Hard Ride: Powertools: Hot Rides Book #3 Page 2

  Except he didn’t tell them how he’d spurned her attention. Nope.

  “Then why’d you have your tongue stuffed hallway down her throat? I thought we were friends, asshole.” The entire world went into slow motion then. As Kyra tried to make sense of what Van was saying and his displaced indignation, he pulled back and sucker punched Ollie.

  Then everything sped up again and happened in a rush.

  Kaelyn and Nola, who were married to two mechanics, Kaige and Bryce, at Hot Rods—the classic car sister shop to Hot Rides motorcycle restorations—swooped in. They protected Ollie from Van’s ire. Their husbands grabbed Van, trying to force him to settle down.

  Kyra exploded.

  She’d never been spurred to violence against another human being before, but Van brought things out of her, dark and wild and—apparently—potentially aggressive things.

  She strode up to him and kneed him square in the nuts.

  Kyra shouted over the din of celebrating fans and friends who hadn’t yet caught on to their altercation. “How dare you act like you want me now that someone else is interested? How many times have I thrown myself at you?”

  Her voice shredded. She swore to God that if Van made her cry here in front of everyone they knew and admired, she would knee him again, twice as hard.

  He grunted and looked up at her like he might try to argue if only he could force words out around the discomfort she’d put him in.

  “You idiot! You didn’t have the right to say jack shit to me or ruin my night. Fuck you.” When he didn’t apologize, she sprang at Van again. This time the women surrounding her deflected her.

  “Hey, come on.” Wren wedged herself between Van and Kyra. She held out her hand. “You’re going to be pissed at yourself for this tomorrow. Come with us. We’ll eat a ton of that ice cream I saw in your dressing room and figure out how to handle this better.”

  Devra, another of their friends from Middletown, spoke to Kyra like she was a wild animal caught in a trap of her own making. She came in close and murmured so Kyra had to relax to even hear her. “Don’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you upset. Let’s go. You can settle this once you’re thinking straight.”

  Kyra nodded, her body going numb. The exertion and endorphins from the show, the rush of kissing Ollie, the guilt of being caught, and the rage Van’s confusing reactions had elicited had left her empty. Dazed. Traumatized, even.

  Yeah, she needed a big ass sundae.

  Ollie shouted her name. She jerked, but refused to look him or Van in the eye.

  Devra and Wren steered Kyra toward her dressing room, bolstering her with well-meaning lies about how men were dumb while promising everything would be okay once the dust settled.

  Ollie tried again to pierce the wall of people keeping them safely separated. Van shouted her name too.

  “Stop. Both of you. I just want to be alone,” Kyra said loud enough to be heard, though still without looking back. If everyone around her knew she was lying out her ass, they didn’t call her on it.

  Instead, Devra and Wren ushered her into her dressing room, then shut the door behind them.

  2

  Kyra’s ire bled out of her in a gush that left her wobbly. She staggered to the couch and plopped onto it, burying her face in her hands.

  Of course the women she’d become friends with lately didn’t listen to her proclamation about craving solitude. They barged in and swarmed her, surrounding her with hugs and reassurances. Mustang Sally, the last one through the door, locked it behind her. They left the horde of their guys on the other side to deal with their own mess.

  Wren took her hand and squeezed it. “I’m sorry Van and Ollie are being such idiots.”

  “Where do you keep the spoons?” Devra asked as she rummaged through the supplies near the fridge-freezer, pulling out the half-gallon of her favorite ice cream someone on the crew had stashed there as they did prior to each performance.

  Kyra pointed and Devra took out all of the silverware. She jabbed spoons into the ice cream until it looked like it had an unfortunate run in with a porcupine or maybe Ollie’s hedgehog. Damn it, Kyra didn’t want to think about Mr. Prickles or his equally adorable owner right then.

  Devra handed the cold brick to Kyra, who didn’t hesitate. She dug in, motioning with her spoon for her friends to join her. They descended on the dessert like a pack of wolves instead of a mismatched group of unlikely allies who knew a thing or two about boy trouble.

  For a few bites, they let her simply eat. As the ice cream melted in her mouth and cooled her from the inside out, Kyra realized something was missing. “Whipped cream. We need the whipped cream. Stat.”

  “Hell yes, we do.” Sabra lunged for the fridge and withdrew a giant can. She opened the seal and popped the cap off, tipping her head back and spraying some directly into her mouth. After swallowing, she grinned. “Had to test it out for you.”

  “Thanks.” Kyra accepted the can from her, then did the same before passing it to Nola, who was by her side. “I feel better. A little.”

  “Not as good as when you were making out with Ollie, I bet.” Sally smirked and gestured with her spoon. “Not that I’m blaming you, by the way. He’s a cutie, for sure.”

  “He is.” Kyra smiled softly at the thought of his quiet confidence and his laidback nature, which made it so easy to talk to him. “I wish I could ignore everything else and leave with him right now. But that’s too simple to be the right answer, isn’t it?”

  “Probably. So what are you going to do?” Wren crouched in front of Kyra and squeezed her knee. The other woman was no stranger to difficult or complicated situations. She’d managed to overcome enormous obstacles to have the loving polyamorous relationship she dreamed of. Kyra wished she could be more like that.

  It was impossible.

  “The only thing that makes sense. See, I sort of had/have a crush on Van.” Kyra took another giant bite of ice cream and a shot of whipped cream before continuing.

  “Not to burst your bubble, girl, but that was not top-secret material.” Wren winced.

  “Van told the guys that I kissed him?” Kyra nearly dropped her spoon. She sort of figured, from the way he’d reacted—as if she were a poisonous snake about to strike, which he’d retreated from as fast as possible—that he wouldn’t have wanted anyone to know about their indiscretion.

  “Ummmm, nope.” Devra sighed. “But hearing that, things make more sense. I think Wren just means it’s obvious that the two of you vibe off each other and you spend way more time together than most people in a platonic relationship. Hell, when I first met you, I thought you two were a couple, not only friends.”

  “Oh.” Shit. No use trying to deny it since she’d already ratted herself out. “Well, yeah. I wanted that. I came on to him. Kissed him. He turned me down flat and made it very clear we shouldn’t blur any professional lines. I don’t blame him for valuing his job more than a quick fuck, since I’m apparently not girlfriend material.”

  More ice cream. Though, really, was there enough ice cream in the world to stop that from stinging?

  “Fuck that,” Wren practically snarled. “Whether or not he’s ready to admit it, he cares for you. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have gone Captain Testosterone out there a minute ago, would he?”

  Kyra shrugged. “I don’t know. Van is right about one thing, though. I can’t afford to screw up my career over a piece of ass, no matter how fine that ass might be. Whether that’s ruining things over Van himself, or pissing him off by being with Ollie…”

  “You’re going to give up something that could change your life because Van has a stick up his tight—if fine—ass?” Devra shot her an incredulous glance.

  “Yeah,” Kyra said softly. “Because, honestly, I care about him too and have for quite a while. I don’t know what I want. Until I figure that out, it’s not fair to Ollie to keep fooling around with him. I kind of got the feeling he doesn’t think of whatever we were about to do as a fling.”

/>   She recalled his secret about romance and winced.

  “It could be smart to take a step back.” Kaelyn nodded. “The truth is, you’re all great people. We don’t want to see any of you get hurt.”

  Too late. Because Kyra’s chest ached and the ice cream was only doing so much to dull the pain.

  After Wren, Kason, and Jordan’s earlier example, the very last thing she’d wanted for herself was to spend another lonely night curled up in her bunk, sighing over pictures of friends with their significant others and families living their best life as she scrolled through social media. Unfortunately, she didn’t see that changing any time soon.

  She dropped her spoon into the empty carton along with the rest of them and slumped against the back of the couch. To no one in particular she said, “Do you think you could round up some of your guys or maybe another person from the security team to walk me over to the tour bus? Don’t let Van do it no matter what he says. I won’t go alone with him. Not right now. Not tonight.”

  “Of course,” Devra said, then slipped out of the dressing room.

  “It might not seem like it now, but things will be okay,” Wren promised. “Keep an open mind and an open heart and you never know what might work itself out.”

  Kyra caught herself before making a snarky comment about fairytale endings and how they didn’t seem to be her thing. Wren had fought hard for her own win and she should be celebrating it with her two men, not shut in with Kyra while she pouted over a few failed kisses.

  A knock came at the door before Jordan poked his head in. He beamed at Wren then shot Kyra a sympathetic glance. “Are you okay?”

  “I will be,” she promised.

  “I believe that, too.” Jordan held his hand out to her. “I heard I have the honor of escorting you fine ladies back to the bus tonight. I’m ready whenever you are.”

  Despite his nonchalance, she realized he was perfect for the temporary job. As a currently unemployed ex-special agent, he might appreciate feeling useful. Who was she to take that from him?

  Kyra stood, accepting a giant group hug that felt even better than her ice cream had tasted. Maybe she wasn’t as alone as she’d thought. “Thank you all for giving a shit. Now, let’s get the hell out of here.”

  If she couldn’t have a hard fast ride with Ollie, or Van, to burn off her excess energy, she wanted to take a hot shower and fall asleep after her adrenaline crash so she could forget about the disaster the evening had turned into.

  3

  “Mr. Prickles, I was so right.” Ollie doled out a sprinkle of mealworms on top of his pet hedgehog’s dry kibble. Mr. Prickles lived in a cage that took up a disproportionate amount of space in Ollie’s converted van. He didn’t mind since the little guy was the closest thing he had to family. At least he had been until Ollie had joined the Hot Rides garage, inheriting a readymade team of friends in the process.

  Still, Kyra had nailed it. He didn’t always feel like he totally belonged. Maybe because he was the only one not attached in the group. Earlier that evening, he’d imagined that might change. “Kyra tastes even better than she looks. I could have spent the entire night standing out there kissing her. If only that muscle-bound asshole hadn’t interrupted. Oh yeah, and punched me in the face.”

  Mr. Prickles grabbed a mealworm between his paws and stared at Ollie as he munched its head off.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I know Van is pretty cool otherwise. And I know I said I wasn’t going to kiss Kyra since he obviously likes her, but I couldn’t help it.”

  Ollie reached into his fridge and took out a can of root beer. He wrapped it in a dishtowel, then held it to his throbbing face. Even that didn’t dull the memory of what had happened between him and Kyra.

  So he explained to Mr. Prickles, “She’s fire when she performs and then she was there talking about love and romance and her eyes were big and so green and…hopeful. I couldn’t resist.”

  Mr. Prickles shook his coat, then went back for another morsel.

  “Yeah, Van is pissed at me now. So is Kyra. Even still, it was worth it.” Ollie toed off his sneakers, double checked the door locks, and put his reflective privacy screens in the windshield and side windows. Then he hopped up onto his platform bed. It was a few feet off the ground to make room for the storage bay beneath it, which he could access from the rear door of the van.

  The king-sized mattress took up the entire back third of his home. It was huge for just him and didn’t do much to make him feel less lonely, but it was comfortable as fuck—one luxury he’d refused to sacrifice when he’d chosen to live on the road.

  The low cost associated with van life allowed him to spend time doing shit he enjoyed instead of running the rat race. Maybe if his father had traveled a similar route, the man wouldn’t have keeled over of a heart attack in his penthouse office when Ollie was too young to even remember him.

  His home might not be conventional, but it was his. And he could take it wherever life led him. Like the parking lot of concerts or to the Hot Rides garage or to salvage sites where he found the fascinating objects other people considered trash but he called treasure.

  Restoring antiques to their former glory, bringing them back to life, gave him immense satisfaction and helped combat his anxiety about losing things—especially, people.

  Maybe it was for the best that things hadn’t worked out with Kyra.

  It had been a while since he’d allowed himself to get attached to someone. He was already in the danger zone because of his connections to the Hot Rides and Hot Rods gangs. But those relationships had thawed something in him and made him crave more, maybe something deeper.

  What had originally seemed like freedom as he traversed the country, uncovering and preserving rare finds, while seeing new-to-him sights, was starting to feel a lot like isolation. Especially after he’d spent the summer camped at Hot Rides, hanging out with Quinn, Trevon, Devra, Wren, Jordan, Kason, and all of the Hot Rods mechanics, their wives, kids, and parents.

  It wasn’t only the winter wind blowing him back toward the shop and the offer of a semi-permanent place to park his van.

  The holidays were coming too quickly.

  They were always rough for Ollie.

  Without thinking, he rolled to the edge of the bed and opened the nearest drawer in his kitchenette, which ran the length of one wall from his bed to the van’s sliding door. Inside, a small package was wrapped in festive—if faded—paper. It had a few worn edges here and there, and he’d had to retape the seams a couple of times over the decades since he’d been given the gift.

  As he did often, he speculated about what might be inside.

  Before he could cave to curiosity and peek at the one corner where a tiny tear had formed recently, he slammed the drawer shut.

  Just like he should close the door on whatever oopsy-tonguey had happened with Kyra earlier.

  He hated to even consider the possibility, but she might only have done it to make Van jealous so he would finally pay attention to her.

  He was an idiot.

  Van might or might not have Kyra tonight. But even if he didn’t, he at least wasn’t relying on a hedgehog for company. He had the rest of the band, Kason, and any number of other people surrounding him. Ollie would gladly have traded a knee to the nuts for someone to talk to, or even another warm body nearby, just then.

  He flopped onto his back, tapped the switch on the wall to extinguish the lights, and tried to pretend like he still enjoyed the deafening silence of the night, broken only by Mr. Pickles’ ridiculously loud crunching. Ollie adjusted his position so he could perch the cold can on his face better. It still hurt like hell.

  “You think I should text her?” he asked his hedgehog, who quit eating for a moment, letting his stillness ring throughout the interior of the campervan.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. Goodnight, Mr. Prickles.”

  Unfortunately, Mr. Prickles didn’t answer back.

  4

  Van scrubb
ed his hands down his jeans over and over, though his palms remained sweaty as fuck. He’d faced armed enemies intent on blowing his brains out during his stint in the Marines and had never once been as afraid of confronting someone as he was about talking to Kyra.

  Mostly because she’d been right to rip him a new one in front of every last one of their friends and coworkers. He’d fucked up. Several times. First by allowing his interest in her to peek out, then by giving in to temptation and kissing her that one fateful day, and afterward by pretending it hadn’t meant anything to him in order to maintain the professionalism required of their positions.

  Only when he’d seen her making out with Ollie had he realized how badly he’d handled the situation. Because in that moment, it had been painfully obvious that his infatuation with Kyra went beyond bus-buddies or even fascination.

  He might be obsessed.

  Every night, lying within arm’s reach without the right to extend his hand and touch her had obviously driven him mad.

  The rest of the band had left to celebrate Kason’s new single hitting number one on the charts. When Van had realized Kyra was missing from the group and that Jordan was there to keep an eye on Kason’s security in his place, he’d begged off, praying for a minute to talk to Kyra in private—a rare commodity in their situation.

  He hoped she was on the bus and not out somewhere on her own. Both because he needed to clear the air and because he hated the idea of her wandering around unprotected. Whether she realized it or not, she was famous. More so every day and, therefore, exposed.

  Sunglasses, a hat, and dark baggy clothes weren’t going to be enough to obscure her identity in public for much longer. She rebelled against the loss of her freedom and despised taking bodyguards from his team with her. But that was the price she had to pay for their success.