The Last One (The One Trilogy #1) Read online

  Laura frowned. “I won’t say anything. I get it. Believe me, I’m just grateful for what you’re doing.”

  I nodded and went back to the office door, reaching high to find the key along the top of the molding. The door opened easily, and I stepped into the cluttered office. Dropping the keys to the Honda onto the desk, I found a small piece of paper and wrote, “Honda. Needs new serpentine. Laura—”

  I leaned out the door, calling through the dark. “Hey, I’m sorry, what was your last name again? And your phone number? I want to leave Boomer all the information.”

  “Swanson.” She rattled off the number and I noted it, tucking the paper beneath the keys. The set that belonged to an ancient Chevette were hanging on a nearby hook, and I grabbed them before locking the door behind me again.

  “Okay, let’s get you on your way.” I stood in the open driver’s side door. “Why don’t you shove her a little more my way, and I’ll just carry her to the car?”

  “You sure?” Laura’s eyebrow rose.

  “Yep, it’ll be easier all around. Here.” I handed her the Chevette keys. “Go open it up, and I’ll bring her over.”

  I slid my left hand beneath Meghan’s knees and at the same time wrapped my right arm around her back and tugged her toward me. She moaned as I lifted her off the seat, settling her against my chest.

  Wide green eyes, clouded with confusion, stared up at me. She struggled to free her arm where it was pinned between her side and my stomach. When she could move it, she reached up and touched my face.

  I couldn’t jerk back, even though the feel of her fingers on my jaw, coupled with the tantalizing view of cleavage I was getting from this vantage point, sent unsettling feelings down my body.

  “It’s you,” she murmured, and the whisper only added to my arousal. Her lips curved into a smile before her eyes shut again.

  I stood rooted to the ground for a minute. I couldn’t remember where I was supposed to go or what I was supposed to be doing.

  “Hey, are you all right?” Laura had opened the passenger side of the Chevette, but now she walked over to me. “She’s okay, isn’t she?”

  I swallowed hard. “Yeah, I was just making sure I had a grip so I didn’t drop her.” I strode over to the car and eased Meghan onto the seat. She made a small sound, almost like a kitten, and her hand trailed down my chest on its way to settle in her lap. The jean skirt had hitched up until I could almost see her—

  “Thanks, I’ll get her buckled in.”

  I jumped as Laura spoke from behind me. Gritting my teeth, I stepped back and let her through.

  “Let me have your cell phone.” I held out my hand after she’d shut the passenger door. “I’ll put in my number, just in case. I think the Chevette’ll get you back to Savannah without a problem, but better safe, right?”

  “Yeah.” She was quiet as I punched in the numbers. “And someone will call me when the car’s ready?”

  “Boomer’ll probably get in touch Monday. Garage is closed tomorrow, of course, but he’ll give you a call, let you know how much it’ll be with parts and labor. And then you can just trade out the cars when it’s fixed.”

  “That works.” She took back her phone from me, tucking it in her pocket, and then stuck out her hand. “Thanks again, Sam. I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t been driving down that road. You’re a lifesaver.”

  “No problem.” I shook her hand and focused on not looking into the car, where Meghan was stirring in the seat. “Drive safely going back.”

  “Will do.” Laura smiled and climbed into the Chevette. I watched while she started it up and pulled out of the lot before I returned to my truck.

  Images of green eyes and tousled red hair flashed in my brain as I headed home—again—but I ignored them. It had been a long time since I’d been tempted by a girl, and this one, I knew for sure, wasn’t for me. A college girl, one who came with baggage and apparently partied a little too hard sometimes ... nope. I shook my head to clear it.

  I’d go home, have a bracing cold shower, and then I’d forget all about her. After all, it wasn’t like I’d ever see her again.

  “PLEASE TELL ME THERE’S coffee. And maybe something to chop off my head. Oh my God, make the pain stop.” I stumbled into the living room, one hand over my eyes to hide from the light pouring in through our large windows and the other reaching out for anything that might help me stay upright.

  “Good morning, sleeping beauty.” Laura’s voice held laughter and way too much peppiness for this time of day.

  “Fuck the morning. Coffee, if you love me at all.”

  I heard the clink of the glass pot as I pulled myself onto a stool and dropped my head onto the breakfast bar, covering it with my arms.

  “Since of course I love you, here it is. Hot and strong. Just like that dude you brought home last night.”

  I straightened up so fast the room spun, panic gripping my heart. “God, are you freaking kidding me? Where is he? You’re joking, right?”

  Laura collapsed against the counter opposite me, holding her middle. “Oh, you should have seen your face. Priceless. Absolutely priceless. Drink your coffee before you knock it over.”

  I reached for the mug and glared at her. “You’re a bitch, you know that? A mean, lying bitch. God, you almost gave me a heart attack.”

  “It wasn’t that far-fetched. You wanted to take Mr. Sexy Cowboy home, don’t you remember? You tried to talk me into it. Hell, he tried to talk me into it.”

  “Mr. Sexy Cowboy?” I frowned, trying to remember. The guy who’d been sending me smolders across the room had asked me to dance, as I had predicted. He’d bought me a drink ... maybe two ... and then we’d danced some more. There was a slow song, and I’d felt his fingers at the waistband of my skirt, slipping down over my ass. I didn’t remember anything after that.

  “Yeah, he was, um, motivated. I had to tell him that you and I were both nuns, and that we’d run away from the convent for one last night of forbidden fun before we took our vows, but that now we had to go back or God would smite us. And him, if he didn’t just let you go.”

  I sipped the coffee, almost moaning in appreciation. “Damn, this is good. So he bought that? He actually believed you?”

  One side of her mouth lifted in a half-smile. “I was very convincing. I almost cried. Plus, the guy might have been Mr. Sexy Cowboy, but he wasn’t Mr. Smart Cowboy. He had more brawn than brain cells.”

  “Nice, Lo.” I took another drink and hummed. “Well, thanks for getting me out of there and making sure I got home safely. I’m sorry if I was a pain in the ass.”

  Laura raised her eyebrows. “So you don’t remember the rest of the evening at all? The part where your car died in the middle of a very dark, very lonely stretch of country road, and the auto service couldn’t send anyone out to us? And where we were rescued by a really nice guy, who towed your car to the nearest garage and then arranged for us to have another car so we could get home?”

  My brows knit together. There was a vague familiarity about what she was saying. I could almost remember her leaning over me, saying something about a belt, and then walking along the side of a road and getting jettisoned into a truck. Then the rest of her words registered.

  “My car? Where’s my car?” I slid out of the seat and ran over to the window. Or I sort of ran; I fast-walked, because my head still wasn’t quite sure it was going to stay on my shoulders, and I didn’t want to risk it falling off.

  In the spot assigned to the sweet little blue Honda my dad had bought me before I started college sat an old ugly brown car. I turned back around. “What did you do with it?”

  “Weren’t you listening to me? It’s at a garage in Burton. That’s the loaner. Calm down, Sam said it shouldn’t be too long. Boomer’s going to call me on Monday.”

  “Who the hell is Sam? And what’s a Boomer?” I was hung-over and my car was stuck in some stupid little town in the middle of nowhere. I was entitled to be a little irrita
ble.

  “Sam is the wonderful man who stopped to help us last night. Boomer is apparently the owner of the garage, and the mechanic who’s going to make your precious car like new.”

  “Hmm.” I turned back and flopped onto the couch. “Do we trust a man named after an explosive?”

  “Since he was our one and only choice, we trust him implicitly. And we will thank him for his kindness when we go back to get the car this week. Or rather, you will. Since I had the fun of getting through last night while you were passed out in the front seat, you get to handle car retrieval.”

  “Awesome. I can hardly wait.” I paused as another image flashed across my mind. “This Sam ... what did he look like?”

  Laura shrugged. “I don’t know. It was dark out there, you know. Um, I think his hair was light brown, maybe almost blond? He was kind of tall. But then everyone looks tall to me. Pretty built, I guess. Why?”

  “I think I sort of remember him.” But in my memory, I was looking up into the deepest brown eyes I’d ever seen, watching my own hand stroke the side of his face. With a pang, I recalled touching his skin, how the soft stubble had felt beneath my fingertips. Which was ridiculous, because if I couldn’t remember leaving the bar last night, let alone the car breaking down, how on earth could I still picture those eyes?

  “Well, that doesn’t surprise me. He helped get you to the truck and then carried you to the Chevette. You were semi-awake then.”

  I bit the side of my lip. “His name is Sam, you said?”

  “Yeah. Why?” I heard her curiosity.

  “No reason. I just want to know who has my car.”

  “No, that would be Boomer, remember? Sam just drove us there. I don’t think you’ll see him again.”

  I closed my eyes against the remainder of the headache still pinging under my forehead and stomped down the feeling of disappointment. Why would I care about not seeing a man I’d been nearly too drunk to remember? What did it matter if it felt like those brown eyes had seen deep into me, maybe the first guy ever to look beyond the surface? It meant nothing. He was just another male, one more in a world full of men I didn’t need.

  I BEGAN TO FEEL more alive around two that afternoon. When Laura suggested that we log some studio time, I put on some yoga pants and a T-shirt and walked the few blocks to a tall brick building that used to be a department store but now housed classrooms and practice rooms. We had access to the art studios twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, but the weekends were still the busiest times. I was surprised to see the day’s sign-in list was virtually untouched when Laura and I arrived.

  “Geez, are we the only losers who care about their craft today?” I printed my name on the line and handed the pen to Laura.

  “Or maybe we’re among the few who didn’t hit the party of the year last night. Could be the rest of campus is still sleeping it off.” She smiled and handed the pen back to the security attendant. I followed her down the hall and into a nearly empty room.

  The studios were divided between the different disciplines. Laura’s major was drawing, with a concentration in pen and ink. Mine was painting. Those two disciplines shared a room, although Laura didn’t come down here as often as I did. She could draw virtually any place, and most of her homework and projects could be finished in our living room as well as anywhere else. I, on the other hand, had to be in the studio at least three to four times a week. I was pretty sure she’d suggested us coming down today as a distraction for me, to take my mind off my hangover, but that was all right; I was willing to play along if it gave me some time on the easel.

  The room was a study in chaos. There were canvases in the process of drying propped against the walls, half-finished three-dimensional sculptures scattered on tables and windowsills, and boxes of paints and brushes piled here and there. I felt perfectly at home.

  “Meghan! Hey!”

  I turned my head to glance down the haphazard row of easels, where a tall, skinny boy in chino shorts and a paint-splattered T-shirt was waving his brush at me. Forcing a smile, I returned the wave and clenched Laura’s arm. “Don’t leave me alone.”

  “Why?” She followed my gaze. “Oh, shit.” As he approached us, her phony grin matched mine. “Hey, Preston. How are you?”

  “I’m awesome, just like always.” He slung an arm over my neck, pulling me close. I stood perfectly still, trying not to stiffen my body. “What’re you ladies doing down here? Gettin’ your paint on?” He laughed at his own lame joke.

  “Yeah, just putting in some time down here before it gets too intense.” Laura slid her eyes to mine. “You know, with finals and everything coming up.”

  “I hear you. So Meghan ...” He bent his arm, forcing me to look up at him. “I looked for you last night at Oswald’s. Where were you hiding, girl?”

  I clamped down my lips to hold back a wince. Some guys could pull off calling me ‘girl’. Preston couldn’t.

  “We didn’t go. I just got back from Florida last night, and I was tired.” It was the truth. He didn’t need to know about our adventure into the wilds of Georgia.

  “Florida, huh? Rockin’ a little spring break action? Wet T-shirt contests? Niiiice.”

  I ducked from beneath his arm and took a step back. “No, actually, I went home because it would have been my dad’s birthday. I wanted to be with my mom and my brother. The closest I got to a wet shirt was when my nephew spilled his juice down his onesie.”

  Preston had the good grace to look abashed. “Oh ... yeah. Sorry. I forgot that’s where you’re from.” He gave me all of thirty seconds to absorb that apology before he plunged ahead. “So listen, want to go out with me tonight? I thought we could head back to that coffee shop you liked, down on Broughton. Get a cappuccino, and then you know ...” He trailed one finger down my arm, from shoulder to elbow. “See where things go.”

  “Thanks, but no.” I was suddenly nauseated again. “I’m staying in tonight.”

  “Aw, c’mon, sugar.” Preston closed his hand around my upper arm. “We had a good time last fall.”

  “Sure we did.” I pried his fingers off me. “That was then. I’m not interested now. Thanks.” I walked away, looking for an open easel, preferably far away from wherever Preston was working.

  I picked up a blank canvas on my way and set it up in a quiet section near the windows. The light was good, and I could keep my back to the rest of the room, making it easier to ignore assholes like Preston Riker.

  “Meghan.” He was behind me, and I closed my eyes, counting to ten.

  “Preston, I’m sorry, I really am, but I’m here to work, not to socialize. I don’t mean to be rude, but I said no, and I meant no. I’m not interested in going out with you again.”

  “Don’t be a bitch.” His tone lost some of its honey. “I like playing the game as much as anyone, but you don’t want to mess with me too long. I might get ...” He leaned to speak into my ear. “Impatient.”

  “I hope you’re not threatening me.” I unrolled my brush kit. “I’d hate to have to turn you in for sexual harassment, Pres. Though I’m pretty sure I’d find some corroborating witnesses.”

  “It’s not harassment when you want it, too.” He slid an arm around my ribs, snugging me against his body. His thumb brushed against the lower swell of my breast.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I grabbed his hand, squeezing it tight and moving it away from me. I pivoted to face him and, keeping him off-balance, I twisted his arm behind his back. “I don’t want to make a scene here. But if you don’t step away now, you’re going to be curled up on the floor, clutching at your dick and crying like a little baby. Get the message. I’m not going out with you. I don’t want to see you now or ever. Now go away.” I released his hand and pushed him away.

  “Fucking ice bitch.” Rubbing his elbow, Preston snarled the words, but he stepped away from me and stalked across the room and out the door.

  I turned back to my easel and concentrated on taking out my paints an
d other supplies. My hands didn’t shake, but my jaw was tight and my teeth clenched.

  “You okay?” There was a hint of sympathy in Laura’s voice.

  “Yeah.” I set the paint tray and brushes on a nearby table. “He’s just ...” I shook my head. “You know. Preston. He’s harmless.”

  “Just another of your conquests.” This time there wasn’t as much sympathy as there was resignation.

  I glared at her over my shoulder. “That’s not it. I went out with him a few times, and it was fun, but he wanted more than I did. Same old, same old.” I picked up a glass tumbler. “I’m going to get some water and start working. Just let me know when you’re finished.”

  Once I was set up with brushes, palette and water, I put on my ear buds and plugged them into my phone. A few seconds later, Bastille flooded through my head, and for the next three hours, nothing existed except music and paint.

  LAURA LEFT THE STUDIO before I did, and by the time I got outside, it was dark. Tourists and residents were still wandering the streets of Savannah, and as always, I felt safe as I made my way back to our apartment. I stopped on a corner to give a couple of older ladies directions to The Pirates House restaurant, and I smiled at a group of teenage girls sitting at a sidewalk table.

  We ordered in salads from the deli around the corner for dinner and watched our favorite black and white movies, this time making our theme for the evening Claudette Colbert. I went to bed early, slept hard and woke up in time for my eight-thirty Narrative Painting course.

  All of my morning classes were within walking distance, but in the afternoon, I had to drive to the other side of town for Conceptual Art Practices. I made a face at the ugly Chevette as I opened it and slid in, but I had to admit that it got me where I needed to go. I just hoped no one saw me behind the wheel.