Perfect Kind Of Trouble

21 Kayla

Daren’s been acting weird ever since we left the bakery. Weird in a fidgety, shifting-in-his-seat, jutting-his-jaw-every-five-minutes kind of way.

Gripping the steering wheel, I follow his directions as the sun disappears and the rainy day transforms into a cloudy night. I glance in the rearview mirror for the hundredth time and bite my lip. The same black car has been behind us since we left the town square. It could be nothing. Or it could be Big Joe.

“What?” Daren says, watching me bite down on my lip. “What’s wrong?” He turns to look behind us.

“I think someone is following us again,” I say.

He watches the headlights in the distance for a moment. “It’s probably just someone headed the same direction as us. If it was this boss guy of yours—what’s his name again?”

“Big Joe.”

“Really? That’s what he goes by? Big Joe?” Daren scoffs. “What is he, a mobster?”

I don’t answer and his eyes widen.

“Are you shitting me? Your mom owed money to a mobster?” he says then runs his free hand through his hair and mutters, “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“I’m not sure that he’s a mobster,” I say defensively. “I just know he’s a bad guy.”

Just then, the car following us takes a turn and is no longer behind us. I sigh in relief as I stare at the empty road in the rearview mirror.

“See?” Daren smiles at me. “No one is following you.”

I nod and let out a little laugh. “Wow. I feel dumb. I keep thinking we’re being followed and we’re clearly not. I’m so jumpy. Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I’d be freaked out too if I thought someone who may or may not be a mobster was after me.” He playfully grins, which helps ease my anxiety. “But you’re safe.” His eyes stay on mine. “And besides, you have me.” He wiggles our cuffed hands. “I’ll protect you. You know, with my free hand.”

I chuckle, my fear slowly draining from my veins as he winks. I’m oddly comforted by the fact that Daren is physically attached to me. I’ve gotten so used to being on my own that I’ve forgotten how nice it is to have someone to share things with. Excitement. Adventure. Fear. Having someone at my side makes everything better. And it certainly makes this whole thing with Big Joe less scary.

“Oh my!” I smile at Daren. “You’re my knight in shining… steel manacles.”

He bows his head. “At your service, milady.”

My smile stays in place for the next few miles as we joke about sword fighting with handcuffs on, and soon all my fear has completely melted away. Daren has that effect on me, I’m learning. He has a way of distracting me from things that might otherwise get me down. It’s kind of… sweet. He’s sweet.

We drive to the ritzy side of town where the neighborhoods are all gated with grand entrances and Daren directs me to a gated community called Westlake Estates. I turn in and pull up to the security booth at the front of the community. No one is manning the booth at this late hour, leaving the security completely at the mercy of a keypad.

I lean back in my seat so Daren can easily reach the keypad. “Do you want to—”

“Five six four five,” he says.

I stare at him. “Did you just give me the code to your gated community?”

“I did.”

I grin. “Oh my. I might just have to start calling you my friend now.”

He scoffs. “It’s about time.”

With a laugh, I punch in the numbers. A buzzing noise sounds from the box before the nine-foot-tall grand gates slowly start to open.

I marvel at the rolling hills and water-featured entrance of Daren’s community and I swear I can almost hear angels singing as we drive through. This is easily the most expensive neighborhood I’ve ever been in.

“Just follow this road all the way to the stop sign,” Daren says. “Then take a right until you come to a driveway at the end of a cul-de-sac.”

I do as he says and he points ahead of us. “That’s it, right there.”

My lips part. Of course he lives on the top of a hill in a cul-de-sac—a cul-de-sac that no other houses are on. He owns his own freaking cul-de-sac! I’m so collecting gas money from him. I cruise up the steep driveway at the base of a mansion. And it is a mansion.

He points to the side. “Drive around back and park beside the pool house.”

“You have a pool house?” I shake my head. “Why am I not surprised?”

He lets out a strained sigh. “Just park.”

The neighborhood is well lit, with fancy lampposts every few yards, but the mansion and pool house are completely dark. No lights turned on, inside or out.

I bite the inside of my cheek. “Does anybody else live here?”

He shakes his head. “My mom lives in Boston and my dad’s in jail, so now it’s just me.”

“You have this huge house all to yourself?”

“Something like that.” He points to a nearly hidden area beside the pool house. “Just pull under that tree and park.”

It seems weird to park in the most isolated area of the yard, but I don’t question his logic as I pull forward and turn off the car. Once the headlights go out, the only light in the car is from the dim moon filtering through the clouds.

With dried mud still caked to my skin and clothes, I grab the bag of goodies and open the car door, scooting over as Daren and I repeat our getting-out-of-the-car-while-handcuffed routine. He’s seems to have more difficulty in the dark, grunting and cursing as he bangs his knees on the dashboard and knocks his head against the roof. I almost pity him.

I glance at his dark mansion.

Almost.

When we’re both out of the car, I grab my suitcase from the trunk before following him to the back of the house. Instead of heading to the back door, however, Daren moves to a window beside the door. Jiggling the frame, he pops the window out of place and slides it to the side. My wrist flops around next to his. Then he starts climbing in.

“What in the—what are you doing?” I say, completely confused.

He picks up my suitcase and tosses it inside along with the bag from the bakery. “I don’t have a key.”

“How do you not have a key to your own house?”

“It’s a long story,” he says half in and half out of the window.

“This is your house, right?” He doesn’t answer and I gasp. “Are we breaking into some rich guy’s place?” My voice grows louder. “Because I am NOT going to be an accomplice in your shady criminal behavior. We already have handcuffs on! If you think—”

He yanks me up against his body and closes his hand over my mouth as I warm against the hard muscles of his chest. “Would you keep it down?”

Teetering, I have to lean against his leg so I don’t fall over, which forces me to press even more of myself up against his broad frame. All I can think about as he stares at me in the moonlight is how pretty his long eyelashes are and how I’m really starting to like the smell of oranges—even though he’s breaking us into some rich guy’s house.

“I’m trying not to draw attention to us,” he says. “And you yelling isn’t helping.” He swallows and looks away. “And this is my home. Kinda. So you can calm down.” His fingers lightly brush against my throat as he lowers his hand from my mouth.

I can’t tell if the gentle touch was an accident or not, but my hungry body doesn’t care. It just wants him to do it again.

“This is ‘kinda’ your house?” I say, frustrated and turned on. “What the hell does that mean—oompf!”

He pulls me inside and I topple over the windowsill and into the house. He catches me before I fall to the floor but I’m already in a rage as I straighten in his arms.

“Are you crazy?” I glare at him, the tips of my breasts brushing against his chest as we stand face-to-face.

“No. I’m just in a hurry to get your loud mouth out of earshot from the neighbors.” He shuts the window behind us.

Looking around, I take in the inside of the mansion. It’s large and dark and…

Completely abandoned.

I turn and stare at him. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”