “I’m tough.”
I run my knuckles over her cheek. “Truer words were never spoken.” I gesture to the bag of food. “Let me help you make the mac and cheese.”
Her stomach rumbles. “I’m pretty hungry. Might need to order in. I don’t know if I can wait for mac and cheese, which is kind of shocking, considering I tunneled my way through a whole pint of ice cream today.”
“I have a solution for you.”
She arches an eyebrow and regards me skeptically. “To the ingestion of too much ice cream?”
“To the job situation.”
She drags a hand through her hair and shakes her head as we walk toward her building. “Max, you can’t solve this for me.”
“You’re right,” I say when we reach her steps.
She points to the shiny red metal box on the landing. “Did you put that there?”
I set down her groceries and meet her gaze. “First, I’m sorry I wasn’t honest about Creswell. That was shitty. I shouldn’t go around thinking you’re trying to steal business from me. That’s not who you are, and that’s not how I want to be. I don’t have an excuse, but I want a chance to do better. This kind of thing”—I point from her to me and back—“it’s all new to me. And I’m probably going to fuck up a few basic things. But I hope you’ll forgive me.”
She lifts her chin. “This thing you mention. What is this thing of which you speak?”
“Does that mean I’m forgiven for lying about the conversations with Creswell?”
She shoves my chest. “Yes, idiot. Just don’t do it again.”
“I won’t.”
“So this thing. Does it have a name?”
I quirk the corner of my lips. “It does have a name.” I tap my chin, like I’m trying to remember. Then I hold up my finger as if I’ve finally got it. “Yes. It does. This thing—I’m pretty damn sure it’s called love.”
Her brown eyes are a fireworks show. They twinkle. They spark. They’re so fucking gorgeous.
I grab her waist and pull her close to me. “I’m not just crazy for you. I’m in love with you, tiger. I’m madly in love with you.”
I don’t even give her a chance to answer. I dip my mouth to hers and kiss her, and I find her answer in the way she kisses me back, in how she melts into my arms.
But even so, I don’t mind it at all when we separate and she breathes out the sweetest words. “The same. It’s the same for me. I’m stupid in love with you, Max Summers,” she says, and nothing in the world has ever been better than those words. My heart does some seriously crazy cartwheels in my chest. She grabs the collar of my shirt then tugs me closer. “I’m so in love with you that I don’t care about that dumb deal.”
She crushes her lips to mine. She kisses me this time, and she’s as fierce and as fiery as she’s ever been. She’s my tiger, and that’s how I want her to be. We pull apart, and her lips are bruised and swollen. I hope mine are, too.
“Speaking of that dumb deal, I’ve got something for you,” I say.
“That shiny red toolbox on top of the stairs might have made my heart beat faster.”
“I thought it was me that got your blood flowing,” I tease.
“Yes, but Snap-on tools have been known to do wonders for this girl.” She bounces on her toes. “Did you get me a new set of wrenches?”
I nod. “I did. But that’s just a starter kit,” I say, gesturing to the fifty-pound basic tool set.
She tilts her head and gives me a quizzical look. “But those are incredible.”
“They are. But what would be even more incredible is a whole new complete set of Snap-on tools, wrenches and everything else under the sun. I figure you’ll need it for your new job.”
She takes a step back and gives me the dirtiest stare in the history of the universe. “No.”
“No what?”
“No. I am not taking a job with you,” she says crisply.
I laugh.
“I mean it,” she says, crossing her arms. “You can’t waltz over here and solve everything by offering me a job. That’s not what I want. You can’t just fix it for me like that.” She snaps her fingers.