The Wedding Steal Page 8

  “Right, the Illinois driver’s license,” he said, nodding.

  I stared at the back of his head as we drove, watching headlights from passing cars set him in a stark silhouette and then fade. Could the back of a person’s head be attractive? If so, Colton had a good one. His hair was shaved in a crisp line around his neck and over his ears without any strays, and his shoulders were broad and strong. He didn’t slouch forward or lean to one side as he drove, one hand resting at the top of the steering wheel. He looked confident and in control.

  I tried not to watch him, but it was hard. I’d been drawn to him since the moment I saw him. Yes, he had a face like a model and a body like an actor training for a superhero role, but it was more than that. Something about the way he carried himself, the way he spoke in decisive statements without any unnecessary words, reminded me of a police officer. Or a soldier.

  Still, my feelings had been wrong before. I’d been sure I was making a good impression on Jenna’s friends all night, and clearly, I’d been wrong about that. I couldn’t allow myself to relax with Colton. I only knew what he’d told me, and I had no way to know if he was being honest. If I relaxed and began to trust him, only to realize he had fooled me into not fighting back, I would never forgive myself. I had to stay vigilant if I wanted to stay alive.

  “What do you like to do in your free time?” I asked. “You know, when you aren’t running your boss’s illegal errands?” Pretending to be cheery with him was too difficult, so I decided to lean into the frustration I was feeling.

  Colton sighed. “I like to box.”

  That made sense. His arms were well-sculpted and strong. I could see that even through his long-sleeved T-shirt.

  “Competitively or…?”

  “Just for me,” he said. “To stay fit.”

  I hummed and nodded, looking out the window. Colton had made a U-turn and began heading back towards Cincinnati, but he’d pretty quickly taken an on-ramp to another interstate that sent us south, towards Kentucky. I wanted to ask where we were going again, but I knew he wouldn’t know. Apparently, he didn’t have a plan. I hoped that was the truth.

  “What about you?” he asked. “Do you do anything aside from cry in bars and get picked up by strangers?”

  Without thinking about it, I leaned forward and flicked the back of his head.

  “Ow.”

  I fell back into the seat and crossed my arms. “That’s what you get. It’s way too damn soon to be making jokes about it, got it?”

  I couldn’t see his face, but his shoulders shook as if he was silently chuckling, which only made me want to flick him again. “Understood. So, what do you do, then?”

  “I’m a comic.”

  His head turned ever so slightly back towards me. “Did you say a comic?” His voice was thick with skepticism.

  “Don’t tell me. Are you the kind of man who thinks women can’t be funny? Because, just so you know, that would make you a total cliché.”

  “Of course I don’t think that. I just don’t meet very comics in general. Where have you performed?”

  I tried to think of a single club name he would recognize, but I could barely remember most of the names. They were small shows. A few times, there were more employees in the audience than patrons, meaning that most of the crowd were being paid to be there. It wasn’t a good feeling.

  “Mostly small clubs right now,” I said.

  He nodded. “So, is that more of a hobby or do you hope to make a career out of it?”

  Suddenly, I had a flashback to the first time I’d told my parents about my dream of being a comedian. My mom had asked the same thing. “Just as a hobby, right? You’ll still get a real job?” She’d been asking the same question ever since.

  “Who doesn’t want to make a career out of their passion?” I asked. “I don’t know a single person who wants to be miserable from nine to five, Monday through Friday, but then live their dream a few nights a week.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t want to be a boxer.”

  “That’s because you’ve found another way to release those violent tendencies,” I snapped.

  Colton’s head dipped forward, and shame twisted my stomach.

  I sighed. “We almost had a friendly conversation there for a minute.”

  “Yeah, almost,” he said, rising back into his perfect posture.

  “Sorry.” I couldn’t believe I was apologizing to the man who had kidnapped me, but seeing him shrink in shame didn’t feel good.

  He lifted a hand and waved away my apology. “You don’t know anything about me except that I kidnapped you and made you the target of a mob boss, so I can understand your frustration. I deserve a lot worse than a flick to the head and a few insults.”

  “So, you’re in the mob?” I asked.

  “Not exactly—it’s complicated. I’ll make sure you’re safe from Tony, though. You wouldn’t be in this position if it weren’t for me and my terrible choices, so I’m going to see this mission through until the end.”

  He called it a “mission” like we were in a spy movie or something. I leaned forward, my arm resting on the back of the passenger seat, so I could see his profile instead of the back of his head. His nose came away from his face in a smooth line, and I thought it would be a shame if he ever broke it while boxing. Then, I realized I’d been staring at him for a while, so I asked the question that had been gnawing at the back of my mind.

  “Were you ever in the military, Colton?”

  His eyebrow raised and then he turned slightly to look at me out of the corner of his eye. “How could you tell?”

  “So, I was right?” I asked excitedly, surprisingly proud of myself.

  He nodded.

  “Number one, you have incredible posture,” I said, holding up a finger. “And then you have a way of speaking that makes you sound like a commander from a video game. You used the word ‘mission’ earlier, which isn’t so unusual, but unique enough for me to notice. Plus, your body.”

  As soon as the word was out of my mouth, I blushed. There was no way Colton hadn’t already noticed I was attracted to him. Before I’d learned he was a part-time kidnapper for the mob, I’d stared a hole in him back at the bar. Seriously, if eyes could undress someone, he would have been standing in the middle of the room with nothing but his boxer briefs on. Still, saying it out loud felt especially embarrassing.

  Thankfully, Colton didn’t make a big deal out of it. If the compliment flattered him, he repressed it.

  “I was a Navy SEAL.”

  My eyes widened so much they began to burn, and my mouth fell open. “What? So, you’re like, a super soldier?”

  He smiled and shrugged. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

  “How far can you run without stopping? How many push-ups can you do? I bet you can hold your breath under water for like, five minutes.”

  “I haven’t trained like that in a long time,” he said. “I’m not in very good shape anymore.”

  I barked out a laugh, and though I didn’t say anything, we both knew what I was thinking. Yeah, right. You’re in incredible shape.

  “So, how did you get in this line of work, then?” I asked, breaking the silence caused by my awkwardness.

  Colton shifted in his seat and readjusted his hands on the steering wheel. “I just…did.”

  “That’s not an explanation.”

  He shrugged, and the car filled with tension thick enough that I was surprised we both weren’t crushed under the weight.

  “You don’t have to be ashamed. Everyone makes mistakes,” I said quietly.

  “What are yours?” he asked without hesitation.

  I let out a quick laugh in surprise. “I’m not telling.”

  “Then I’m not telling, either,” he said, lifting one shoulder and letting it drop.

  “I guess we’re in a secret stalemate, then.”

  “I guess so,” he said.

  The conversation drifted to other things after that. We found c
ommon ground and differences. Colton told me his favorite road-trip snack—lime-flavored tortilla chips—and I told him those were disgusting, and he was wrong for thinking they tasted good, which made him laugh.

  The sound of his laugh squeezed my heart in a way I hadn’t felt since I was in high school, crushing on my substitute calculus teacher—a twenty-six-year-old guy named Mr. Alden, who let us call him Kyle. In fact, he looked quite a bit like Colton: close-cut dark hair, green eyes, wide shoulders. It was strange to realize I was now the same age he was when he substituted for Mr. Browning. Kyle had seemed like a full-fledged adult to me, then. I definitely didn’t feel like a full-fledged adult now.

  “Are you okay?” Colton asked, drawing me back to the conversation.

  “Oh, yeah. Just thinking.”

  There was a pause. “About what?”

  I laughed. “The hot substitute teacher I had in high school.”

  “I regret asking,” Colton said, his voice warm and friendly.

  “You’re the one who kidnapped me. Now, I think it’s only fair for you to be subjected to the full breadth of my stunning personality.”

  Colton turned his head, talking over his shoulder. “I thought it was too early to joke about the kidnapping.”

  “Who’s joking?” I teased. Then, in a more serious tone, “It’s too soon for you to joke about it. I’m a comedian. Therefore, I get to joke about whatever I want.”

  Colton agreed with a silent nod of his head, and I found myself smiling, looking down at my hands where they rested on my bare thighs. Was I having a good time? No. No, I couldn’t be.

  I bit the inside of my cheek, pinching the flesh between my teeth until my eyes began to water. I needed to stay focused. I was in danger of becoming too relaxed around him, of letting my guard down. To avoid any further conversation, I slid across the back seat so I could lean my head against the window, watching as trees rushed past outside.

  I’d watched a nature documentary once about rainforests, and the narrator had said the most poisonous frogs are the most brightly colored. They don’t need to camouflage themselves and can have beautiful outsides because they’re toxic to touch. Their beauty is a trap.

  I refused to be caught in Colton’s.

  Chapter 10

  Colton

  I didn’t know if Rachel was really asleep in the backseat, but the message was clear either way: she didn’t want to talk anymore. And I couldn’t blame her. She had already been nicer to me than she should have. Nicer than I deserved.

  I had never been through Tennessee before, so I wasn’t familiar with the highways and had no idea where I was headed. When I came to an illuminated strip of motels along the side of the road after almost forty-five minutes of nothing, I made the executive decision to stop for the night. The moment the tires hit the gravel parking lot, Rachel jolted awake.

  “Where are we?” she asked, leaning forward between the two front seats to read the neon sign on the side of the building. She had a circular indentation on her temple from where her head had been pressed against the window.

  “Music City Motel,” I said, parking underneath the metal overhang attached to the off-white brick building. I could see a man with a long gray ponytail sitting behind the front desk. He was staring at us through the window. “Do you want to stay in the car?”

  I couldn’t decide which was worse, to let Rachel come inside with me or let her stay in the car. If I let her stay behind, she could take the opportunity to run off. And while I was no longer holding her captive, I still didn’t like the idea of her running off into the night on her own. It wasn’t safe, and I hadn’t yet had the opportunity to prove myself as a good guy. If she left now, she’d call the police. However, if she came inside with me, she could tell the ponytailed man behind the counter what I’d done, and that would be just as bad.

  The blue neon light from the sign was filtering into the car, making it look like we were both underwater. Rachel twisted her lips to the side in thought. “Can I come inside?”

  I blinked. I couldn’t tell her no. If I did, I’d still be her captor. I’d be the guy who kidnapped her. But I also couldn’t tell her yes. I sighed.

  “I’m not going to tell the guy about our situation.” Rachel was looking at me, eyes level with mine, her hands folded in her lap.

  “You aren’t?” I asked, not sure if I could even trust what she was saying.

  She shook her head. “No, but it isn’t because I want to help you get out of this mess. It’s because I don’t trust you yet.”

  My brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

  “What if you have been lying to me about your intentions to save me and get away from the mob? Then, telling the man inside about you would only mean that you would tell your boss who I am, and he would send another of his goons after the real Jenna. Or maybe you are telling the truth, and I decide to rat you out anyway. You could get locked up, which would be bad news for me because I don’t know who your boss is or what he looks like. He could knock on my front door, and I’d have no clue. If you’re telling the truth, then this Tony creep is after us, and you are the only person who can help me escape him.”

  “So, you need me?” I asked, biting back the small smile that wanted to pull up the corners of my lips.

  Rachel sighed and rolled her eyes. “Yes, unfortunately, I do.”

  “Okay. You can come inside.” I unlocked the doors.

  “Oh, I can?” she asked, sliding out of the backseat, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Thank you for your kindness, dear captor.”

  I ignored her, though I wanted to laugh, and we both walked into the lobby.

  A bell above the door rang to announce our arrival, but it sounded more like a bird that had been strangled. The reception area didn’t give off a much better impression. The tile floors were yellowed with age and the decorations on the wall—mostly large plastic music notes and photos of famous musical icons—were coated in years’ worth of dust.

  “Hello, there.” The man behind the counter raised a hand and bowed his head as we entered, sounding much friendlier than I’d assumed he would. “How can I help you two?”

  I smiled at him. “We’re just looking for a room for the night.”

  “One room?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, looking from me to Rachel and then letting his eyes move downward. At first, I thought he was checking her out—and he may have been doing that, as well—but then I realized he was looking for a ring. The old man working at the rundown motel was traditional.

  “Yes, please,” I said, wrapping my arm around Rachel’s shoulders.

  She stiffened, but I squeezed her against me to hide her discomfort. I knew that all of this was pretend—that I was putting on a charade to make sure we could get a room. And yet, a warmth spread through me where our skin met. I liked the way she felt soft against my side, the way my hand felt brushing over the exposed skin of her arm. I hadn’t been fully aware of how exposed she was in her dress until this moment.

  The man behind the desk squinted one eye until it was almost completely closed and tilted his head to the side. “You two traveling somewhere, or are you local?”

  What he meant was: are you two on a road trip or are you just here for a bit of hanky-panky?

  “We’re just passing through,” I said, looking down at Rachel. “On a bit of an adventure. Isn’t that right, honey?”

  It wasn’t a complete lie. We were certainly on an adventure.

  Rachel hummed and tried to smile, but she looked pained, her eyes wrinkled and strained. I hoped the man wouldn’t notice.

  The man rested his elbow on the desk and planted his chin in his palm, making it clear he was in no hurry at all. And I could understand why. The parking lot was only half full and all the lights in all the rooms were out. It was well after midnight. The only people up this late were usually up to no good, and I would have bet quite a bit of money that said this man had seen a lot of the “no good.”

  “Are you two a couple
?” he asked, looking us over again, his eyes roving over our hands, which were clumsily intertwined. “What I mean is, do you need one bed or two?”

  “Two—” Rachel started.

  I jumped in and cut her off with a laugh. “Two beds would be a waste of one bed.”

  His milky eyes settled on me. “So, you two are married?”

  “Is that a requirement for getting a room?” Rachel asked, sounding much too snappy. So far, I had appreciated her tough exterior and wittiness, but I did not appreciate it right then.

  I laughed and hugged her, squeezing her shoulders together. “Sore subject, sir.”

  “Oh yeah? How so?” he asked, his bushy eyebrows pulling together.

  “Well, you see, we’re headed across the country to talk to her family in Mississippi about the two of us getting married. I’ve proposed, and we love each other a great deal, but her family is opposed to the match. Her father, especially.”

  The man stood up, crossed his arms, and drew his thumb and forefinger down the thin braid of facial hair hanging from his chin. I could tell he was already siding with the made-up father, though he didn’t know me at all.

  “I’ve never made enough money for her dad,” I continued. “I come from blue-collar folk, and her father doesn’t appreciate that.”

  “Oh,” the man said, suddenly offended. He turned to Rachel. “You come from a snobby bunch?”

  Rachel smiled and subtly elbowed my side, making me wince. “Apparently.”

  “But don’t worry, baby,” I said, turning to Rachel and twisting her around so we were facing one another. I squeezed her chin between my fingers and tilted her face up to me. She was smiling, but the rage burning deep down in her eyes almost made me lose character. “I’ll convince your dad I’m the guy for you. I’ll tell him how much I love you, and he won’t be able to deny our union.”