Priest (A Standalone Bad Boy Romance Love Story) (34 page)

“You’re doing fine,” I
tell her. “Now, try coming even slower off the clutch.”

We’re doing this for a
while. Although she never quite gets the hang of it, she does manage to get up
to second gear a couple of times, third once.

When I start smelling
transmission fluid, though, I decide it’s about time to call it a day.

She seems a bit
disappointed, but I do my best to encourage her.

“The first time I ever
got behind the wheel of a manual,” I tell her, “I wore the clutch out all the
way. It was pretty ugly. Mick was so pissed.”

She smiles a little, but
it’s clear she’s not too happy with herself.

“It takes time,” I tell
her, “and this is far from the easiest vehicle to learn on, so don’t take it
too hard, all right? We’ll keep coming out here until you’ve got the hang of
it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I tell her. “We
might want to see if we can get a different car, though.”

She elbows me in the
ribs, and we both laugh together.

“So,” I start again, “you
mentioned there would be some kind of reward if we did the lesson in the
Chevelle…”

“Yeah, we’ll want to wait
until we’ve got the thing parked before we do that, though,” she says.

I’m actually just teasing
her. I don’t expect anything. At the same time, though, I’m not going to turn
down that kind of offer, so I may be driving back to the junkyard slightly
faster than necessary.

We have to take a little
detour before we get back, though, as I spot a cop car down the street a ways.
Thankfully, they don’t see us and we’re able to circle around and park the car
safely in the junkyard.

Before we get out, Kate
is asking, “Are you ready?”

“You really don’t have to
give me anything or do anything in exchange for going out there today,” I tell
her.

“I know,” she says. “I
want to.”

It seems fair enough to
me right until she puts her hand out to shake mine. I cock my head a little,
but I take her hand.

In return for burning out
my clutch, Kate very literally gives me a smile, a “thank you,” and a
handshake.

I can seriously see
myself falling in love with this woman.

Chapter
Eleven

Gloried Morning

Kate

I’m asleep when it
starts, but I wake up quickly enough.

Eli’s between my legs,
kissing the insides of my thighs and teasing my center with his lips and
tongue.

I lift the blanket to
look at him, asking, “What ya doin’?”

He glances up, saying, “I
thought you might appreciate a little help waking up.”

I think I can live with
that.

His arms are under my
thighs, his hands alternately moving up my side and curling around my legs.

This is Eli’s first time
at my house.

We were together late
last night and I decided to sneak him in. It’s a bit of a risk, but my parents
should already be gone for work by now.

Eli runs his tongue over my
lower lips, and I’m checking to make sure the door is locked. Just because they
should
be at work doesn’t mean I’m
willing to take any chances.

His mouth settles over my
clit, and he takes it between his lips, his tongue massaging.

I’ve got one hand over my
mouth, the other playing with the hair on the back of Eli’s head as he goes
down on me.

It’s not such a bad way
to wake up in the morning.

He brings his hand down
toward my center and eases a finger inside me, and I throw the covers off as
best I can to take in the view.

He looks up at me, his
lips kissing my lower abdomen and my inner thighs as he draws little circles
over my g-spot with his middle finger.

I reach over to the
nightstand, grabbing my box of condoms and setting it on the bed next to me.

“Come here,” I whisper.

He moves up my body with
his mouth, adoring every inch of the ascent, and as soon as he’s close enough,
I reach between his naked legs and grab him.

I find a better position
on the bed and I pat the top of his shaft against my tongue a few times before
taking him into my mouth.

He lets out a long sigh,
and I can feel his pulse between my lips.

I take him farther in my
mouth and then ease back. Stroking him, I look up to see his eyes are closed.

Wrapping my lips around
him again, I suck him softly, my fingers still wrapped around the base of his
shaft.

It’s not long before he’s
pulling back and reaching for the condoms next to me on the bed.

He removes one and puts
it on and his eyes are serious but kind as he positions himself between my
legs. Yeah, this is quite probably the best wakeup ever.

Eli dips himself between
my folds, just enough to wet his tip and he pulls back. With the next motion he
goes deeper.

I’m pulling his head down
and I kiss him hard on the lips. His tempo increases, and I’m lying with my
arms out to the sides now as he bends to kiss my breasts.

My nipples harden, and he
flicks them, each in their turn, with his tongue.

With one arm beneath my
lower back, Eli lifts my hips a little, allowing him to go just a little bit
deeper and my hips are rising and falling to meet him in the middle.

Eli kisses the sensitive
skin of my neck. His heavy breathing intoxicates me so close to my ear.

Whenever they’re close
enough, I kiss his neck, his shoulders, his cheek, and his mouth, relishing the
salty taste of his skin.

I’m flexing my kegels,
trying to get the most out of every inch of feeling, and his mouth comes open
as he breathes so hard.

I pull him close to me as
I feel the switch flip in my body, and I start to rise through the ether.

“Come with me,” I whisper
to him, but it looks like he’s already well on his way.

He’s entering me so hard,
so fast, it’s hard to tell at any given moment whether he’s pushing in or
pulling back, and my legs are quaking as a guttural moan escapes my lips.

I reach under my head and
remove a pillow, putting it over my face because I’m pretty sure that’s the
only thing that has any chance of working as he takes me all the way to the top
and my senses are flooded with a warm electricity that seems to arc with every
motion of either of our bodies.

The pillow is hard over
my mouth, but I don’t know how much good it’s doing as I have little, if any,
control.

I can feel the sharp
contractions in Eli’s muscles just about the time I hear the lock to my door
turning. Eli’s off of me and under the covers, managing to cover me as well,
but it’s too late.

Removing the pillow from
my face, I see my mother standing in the doorway, phone in hand.

“Get out,” she barks at
Eli.

“
You
get out!” I retort.

I’m surprised when she
does.

She’s only a few steps
out of my room before she starts talking, though, “Yes, my name is Jill
Chavez…yes, the one who called a few weeks ago,” Mom is saying.

I hate that everyone
knows her. It makes them believe they have to take her crap seriously.

I’m out of bed, putting
my clothes on faster than I ever have in my life, and I’m rushing after her.

She’s downstairs,
standing before the front window.

“Mom, wait,” I say.
“We’re both adults. You can’t keep calling the cops on him just because you
don’t want to get to know him.”

Mom doesn’t even look at
me; she just keeps talking on the phone.

“Yeah, I don’t know why
he thought he’d ever be welcome here, but that’s how it goes with these street
people,” she says.

“He’s not a street person,”
I tell her. “He has his own place, he’s got a car, two of them
,
actually. He has a job. Mom, he’s a
really nice guy if you’d just-”

She holds her hand up at
me, cutting me off mid-sentence.

“Fine,” I growl, and I
rush back upstairs.

Eli’s not in the room.

I check under the bed, I
check the closet. I would have seen him if he’d tried to come down the stairs.
His clothes are gone, though.

I don’t know where he
went, but it looks like he managed to get out of here. So I turn and start
heading back for my door when I hear a thumping sound outside my open window.

Wait, why is my window
open.

I walk over and look out,
finding Eli dangling from the side of the house, his fingers clamped on the
bottom of the windowsill.

“Come on,” I tell him.
“I’ll help you back in. There’s not much time.”

“Come with me,” he says.
“You don’t have to deal with the police, either. Let’s just get out of here.”

I look down at him
hanging there outside my window. His eyes are wide even as he’s trying to
convince me to follow him out there.

“Come on,” I tell him.
“It’s a long drop. Trust me.”

Mom comes into the room,
saying, “What I will never understand is why you want to throw your entire
life…” It’s about this time that she notices I’m not just looking out the
window. “What is he doing?”

Maybe it’s not the best
move, but the only thing I can think to do is tell Eli to, “Get out of here as
fast as you can,” and close the window.

“Just look at yourself,”
Mom says. “You’re an adult woman trying to sneak her boyfriend out of her room.
Is this who you want to be?”

I’m about to fire of my
retort when there’s a knock on the front door downstairs.

She doesn’t say anything
more, she just turns and goes. As soon as she’s out of the room, I’m opening
the window up again.

Eli’s not there.

“Kate!” Mom calls from
downstairs. “Come on down here
;
these
officers would like to have a few words with you.”

The police have better
things to do with their time than to chastise a grown woman for having sex with
her boyfriend in her parents’ house. I happen to know this for a fact.

Still, my parents give
enough money to the policemen’s union that I wouldn’t put anything past them,
either.

So, I can go downstairs
and face the music. I’m sure there’s no chance of
me
being arrested, but I’m sick of dealing with this.

I’m done.

I’m out.

I can hear footsteps
coming up the stairs, so I don’t have time for the sheets.

My heart is pounding as I
climb out the window and lower myself down as far as I can, though I doubt
it’ll make much of a difference.

I know it’s possible to
drop from this height without getting hurt, but I don’t exactly have a lot of
experience jumping out of buildings, either.

It’s all about the tuck
and roll. That’s what they say anyway.

Releasing my grip, it
looks like we’re about to find out.

I hit the ground, and I
certainly roll, though the tuck could use quite a bit of work. The wind knocked
out of me as I get to my feet, and I’m looking to see if there are any officers
who may have seen the maneuver.

I’m alone on the side of
the house.

There doesn't seem to be
any serious injuries, but it’s still a little tough walking at the moment.
Hobbling is about the best I can do for now.

I manage to climb the
neighbor’s fence, and once I’m on the other side, I’m pulling my phone out of
my pocket. There’s nothing left for me to do right now but see if I can meet
back up with Eli and try to figure out a better approach in regard to my
parents.

This one is obviously not
working.

Chapter
Twelve

Two-Bit Racer

Eli

Kate has to work tonight,
but I can’t let that distract me.

I just got the call.

The woman on the phone
told me the next race’s starting point is going to be on Sixth and Michigan
here in town, and so I drive. It’s only a couple of blocks away. Mick will wait
a couple blocks away with the truck in case we need to get out of there more
quietly. Hopefully we don’t have that issue.

I’m the first to arrive,
but all of my competitors arrive within the next minute.

My opponents for this
race are going to be a Mustang GT, a Honda Accord (though I’d imagine it has a
few more attachments than Kate’s), and a VW GTI.

I’m trying not to feel
too confident. All three of these people already won their own races the same
way I did. They wouldn’t be on the line if they couldn’t drive.

A man in a suit,
different from the one who started my first race, comes out into the middle of
the road, in front of and between the two center cars. He’s holding his hands
up and he drops them.

The Chevelle’s body
twists slightly; raising its front tires a couple of inches as I hit the gas.
All around me are shrill tires and thundering engines.

I come to the front of
the pack, but I’m not pulling away like I’d hoped. This isn’t going to be an
easy one.

At first, I’m so busy
looking for any streetlights on the road ahead that I almost don’t notice the
detour sign with a spray painted green arrow pointing left. By the time I do,
I’m almost past it.

Two of the others fell
into the same trap, but the Accord takes the left while the rest of us are
trying to get back on the course. I’m second to last when I finally make the
turn.

The Mustang behind me
lets loose its nitrous, and he tears by me as if I’m standing still.

I’m in last. I don’t like
being in last.

It takes some
self-control, but I refrain from hitting my own nitrous in an attempt to catch
up. When we get to the next detour sign, this one also pointing to the left,
the Mustang misses its second turn of the race and I climb into third.

The Chevelle comes out of
the drift hard, throwing me against the driver’s side door, and the taillights ahead
already look unreachable about two blocks ahead.

I’m checking the road
ahead for the next orange detour sign, but it must be further down the road. My
thumb settles in the air above my nitrous button.

Taillights turn into
brake lights ahead, though. There’s no detour sign to signal the turn, only an
arrow pointing to the right, painted just before the intersection in bright
green spray paint.

I pump my brakes, trying
to initiate the drift, but I’ve got too much speed coming around the corner and
my back tire runs up onto the curb, spinning, before sideways momentum turns
into forward momentum and I get all four wheels back on the road.

The two cars that were
ahead of me now make up the slower half of the pack, the guy in the Mustang
still managing to stay close on my tail.

There’s no way I’ve found
yet to know how long each race is going to be. I’m not even entirely sure we’re
following the right arrows, though there weren’t any better indications of
which route to take.

On the straight, the
Mustang falls back a little and the GTI capitalizes, not only passing, but
immediately cutting off the driver of the Mustang, who ends up on the sidewalk.

As long as they’re vying
against each other for second, I’m in a decent position, but the infighting
doesn’t last long.

The GTI is about two car
lengths back, and I’m trying to push the gas pedal all the way through the
floor. I’m edging out the competition, but not by much.

Another green arrow on
the road points left and I’ve hit my stride. I kiss the apex of the turn just
right and barely lose traction as I come around the corner.

Way up about seven or
eight blocks ahead is a red stoplight. I’m not sure yet if that has anything to
do with me or not, but that’s where my sights are set.

The Accord hisses past
me, and I hit my own nitrous. If that is the end of the race, I can’t spare a
second.

The GTI, oddly, seems
like it’s out of the race, but the Mustang hasn’t given up yet. It may as well
have, though.

So, it’s me in a race
with a souped-up Honda Accord, and as much as I’d love to say it wasn’t going
to be a contest, I am not creeping up on it the way I’m going to need to if I’m
going to win the race.

Everything changes as I
spot the green arrow pointing to the right on the road two blocks from the red
light. I almost don’t make the turn. The Accord doesn’t.

The very next block after
the turn, there’s a red light at the intersection. I won’t know if this is it
or if I’ve just lost the race, but my foot is down hard as I go through that
red light.

I’m looking around for
any indication whether I’ve won, or whether I’ve thoroughly screwed up. It’s
not until I ease off the accelerator until I feel my phone vibrating in my
pocket.

Pulling the phone out of
my pocket, but still keeping my foot partially down on the accelerator, I look
at the number.

I don’t recognize it.

That’s a good sign.

I answer, “Ransom.”

“You will find your
winnings in the glove box of your truck,” the now-familiar woman’s voice says
and she hangs up the phone.

There’s no reason to stop
on my way back to the flatbed, so I don’t.

When I get there, Mick is
standing at the back of the truck with his hands over his eyes. His hands don’t
move when I pull up, but they fly out of the way when I honk my horn a few feet
away from him.

He lets out a large
breath and moves out of the way so I can pull up the ramp he never bothered to
take down. I turn off the Chevelle, and get out to cover and secure it.

I wait until we’re in the
truck and on our way back to the shop before asking, “What were you doing?”

“Some of Jax’s people
showed up a couple of minutes before you pulled up here,” Mick says. “They told
me to go to the back of the truck and make sure I couldn’t see anything.”

“So you decided to go
hide-and-seek with it, huh?” I ask. “Open the glovebox.”

He opens it and a white
envelope falls out.

“Want me to open this,
too?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “Open
it and pray there’s more than $2,000 in there. I’m starting to lose money.”

“That’s just because you
won’t let your Galaxie die like it’s been wanting to for years,” Mick says,
leafing through the cash in the envelope. “$5,000 cash,” he says.

“Hey, look at that,” I
tell him. “That one was almost worth it.”

“How was it out there?”
he asks. “I didn’t see anything, but I heard a lot of it.”

“I don’t know,” I tell him.
“My opponents may have been easier this time, but the course was difficult.
Most of the time, I didn’t even know I was supposed to turn until I was almost
on top of it.”

“Well, at least you
didn’t lose your car,” Mick says. “Was Jax there?”

“I don’t think so. What
was he driving when he took you down?”

“Is there any way you
could say that with a little less enthusiasm? ‘What was he driving when he took
you down,’” he adds in a mocking tone. “You’d think you’d be over it by now.”

“If you think that, you don’t
know me very well,” I tell him. “Is there anything else in the envelope? Is
there anything in there besides the money?”

“Nope,” Mick says. “Is
there supposed to be?”

“How should I know?” I
ask.

We drive back to the shop
and Mick helps me get the Chevelle unloaded and into its spot before we take
the flatbed back to the shop.

The thrill of the win is
only just starting to set in, and I pull out my phone to call Kate. Actually,
I’m going to tell her in person.

“How’s the Galaxie
running?” I ask Mick.

“It’s your car,” he
responds.

“Yeah, but you said you
were going to take a look at it today. Did you?”

She’s shaking his head
no, even though he’s saying, “Of course, man.”

I decide to check for
myself.

One would think that
having replaced just about everything on the Galaxie except for the frame would
mean it’d run just like new. One apparently hasn’t met my car.

I get behind the wheel
and turn the ignition, eliciting little more than a sputter before nothing but
the click of the starter.

“Yeah, I guess I didn’t
get around to that yet.”

“Give me your keys,” I
tell him.

“I’ve got to get home,
too,” Mick says.

“You should have thought
about that while you weren’t working on my car today,” I tell him. “Come on, I
know you’ve got the GT86 here, hand ‘em over.”

“Fine,” he says, handing
me the keys, “but I’m going to need a ride home first.”

“You probably should have
said that before you gave me the keys,” I tell him. “I’ll be back in a while.
We can see how the Galaxie’s coming along then.”

Grudgingly, he turns and
heads toward my chronically broken-down car as I make my way outside.

Mick is one of those guys
who can’t drive unless he’s in something that’ll give him some attention. He
races his ’69 Chevy Camaro ZL1, but when it comes to driving around, he has to
have the newest thing on the block.

He won’t have the GT86
much longer. It’s almost a year old.

As soon as I get in, I
can’t help but think that this is the kind of car I want to drive around in,
but I’m not ready to let the Galaxie go. It may be a dark symbol of my past,
but isn’t getting rid of it just admitting defeat?

I don’t want to think
about any of that right now, though. It won’t be too much longer until Kate’s
off work, and we have some celebrating to do.

The drive is wonderfully
uneventful. I don’t have to check my mirrors for cops like I would have to in
the Chevelle, and there haven’t been any signs of extreme vehicular
distress—one of Maye’s favorite terms for lemon—like there would have been in
the Galaxie.

It’s a little weird
getting from point A to point B without having to look over my shoulder or
under the hood.

When I get to the
hospital, I park and make my way inside.

It’s hard to tell where
Kate’s going to be at any given time, but toward the end of her shift, she
usually tries to spend a little bit of time with her friend Paz. If I can find
Paz, I can find Kate.

It’s moot, though, as I
walk into the hospital and peek into the ER, finding Kate making her way from
one patient to another.

“Hey there,” I say as I
approach. “Sorry to just drop in on you, but I thought you might like to hear
it in person.”

“Yeah, you really need to
go,” Kate says, not looking at me.

“Yeah, I won,” I say and
then her words finally compute in my head. “I thought you were off in a little
bit.”

“I am,” she says, “but
you shouldn’t be here right now.”

She must be in work mode.
“I guess I should have called, but I was just so excited to tell you,” I start
again, but she cuts me off.

“Just leave, please,” she
says, glancing up just long enough to see the stern expression on her face.

“What’s going on?”

“Go,” she says, “now.”

I get that I just dropped
in on her, but this is a little much. As much as I’d love to figure out what
her problem is, though, she’s clearly not in the mood to talk about it.

I’m fuming as I turn and
start walking back toward the exit.

She’s working. I
understand that. Still, she could have gone about that differently. She didn’t
have to be so-

“Oh hey, Eli,” a very
friendly voice comes from just ahead. It’s Paz. “Hey, I’m glad you’re here,”
she says. “There’s someone who’d like to have a few words with you up in room
303,” she says.

“Yeah?” I ask.

Evidently, Kate just
wasn’t in a position to talk where she was. I don’t know why I jump to
conclusions like that, but in my defense, she was pretty standoffish.

“Yeah,” Paz says. “Try
not to get seen by too many higher-ups on your way, though.”

I nod and say, “Thanks,
Paz.” With that, I head for the elevator.

The doors open on the
third floor and I follow the signs to room 303, only it’s empty.

“Kate?” I ask at the
threshold.

She may be a minute or
two, so I just step into the room. Only, when I go to close the door, someone’s
already on top of it.

“I can see you have no
reasonable sense of self-preservation,” Kate’s mom asks, closing the door
behind me, leaving us in the room together with her between me and the door. “I
thought you and I should talk.”