Page 2 of Clashing

I’d inherited my mother’s horrible taste in men.

Many of her exes had been abusive, and so were mine.

I only recently told Dan about it because I worried he’d drive there with his rifle to handle it for me.

The one time I’d been afraid of Dan was when I came home with a black eye at fifteen, courtesy of my first boyfriend.

Dan overheard me tell Mom the jerk had threatened to do worse.

That night, Dan sat on our porch, cigarette and rifle in hand.

What happened, I never knew, but the guy didn’t bother me more, and by the next day, he’d switched schools.

I never heard from him again.

That incident was one of many reasons living near Dan gave me security.

The tone of his voice when I finally told him what happened with this last ex, Todd, was ingrained in my memory.

Calling to tell him I’d been in the hospital with a concussion and broken ribs was the worst phone call I ever had to make.

Exhausted from the drive, I didn’t have enough energy to unpack everything. Essentials came out first, including toiletries and pajamas. Bless Dan, he’d tried to clean, but a lot of corners were dusty. A problem for future me.

A shower beckoned, but my grumbling stomach demanded I put it off. I fished out my makeup bag and worked on the dark circles around my eyes, which rivaled the brown of my irises. Tossing my loose brunette curls in a bun, I made my way to the bar.

The later hour attracted more of a crowd, but I still had plenty of space next to the cash register, conveniently located near the staircase.

Dan already had a grilled ham and cheese sandwich with a pickle spear waiting. The added side of fries wasn’t the traditional dinner he’d served me as a kid, but I never said no to fries.

Like five years hadn’t passed, Dan and I fell into our nightly ritual of dinner and chitchat. I knew I missed it, but I had no idea how much until he was complaining about his hatred for doing the bar’s taxes. I could’ve stayed with him all night if not for the long drive.

“Goodnight, Louise,” I said, pecking him on the cheek. He put up with constant Thelma & Louise reruns when I was a kid and eventually agreed to be my Louise.

“Goodnight, Thelma.” He chuckled and kissed the top of my head. “Give me a holler if you need anything, honey.”

“I’ll be okay. Thanks.”

Okay. I was okay enough.

For the first time in weeks, I fell asleep without clutching my pepper spray. If Todd found me, I had Dan living right next door in his dad’s old place.

Even though I barely saw him the following two days, Dan didn’t mind. But he’d been lonely without us, and I wanted to keep him company. On the other hand, I was determined to get my shit together in my new home. At least I managed lunch with him each day.

Before I moved, I’d arranged an art show in the next town over and sent all my prints and drawings to Dan ahead of time, so I wouldn’t have to travel with them. Of course, Dan already had them neatly set up in my new dining room when I arrived.

On Friday, I rushed around my apartment, packing.

I’d opted to stay in a hotel rather than drive back and forth.

Thankfully, the art show spanned from Saturday afternoon to Sunday evening, so my inability to leave on time wouldn’t impede a punctual arrival tomorrow.

It’d work out, but the hour was later than I intended, and that also meant the crowd at the bar started forming by the time I had to take my stuff down.

Lovely.

Deciding it was better to get my largest package over with first, I carefully maneuvered the tall but narrow box into the hall.

It held forty-by-sixty prints, and with packaging, the box was taller than me.

Not that it said much. Standing a couple inches below five and a half feet sucked. I couldn’t reach a damn thing.

Regardless, I shimmied around the box and descended the stairs backwards, easing it down one step at a time. A loud thud announced a misstep, and I winced, waiting for Dan’s inevitable concern.

“You all right, Scar?” Dan called from the bar. “Need help?”

“No, I don’t need help. I’m good!”

My next steps were more careful. The last thing Dan needed was to climb the stairs with his bad knee.

I made it to the bottom and sighed. A relief that vanished as quickly as it arrived.

The end of the bar with the cash register lined up exactly with the stairway.

The box could only get so far before it hit the bar.

I stepped back and tilted my head. I’d need to lift one end or . . . No. Definitely lift it up and over.

“Do you need help with that?” A gravelly voice from the other side of the box elicited goose bumps on my arms.

I peeked around the package, and there, sitting at the bar, was the source of the voice—a man too sexy to not be on the cover of a magazine.

My mouth fell open as I took in the giant.

His black hair was short on the sides and longer on top.

Some hung in his piercing blue eyes, a dark shade reminiscent of the ocean after a heavy storm.

The black shirt he wore strained across his broad chest and muscled, tattooed arms. Long fingers curled around a glass full of amber liquid.

The bar hid the rest of him from me, but I didn’t need to see it to drool.

Past Scarlett would’ve jumped him in an instant. Those arms. Those lips. Those hands . I would’ve done bad things with him and thanked him afterward.

My gaze finally wandered to his eyes again, only to find him mimicking my actions with a full body appraisal. He dragged his tongue across the front of his teeth. Irritation lifted my chin, though I couldn’t be mad. Didn’t I just do that to him?

“I’m good,” I squeaked. My voice wasn’t usually so high, but damn .

He arched a brow and surveyed my situation. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I got it.” I ducked behind the box to hide from his panty-wetting eye contact. Good Lord. He was barely human. More like a god. He’s just a guy. An attractive guy, but a guy nonetheless. Hadn’t I sworn those off?

I set my hands over my too warm cheeks and observed my situation again.

I’d need to lift the box over the bar and cash register.

I gnawed my lip and eyed the bottles of alcohol Dan kept next to the register.

If I got distracted by the perfect specimen or made one wrong move, those bottles would shatter on the ground.

Easy does it. I gripped the package, lifted, then lost my confidence and eased it to the ground. Two more attempts later, I braced to lift, but it elevated on its own.

No. Not on its own. Strong hands decorated with scars on the knuckles grasped the sides and hoisted it out of my grip.

I followed the path of powerful, inked arms to the mystery man.

The box cleared the bar and everything on it with plenty of room to spare.

He set it down and when our gazes collided, my body tensed.

Stood at attention. The corner of his mouth lifted, and I swallowed against my dry throat.

Leather, sandalwood, and scotch filled my nostrils—a combination a little too close to home.