Holding Out for a Hero Page 3

“The fu—”

  Blake shut the door before Martinez could finish his sentence and climbed the stairs to his apartment. He kept hearing this high-pitched whistling noise as he opened the door and realized that it was him. He wasn’t a whistler.

  As he flopped onto his back on the bed, he stared up at the screen of his phone, her number right there.

  Don’t do it.

  Before his brain could firmly process what he was doing, he had pressed the green phone icon.

  Chapter Three

  HANNAH WAS CURLED up on the couch in her Scotty dog flannel pajamas watching the newest episode of Pretty Little Liars when her phone rang.

  At first, she ignored it, sure it was Nicki wanting to rip into her again for being a bum on the date, but then she realized that wasn’t her friend’s ringtone.

  It was “Have a Nice Day” by Mindy McCready. The ringtone she’d assigned to Blake that morning when she’d put his number into her phone.

  Diving for the phone with the desperation of a bear after a fish, she slid her thumb over the screen quickly. “Hello?” God, she sounded as if she was panting.

  “Did I wake you?”

  His voice was rough and a little slurred. Was he drunk?

  “No, I was just watching TV. How are you?”

  “Better now that I’m talking to you.”

  Her heart somersaulted in her chest. “You . . . You are?”

  “Yeah, I had a bad night. My friends tried to set me up.”

  “Oh . . . ” That was good, right? That he hadn’t been interested in the other woman and was calling her now? “I’m sorry. Was she nice?”

  “Yeah, she was fine, but she had this real shrill voice the more she drank, and I just couldn’t take it. It’s nothing like yours.”

  Whoa, what did that mean? “Mine?”

  “Yeah, your voice is low. Smoky. Daddy like.”

  Hannah couldn’t hold back her laughter. He was definitely wasted, but she’d heard people were actually more honest when they were drunk. He could mean everything he was saying.

  Even the incredibly goofy stuff.

  “I think you’re a bit hammered.”

  “You would be correct, partner,” he said, a thick twang in his voice. “I just got your message and was thinking about you. Waited all night for you to text.”

  “You did?”

  “Mmm-hmm. So what did you do tonight?”

  Hannah lay back on the couch with a sigh. “Well, my wonderful best friend decided it would be a good idea to get me out of the house and set me up on a terrible blind date. So I suppose our nights were about the same.”

  The phone was dead silent. “Hello? Blake?”

  Suddenly, a sound came through, faint and guttural. Like a snore.

  Oh God, it was a snore. He’d fallen asleep on the phone with her.

  “Good night.” She flicked the red phone icon with the tip of her thumb and ended the call, staring up at the ceiling with a smile. She didn’t care that he’d drunk dialed her and fallen asleep. The fact that he’d been thinking about her was enough to keep her up all night.

  Unable to concentrate on what A was doing to the Liars now, she got up from the couch and sat down at her laptop, powering up the Mac as she pulled her hair back into a messy bun. She opened her manuscript and read through the last page she’d written the night before, the scene playing through her mind.

  She’d started writing a middle-grade novel last year, after going through an old box at her parents’ that was filled with pictures of the foster kids who had come before they had adopted her. She’d been placed in Patty and Gilbert York’s care when she was taken into foster care just shy of a year old. She didn’t remember her life before, but when her birth mother stopped making her visitation, she’d become available for adoption, and the Yorks hadn’t hesitated. They had never kept the fact that they weren’t her biological parents from her and told her everything they knew when she became curious in her early teens. That was all it was, though. She’d never had any desire to meet the woman who had given birth to her; she’d been loved and cherished and protected. She didn’t need anything else.

  But looking into the faces of those other kids, some who appeared almost haunted and others who stared mutinously at the camera, as if they were afraid to be happy, had hurt her heart so much. That night she’d come home and started writing about Legonia Marie Phillips, or Legs for short. Legs was a foster child with special powers who protected the world and other kids like her.

  It had been just for fun, something to do when she was home alone and couldn’t shut her brain off, but before she knew it, she’d finished the first draft. And started a second manuscript.

  By the time she’d concluded the third book, she’d had another story formulate in her mind about a young monster hunter named Cameron Fisher, who’d been adopted by normal folks. After his uncle shows up to explain that he’s not crazy, that he’s really seeing scary, supernatural beings, Cameron soon starts being trained on how to protect the people he loves from things that only he can see.

  It wasn’t such a surprise that she’d fallen in love with these types of tales; her mother had loved to read to her until she’d learned to read on her own, and the books they always chose had plenty of adventure, fanciful creatures . . .

  And romance, of course.

  Before she realized it, she’d written four thousand words, and her eyes were so heavy she could hardly keep them open. Finishing the sentence she was on, she walked into her bedroom and crawled into bed, grimacing as she looked at the angry red numbers on her alarm clock.

  It was 3:47 a.m. She had to be up in twenty minutes for work.

  But even the realization that she was going to be freaking exhausted couldn’t chase the smile from her face as she thought of Blake’s silly phrase.

  Daddy like.

  Hopefully, he’d still feel the same when he was sober.

  BLAKE’S ALARM HAD gone off too fucking early, and despite the water he’d chugged and the Excedrin he’d tossed back, he was moving like a lumbering ox. As he jogged along the trail, sweat pouring off him despite the chilly January morning, he tried to focus on his breathing and the Three Doors Down track currently playing through his earbuds.

  Anything but the nightmare that had jarred him awake that morning.

  He should have known better. Every time he drank too much, she crept into his dreams. This time, he’d been there that day at the Base Exchange instead of safe at home with his friends. He’d stood only a few feet away and watched helplessly as a faceless man had held a gun to his pregnant wife’s head.

  And then he’d shot her. The sound, the warmth of her blood spraying across his face and hands had felt so real that when he’d woken up, he’d been screaming Jenny’s name.

  Despite the forty-degree temperature outside, his long-sleeved T-shirt clung to his chest and arms, drenched with sweat. His breath fogged out in front of him as he passed by several women walking toward him, not even glancing their way. He tried to remain focused, tried to push the dream and all the events from the night before far away.

  Suddenly, someone slammed into his shoulder from behind. He stumbled forward as Bryce spun around, grinning at him as she jogged backward. He pulled out one of his earbuds and glared at her.

  “The fuck, Bryce?”

  “Kline, you’re moving like an old man today. Best get to stepping. I see a little flab showing up on your midsection.”

  Blake grimaced at Bryce’s taunting. She was like the annoying little sister he’d never wanted, and as much as he usually liked and respected her, he was still pissed about the sneak attack set up with her friend.

  “Ha-ha, I get it, payback’s a bitch. Well, you’re on my shit list now. Maybe I’ll let Slater know about how you hijack my runs just to go on and on about how hot he is.”

  Blake reinserted his earbud, so he didn’t hear exactly what she said, but he was pretty sure it rhymed with hick.

  Despite his obvious foul moo
d, Bryce kept up with him, and he had to give her props for not giving up when he took off on her, trying to outrun his dark thoughts. He finished his run and walked off the trail, Bryce right beside him.

  He glanced her way and pulled his earbuds out, finally addressing her again.

  “You’re a brat—you know that, right?”

  “So I’ve been told,” she said. “Listen, I didn’t hijack your run to bust your balls. I wanted to apologize before we got to work, because I do not want Best to know that I even know how to say I’m sorry. But I am. You’ve told me that you aren’t ready to date, and I didn’t listen to you. It’s been pointed out that I never listen, so I’m sorry, and I will not try to set you up anymore.”

  “What about my runs?”

  Bryce grinned and punched him in the arm, exactly the way Sparks did. “Oh no, I’m still crashing the hell out of those.”

  Blake laughed; he couldn’t help it. She was incorrigible, but it was hard not to like Bryce. They reached his car, and he glanced toward the front of Dale’s Diner. He’d read through Hannah’s text this morning, chuckling at the titles of some of her suggestions, but he’d ordered the first one to read on his Kindle app before he left the house. He wanted proof that he wasn’t just blowing smoke up her ass about wanting to read what she enjoyed.

  As he stripped off his sweaty shirt, Bryce whistled. Blake glared at her as he pulled a clean T-shirt over his head.

  “Oh, Kline, I just love it when you get all broody on me.”

  He shut the door to his car and locked it. “Thanks for the apology. I’ll be sure to remind you of it when I need blackmail.”

  As he headed up the steps toward the diner entrance, she called after him, “Aren’t you going to invite me to join you?”

  “Hell no.”

  Bryce laughed and waved as she climbed into the red Civic next to his car. He waited until her car disappeared out of the parking lot before he went inside. Anywhere else, he would have invited Bryce in to join him, but Dale’s was special.

  Plus, he didn’t want her teasing him about Hannah or embarrassing him in front of her.

  He walked through the glass door and passed by the SEAT YOURSELF sign to his usual booth. He looked around for Hannah and saw her come out of the kitchen, wagging her finger at the cook, Kenny, a wide smile on her face.

  There was something different about her appearance, and he couldn’t put a finger on what. Her hair, instead of being in its usual ponytail, was loose with the front twisted along her temples and gathered at the back of her head.

  Then it struck him. She wasn’t wearing her glasses, and she was all made up. He hardly ever noticed Hannah wearing any makeup, but this morning, smoky eyeliner and mascara highlighted her hazel eyes, making the golden flecks pop. Her lips were a glossy rose color, hardly noticeable, except Blake had been studying Hannah for the better part of a year and knew every feature by heart. The round, rosy cheeks, the delicate curve of her lips, the fan of her lashes. Hannah came over in her yellow uniform, the white apron tied around her curvy waist, and his palms started sweating as he gripped the table. Her uniform stretched across her ample chest, and the little skirt flared out over her rounded hips, which seemed to be rolling seductively as she walked.

  Blake’s jaw was hanging down so far, he could practically feel it resting on his chest. He’d always known Hannah was pretty, but right now, she looked like a pot of honey ready to be licked clean.

  An image of his tongue running along Hannah’s neck made his cock twitch against the light fabric of his running pants. Shit, that was all he needed; sporting wood while she bent over to fill his coffee. With his luck, she’d probably notice, and then he’d be really fucked.

  She set down a mug of black coffee and a tall glass of ice water without being asked, her gaze never leaving his face. “Hey there. You feeling okay today, or do you need me to have Kenny whip you up his hangover cure?”

  Blake’s mouth snapped closed. How the hell did she know he was hungover?

  “What makes you think I’m hungover?” He took a long gulp of his water, draining the glass. Had her uniform always molded so nicely to her curves?

  She cocked her head to the side, her brow furrowed. “You called me last night. Don’t you remember?”

  His heart picked up speed, and he set the glass away, wrapping his fingers around the coffee mug instead. Almost immediately he realized his palms were slick with sweat. He had called Hannah last night? Fuck, what the hell had he said?

  Clearing his throat, he mumbled, “I’m sorry about that. I don’t even remember doing it.”

  For a second, she appeared almost crestfallen, and his throat closed up as he racked his brain for any memory of their conversation.

  But as fleeting as the look was, it was soon replaced by a reassuring smile and a pat on his shoulder.

  “It’s okay, you just said hi and immediately passed out. If I’d known where you lived, I probably would have driven over to check on you.” Her expression was overly bright, and he knew she was lying. “I’ll just go put your order in.”

  As she walked away, Blake’s gaze dropped to her ass, and he watched the sway of that teasing yellow skirt, mesmerized.

  Shaking himself out of the lust-filled trance, he tried to remember what in the hell he’d said last night on the phone, but he could hardly recall leaving the bar. Just bits and pieces.

  She kept her back to him, and he realized it was a view he’d probably never get tired of. Hannah had a really nice, round butt.

  Daddy like.

  The words flew through his mind like an echo, and he grimaced.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  Chapter Four

  STUPID, STUPID, STUPID.

  Hannah wasn’t a bold, brazen flirt and never had been. She’d had an awful stutter growing up and often found it was easier not to talk than it was to listen to other kids taunt her.

  As an adult, she would have patted herself on the back for being so cool about a completely awkward situation, if she wasn’t so horrified. She’d spent half the morning daydreaming of what he’d say when he saw her, her makeup on point, her glasses nowhere to be seen, and her hair loose like he’d never seen it. For a moment, he’d looked at her so strangely, she’d thought maybe he really did have feelings for her.

  But clearly that had just been her naiveté at work. Her face burned, and she was so glad she had her back to him. The last thing she wanted was for Blake to see how embarrassed she was for actually thinking a drunk dial from a man meant something.

  Kenny put the plate of food up on the counter and rang the bell. “Wake up, sunshine. Your order is ready.”

  Hannah laughed as she grabbed the plate. Kenny was in his midfifties and was always calling her names like sunshine and sweetie pie, but she didn’t take offense. She knew he wasn’t making a pass at her; that was just how he talked to everyone. He was like the sweet Southern waitress who called everyone hon, only he was a man with a gray ponytail who could make a mean Denver omelet.

  “Thanks. I think I need more coffee,” she said.

  “I think you just got a little too much of that on your brain.” Kenny pointed his spatula past her to where Blake was sitting, and her cheeks heated once more.

  “Stop that,” she hissed, walking away from his laughter. As she approached Blake, she knew that Kenny was right. Her appreciation for his hazel eyes and broad shoulders had slowly turned into real feelings with every exchange they had. She knew about his work, about his day-to-day activities and the way he took his coffee . . .

  But what do I really know about Blake? His life? His family? Isn’t that something friends should discuss?

  Hannah had created a whole fantasy about this guy. She’d imagined herself as this wonderful, sweet friend to him, when really, she was just the girl who brought him his coffee.

  She set his plate down and refilled his water, refusing to meet his gaze.

  “Hannah, I don’t know what I said last night, b
ut if any of it was offensive or made you uncomfortable—”

  “Let’s just forget it, okay? It wasn’t a big deal. I just thought it was funny. I mean, the first time we talk on the phone, you’re drunk as a skunk and telling me you like the way my voice sounds . . . ”

  She noticed his shoulders stiffen, and she cringed. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have told you that.”

  “No, it’s okay. Just seems like I have more to apologize for than I thought.”

  I don’t want your apology. I want you to swoop me in your arms and tell me you meant every word.

  When he picked up his fork, she shifted her feet awkwardly and mumbled, “It’s fine.”

  Wanting to get as far away from the conversation as possible, she turned and set the water pitcher down. She headed around the counter toward the back door, which she pushed open with a sigh. There were a couple of plastic chairs set up for the staff, who would often come out there to smoke. Hannah came out when she needed some quiet.

  Right now, she was hoping for a quick, painless lightning bolt to come from above.

  She glanced up at the clear sky and sighed in disappointment. She sat down in one of the chairs and pulled out her phone, sliding her thumb across the screen. Hannah was almost tempted to call Nicki and tell her what an idiot she was, but as much as she loved her best friend, she’d never understood Hannah’s romantic notions about love and dating. She’d just tell her to get over it and be off to set her up with someone else.

  The problem was that very few men had ever given her that warm fluttering in the pit of her stomach. Not the way being near Blake did.

  The sound of footsteps on pavement startled her, and she turned to look down the narrow alleyway behind the diner.

  A figure in a dark blue hoodie stood several feet from her, a gun held shakily in his outstretched hand.

  “If you keep quiet, I won’t hurt you.”

  Hannah’s heart slammed against her breastbone in rapid succession as she stared down the black barrel that inched toward her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. When she’d thought about being struck by a lightning bolt, she hadn’t been serious.