22. Jacob

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

jacob

A t the Starbucks, I dial Lacey's phone. She picks up on the first ring. I can hear the panic in her voice.

"Please tell me you're here," she says.

"Just pulled in. Are you still in the bathroom?"

"Yeah, but he went to get someone to open the door. What should I do?"

"Hang tight. I'm coming inside for you. Don't unlock the door until I tell you to."

I walk in and scan the space for the direction of the bathrooms. Catching sight of the sign, I push my way through the crowd. A large man is arguing with an employee about unlocking the women's bathroom for him. That must be her date. I bypass them and head straight for the bathroom where I bang on the bathroom door.

"Lacey, it's me," I call through the door.

I hear the click of the lock, and the door barely creaks open. Lacey peers out at me through the crack, and then she pulls the door open the rest of the way. I slip my jacket off and wrap it over her shoulders. Then I help her tuck her hair up inside my baseball cap that I've placed on her head. Once she's ready, I drape my arm over her shoulders and lead her out the door, right past the man still arguing about unlocking the bathroom door.

"Are you okay?" I finally ask, a couple of minutes down the road.

"Yeah. Thanks for coming. I don't know what I would have done..."

I glance over at her. Her hands are shaking. She hugs her arms tightly around her body. I reach over and grasp her trembling fingers on the hand closest to me.

"What happened?" I ask.

I'm honestly not sure I want to know, but I listen intently as Lacey retells the story to me from the beginning. My jaw tenses when she tells me the slimy words he uttered in her ear. Fury sweeps over me at the thought of him even considering forcing himself on her. My fist lands forcefully on the dash of my truck.

"What a fucking creep!" I say. "I'm going to turn around. Let's go see if the douche is still there. I have a few things I'd like to whisper in his ear..."

"No, Jacob. Please don't. Just take me home."

She's sobbing now. Clearly the adrenaline has worn off. Even knowing the emotions washing over her right now aren't my fault, remorse fills my body.

"Hey, Gypsy, don't cry. Scoot over here."

I pat the bench seat next to me. She unbuckles her seat belt and slides down the bench, up against my side. I wrap my arm around her and hold her tight for the remainder of the drive.

When we arrive in her driveway, I'm surprised not to see her pickup sitting there.

"Where's your truck?"

"It's at the gas station," she says.

"So he doesn't know where you live?"

"No, he knows the general area, but he hasn't been here."

"Good. I'm going to stay here tonight with you, anyway. Just in case."

"You don't have to do that. I'll be fine."

"Not a chance I'm leaving you here alone," I say, holding the door open for her.

"Thank you," Lacey says.

We make it inside, and she wraps her arms around my neck. I hug her tightly, my hand rubbing up and down her back, trying to calm her tears. I'd really love to pummel the fucker for making her cry.

Once she is calmed, she climbs into her bed. I take my spot on the floor of the living area, using one of the throw pillows from the bench as a pillow. We lie in our separate beds, only feet away from each other, and try to fall asleep.

"Hey, Gypsy?" I call out into the darkness.

"Yeah?"

"When you called me, you said you were calling me because no one else would answer the phone."

"Yeah?"

"Why didn't you call me first?" I ask, staring up into the darkness.

"I didn't think you would answer my call. I didn't think you wanted to have anything to do with me."

"Why would you think that?" I ask, but I already know the answer.

My hand rubs against my sternum as though it may be able to massage away the hole her words just gouged into my chest.

"You've stayed clear of me since the day we kissed at the flower shop. I'm either the world's worst kisser, or I must've gravely misjudged the situation."

Guilt washes over me, and I hate myself for making her feel at fault for my shortcomings.

"It wasn't you. I swear, it's all me."

As soon as the words leave my mouth I roll my eyes at myself. Did I really just use the "it's not you, it's me" line on her? My hand rises from my chest to my face where the tips of my thumb and middle finger massage my temples. I take advantage of her silence and try again.

"What I mean is I'm no good for you," I say.

"It's okay, Jacob. You don't have to explain."

Her voice floats over to me, barely above a whisper. Silence fills the camper as I fight the urge to get up off this floor and go to her.

"Gypsy?"

"Yeah?"

"Next time, call me first. Always call me first."

"Okay. Good night, Jacob."

I hear Lacey yawn, and the camper goes quiet again. I lie awake until I hear slow and steady breaths coming from her direction. Knowing she is okay now, I begin to relax and let sleep fall over me.

Lacey hasn't been particularly happy with me the last few days. She refused to take a couple of days off work, so I told Mom to keep her working in the back of the shop in case her new friend came by to visit. I also recruited the help of Jalynn and George. We outnumbered her and forced her to stay with George and Jalynn for the next few nights to ensure her safety.

"I wasn't going to say anything," Lacey says. "But now I'm wondering if I should."

"What?" I ask, shifting forward in my seat.

We're having dinner with Jalynn and George. George invited me to join them for Taco Tuesday at their house tonight. He's been telling us what he knows about Jared.

"He sent me a text yesterday," Lacey says.

"What the hell did he want?" I demand.

Lacey pulls her phone out of her pocket. She opens the message from Jared and passes her phone over to me. George leans in to read it over my shoulder. My eyes scan over the words on her screen. Fresh anger courses through my veins.

"If you get any more calls or texts from that pervert, let me know. I'll take care of him," I say through my clenched jaw.

"I think we are going to ignore him unless it gets to the point that we can't," Lacey says. "Oh, George, I've been meaning to ask you. Do you have a C-clamp I can borrow?"

"A C-clamp?" George repeats with a furrowed brow. "What do you want with a C-clamp?"

"I need new brakes on the truck," Lacey says and takes another bite of her taco.

"And?" George waits for her to expound.

"And I don't want to pay someone to do something I'm perfectly capable of doing myself."

I lean back in my seat across from Lacey and chuckle. George and I exchange amused looks. I fold my arms across my chest.

"You're not changing your own brakes," I counter.

"Why not?" Lacey asks, and I can tell she's ready for a standoff. Stubborn woman.

"First of all, what do you know about changing brakes on a vehicle? Have you ever done it?"

"No. But I did watch a video on YouTube, and it doesn't look like anything too difficult for me to manage. I just need some tools."

"And when something isn't done right and you take off down the road without working brakes, what are you gonna do then?"

Lacey shrugs. She leans back in her seat and folds her arms across her chest, too, mimicking my body language.

"I guess I'd better just do it right from the start so I don't have to find out," she states matter-of-factly.

"When do you want them done?" I ask her. "I have the tools you need. I'll come by and help you with it."

Lacey straightens in her chair, trying not to let the smile tickling her lips spread across her face.

"Tomorrow?" she asks.

"Tomorrow it is."

True to my word, I pull into Lacey's driveway after work to help her change the brakes on her truck. She stands to the side and supervises my work. I'm pretty sure by the coy look in her eye that she is enjoying the view. I'm wearing my favorite baseball cap today, a T-shirt, and a pair of relaxed jeans pulled over my cowboy boots.

"Are you sure that's the way to do it? The video I watched said to do it a different way," Lacey teases, earning an unimpressed look from me.

"Hand me that grease packet, would you?" I ask, motioning toward the small packet of grease with a nod.

"Sure."

She hands me the grease packet, her eyes glued to me as I tear open the packet and apply the grease. I offer to let her spread the grease on the last one, but she just scrunches up her nose at it and insists I am doing too good of a job for her to interfere.

"So," she starts, "that blonde you took to the pool hall was really pretty. Is she Ashley's replacement?"

She's kneeling on the ground next to my tools now, making herself look busy as she pretends to organize them. I give her a sideways glance but continue working on reattaching the caliper. She must be talking about the night she saw me at the pool hall with Mia.

"No," I say firmly.

"Why not?"

Lacey knows I have a twin sister, but she hasn't met Mia, yet. I should probably tell her it was Mia with me at the pool hall, but I'm curious to see where she's going with this, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't enjoying the jealous twinge in her voice.

"She's not my type."

"Long legs and big boobs aren't your type?" Lacey questions.

She leans toward me now, propping her hands on the tire lying between us. I'm guessing she's intentionally pushing her breasts out, trying to make them look bigger than they are. I unabashedly lower my gaze down to her insignificant cleavage. My eyes pause on her chest for a moment. I lift my eyes back to hers. A blush spreads across her cheeks.

"Nah," I say. "More than a handful is a waste."

I turn back to my work with a smirk on my face.

"Aren't you full of yourself?" Lacey says, pretending to be offended, and leans back on her heels again. I know she's secretly satisfied with my answer.

Within a short time, the brakes are finished. I clean up the mess, packing the old brakes and rotors into the boxes and loading them into the back of my truck so I can dispose of them for her.

"That didn't take long," she says.

"We still need to break them in," I say, wiping off my hands.

"How do we do that?"

"I'll tell you what to do. Hop in. I'll ride shotgun."

I climb in the passenger side of her truck, and Lacey gets behind the wheel. Damn girl's got a hammer on the floorboard. I can only imagine what that's about.

"Okay, get going about thirty-five miles per hour, then use medium pressure on your brakes to slow down to about five miles per hour," I instruct her. "We need to do that a couple of times."

She follows my instructions, speeding up and slowing down. After a couple rounds, I have her repeat the process a few more times from a higher speed. Satisfied that the new brakes are well bedded, I tell her to keep driving toward town.

"Let's get dinner," I say. "You hungry?"

"I could eat."

In town, she parks the truck in front of the diner. I come around and open her door for her. With a hand on her lower back, I lead her inside. We follow the hostess to our booth. I take the seat facing the door. I always make a point of sitting where I can keep an eye on the door, just in case some crazy wanders in.

I shouldn't be sitting here with her right now. I know this. I should have packed my shit up and left when the brakes were done. I'm not trying to get into another relationship, and hanging around Lacey is bound to make things dicey. I'm asking for trouble, but I'll certainly enjoy the view in the meantime.

The hostess gives us each a menu and briskly walks back to the front counter to help the next set of guests. Our waitress stops by for our drink order, and Lacey peruses the menu. I don't need a menu. The establishment hasn't changed their menu for the entirety of my recollection. Plus, I almost always order the same burger and fries every time I eat here.

Lacey sets her menu aside and looks up at me almost expectantly. Damn, she's beautiful. My hand itches to reach across this table and grab hold of that soft vanilla-scented mane of hair. The waitress shows back up, setting our drinks down in front of us, and takes our orders.

"How long have you two been married?" she asks.

My eyes dart over to Lacey.

"Oh. We're not married," I tell her. "Just friends."

"I remember those days. It won't be much longer before you are," she says, giving me a knowing look.

When she leaves, I turn back to Lacey. Her eyes are fixed on the table, a light blush flooding her face. My stomach flips. A part of me wants it. Hell, if I'm honest with myself, I want her badly. But I'm barely recovered from Ashley breaking my heart the way she did. I can't survive a repeat. And Lacey is way out of my league.

After a good meal and even better conversation, I pay the bill and we walk side by side back out to the truck. The conversation always comes easy with Lacey. I take the keys from her, open the passenger door for her to climb in, and round the hood of the truck, climbing into the driver's seat. Lacey sits in the middle, just close enough for us to barely brush skin along the bumpy road back to her place.

"Thanks for helping me with the brakes," Lacey says when we make it back.

We are standing at her camper door. If I dared to steal a kiss, I'm pretty sure she would let me. I hover close, too close, slow to say goodbye as I internally debate whether or not to give in to this tantalizing woman standing in front of me.

She gazes up at me with those big hazel eyes that I could so easily lose myself in. I take a step closer to her, raising up a hand to brush back her hair. She closes her eyes and slowly rises up on her toes, leaning into me.

Shit.

I don't want to hurt her feelings. I don't want her to feel rejected or used. She doesn't deserve that. She shouldn't be punished because I can't fucking make up my mind. I quickly kiss her forehead and retreat back to my truck.

"See you around, Gypsy," I say and climb into my truck.

I drive home with nothing but Lacey on my mind. It would be so easy to give in to her. But I'll be damned if I'm ever the reason that woman sheds a tear.