Detour: A Creekwood Novel (Creekwood Series Book 1)
Detour: Chapter 17

Every time I wash a window, he finds another excuse for me to clean it again. I’ve never had to wash the same window twice. Tonight though, Joe has a bug up his ass and is taking it out on me.

Sweat gathers more now that the bay doors are closed, trapping all the stuffy air inside. I toss Coty’s hat off to secure my braided ponytail into a bun. I’m bending down low, stretching onto my tiptoes, pushing the squeegee with enough force to ensure there are no water spots, yet it still isn’t good enough. I can feel my face growing flushed each time he points out another issue. My stomach growling, Coty’s takeout eaten long ago, is the least of my concerns at the moment.

Joe keeps moving around the wash, making it hard to keep watch the entire time, no matter how I angle my body for a better view, while doing a good enough job. I’m trying to get every nonexistent spot so I can get the hell out of here already. It doesn’t matter where he is though, I can feel his presence everywhere. I can feel his eyes locked onto my body with each movement I make. I want to believe this isn’t what it feels like. If he’d stayed in the office like he’s done in the past then I’d be done by now and wouldn’t feel like I’m putting on a private show for my depraved boss.

“Looking good in here.”

I can’t help the scoff that comes out while shaking my head. Really?

“I would hope so.” I put my hands on my hips, turning to face him. Joe’s eyes immediately make the journey from my toes up to my chest. I cross my arms, cutting off his view. “Am I good to go then?”

He nods absently, looking around. When he steps closer, I dodge to the side, trying to escape the corner he’s about to get me in. Unfortunately, he shoots his hand out, trying to stop me.

I look down at his suspended hand with as much disdain as I feel. “Joe,” I lift my eyes to his, making sure he fucking hears me, “don’t.”

Joe lifts his face, keeping his eyes locked on mine, then puts both hands up.

“Hey, I was just wondering if you wanted more hours. Boss says to keep you part-time when you graduate but I can change that.”

I cock an eyebrow. The owner doesn’t even come around enough to know who I am, let alone to dictate how many hours I work. I seriously doubt he said a word about my schedule. No matter what my mother would have me believe, I’m not stupid. I see right through what he’s doing here. I just need to play my cards right without giving in to his game while somehow keeping my job.

My clammy hands drag down my thighs. “Full shifts on Sundays again would be nice. Maybe add some mornings with Amity during the week once school is out?”

I drop Amity’s name, hoping to distract him. If she’s already taking him up on his offer for “more hours” then maybe that’ll take, and keep, his focus off me.

His eyes narrow slightly before he quickly covers it with a neutral expression. “Amity is great and all, but she’s not cutting it lately. Maybe you can take over all of her shifts?”

I pick up the discarded hat, careful to keep my back away from Joe.

“Sure, whatever works best. We can look at the schedule once school’s done.”

Hose in one hand, I rinse the squeegee, then drop the used towels in the washer. When I turn back, Joe’s wringing out a towel I must’ve missed. He walks over to throw it in the washer, stopping next to me and tugging on Coty’s hat around my wrist.

“Who’s the guy? The one that came through earlier. Is he your boyfriend?”

“No.” I cringe at the waver in my voice.

His interest on the hat, I try to extract it from his grasp but he yanks it forward abruptly, catching me off guard. I lose my balance from the unexpected change which unfortunately, brings me flush against Joe who wastes no time taking full advantage of the compromising position.

The hold on my wrist tightens while his left hand latches onto my other arm, penning me in. It’s just shy of being painful but unwanted just the same. I can simultaneously feel his hot breath on my face that’s twisted to the side, his doughy belly against my taut stomach—that’s now roiling with acid—and his disgusting erection digging into my outer thigh that feels more like a rival flag pole fighting for leverage. Battling down the bile clawing its way up my throat, I try to step back but Joe holds firm.

“Get off me. Now.” I grit out each word, keeping my face cranked.

“You haven’t even heard the arrangement yet.”

My stomach drops out onto the floor, leaving behind an empty shell.

“Hey, Joe, I’m heading out for the night. Do you need me to-”

My head snaps over to the man coming around the corner from detailing. Before I can utter a single word, I’m released harshly, Joe’s booming voice masking any sound I might make.

“That’s it for now, buddy.” He steps forward, blocking my savior from view. “I’ll lock up. Have a good night.”

I take that as my cue to leave as well and with my bag in hand, I rush out the front door. It’s fully dark as I speed walk around the outside of the building.

I’m shaking so bad when I jump in, I don’t get my key in the ignition until my third try. Water collects in my eyes but I look up, blinking it back. That asshole doesn’t deserve my tears. Checking in the rearview mirror to see the lights from inside, I turn the radio on full blast to silence the thoughts racing through my mind, and peel out of the lot listening to “Middle Finger” by Bohnes.

I don’t stop though. I drive until my hands are steady on the steering wheel. I drive until my ears are too full of roaring lyrics to hear my own heartbeat. I drive until I can see through the tears that keep threatening to spill out. I drive until I’m at the gas station the boys took me to on our ride together. I didn’t even know where I was driving but somehow I ended up here. Somewhere familiar. Somewhere that reminds me of them. Of him.

Parking, I lay my head against the wheel and take a few minutes to collect myself. Joe’s rough touch was so jarring after Coty’s attentive caresses. Where my body welcomed Coty’s touch before my mind could even catch up, my body all out rejected Joe’s without needing my brain at all.

As soon as my feet hit the ground, my stomach heaves and I grip the side of my Jeep as I double over, letting my body do what it needs to. My stomach deprived of food pays off for once and nothing comes out.

“Angela?”

Please no.

A swipe of my mouth, I straighten to find Coty staring directly at me. Helmet off, it’s resting on his lap as he straddles his black bike. Worry lines every inch of his face. What the hell is he doing here?

“Yeah?” I ask, irritation clear. I’m over men today, especially the handsy ones.

He’s full on scowling but I don’t give a shit. I’m drowning over here, trying to keep my head above the tainted water that is my life. I can’t worry about his feelings when I’m busy keeping my own at bay.

“Are you okay? I saw you pull in and it looked like-”

“Totally fine, Coty.” I cut him off before I’m forced to hear what I look like. I don’t need to face what’s undoubtedly seeping out of me. Not now. Not in front of him.

He shakes his head, dismounting. I put my hands in the pockets of my shorts—that I fully intend on burning once I’m home, anything to rid myself of Joe’s touch—and hold my ground.

Coty comes around the front of my car, propping himself against the top of the tire well. The knees on his jeans are ripped clean out with his motorcycle jacket zipped up to his chin. He crosses his boots and looks over at me, taking in too much as usual. I’m not cowering under his gaze though. Let him see. Let him see that he’s not getting in.

Matter-of-factly, he says, “I’m starving.”

I can’t keep the surprise off my face.

“I’ve been out riding and it’s late. At least keep me company while I eat.” He holds out his hand, looking at me with more hope than I deserve.

I reach in to grab my wallet then step past him and his open hand. Relief floods when he lets me pass without so much as a touch.

We go our separate ways once inside, picking out what we each want to eat, then meet at the cash register. I make sure to pay first and grab a table while he pays for his food. I don’t have much of an appetite but I want to try to get something down. The acid churning in my stomach needs something to soak it up.

We eat in comfortable silence while I occasionally sneak glances at his choice in food.

“What?”

“Nothing.” I half-smile. “I didn’t know you liked corn dogs.” Then because I can’t help it, I say, “Are you twelve?”

I release a laugh I didn’t think I was capable of right now.

His eyebrows shoot up at my mood change but he doesn’t comment.

“What about you? Since when do oatmeal cookies count as a meal?” He tosses his balled-up napkin at me.

I swat it away, answering truthfully, “Since that’s the only thing in the house. If you’re lucky.”

“Your mom didn’t cook?”

I snort. “Definitely not. She barely even bought food, let alone put it together into a meal.” I look up, saying, “Unless she was trying to impress a new guy.” Even then, I wouldn’t consider that exactly cooking. More like forcing two foods that don’t belong together into one dish and letting them battle it out.

Coty’s eyes search mine.

I clear my throat, cleaning the table. When his hand lands on mine, I yank it away like I’ve been burned.

“Please,” I say to the table, knowing he can hear me, “not tonight.”

“Hey.” He leans his head to the side, catching my eye. I slowly raise my head, meeting his brown eyes. Open sincerity the only thing I see there, I relax. Slightly. “My mom cooked dinner every night. Still does. No matter what. No matter how long it takes my dad to tend to a student, dinner’s always on the table. She thinks the monotony masks the unpredictability that comes from having a cheating husband in the house.” He pauses, glancing around before meeting my gaze again. “I get it. The destruction a parent can cause.”

“He’s a teacher?” My voice shakes more than I intend.

“Professor.” Coty nods, clearing his wrappers as well. “Poetry in American Literature. Never a lack of females in that class. Dad lost sight of the words and started focusing more on the women writing them.”

“And your mom, she knows? And stays with him?”

“To this day. I didn’t though. We’ve always struggled to connect. Him living a slow life full of reading, me wanting a faster pace, we couldn’t find a common ground. But his cheating killed any chance of us ever bonding. I lost respect for him a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry. I,” I shake my head, unsure how much I should say, “never met my dad.”

The silence that follows clogs my throat entirely.

Coty surprises me again, saying softly, “His loss.” Then, “Ready? You got school tomorrow, right?”

He stands, taking our combined garbage in one scoop. I slide out of the booth and follow him out the door. Returning to my Jeep, Coty reveals two candy bars. Damn him, I think ruefully.

We sit on the curb, watching the occasional car pass as we eat our desserts.

“Thank you for that.”

“It was selfish really. I just wanted to watch you eat candy again. You eat it like it’s the first and last time you’ve ever tasted chocolate. It’s kind of incredible.”

My face warms despite the night taking a chilly turn.

“Well, that’s embarrassing, but I meant for everything. The takeout from earlier, tonight, this, now. I, uh, I needed it.” I stare down at my feet, unwilling to face how much truth that sentence holds, how much I appreciate his generosity, how much I appreciate him. His gentle, yet insistent, approach he somehow knows I need. His admission about his family to take the spotlight off mine. He’s perceptive. I knew that from the first time we met but I never thought he’d be able to read me like he does. He picks up on things I’m not even aware of. A fact that both pleases and alarms me. What if I don’t want to be seen? The scarier question is, what if I do?

“I don’t know what happened in your life,” he pauses when I shift, “or tonight. And I’m not asking, Angela. Okay? I just…I want you to know I’m here. I’m here whenever you’re ready to talk. About anything.” sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ Find ɴøᴠel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

He nudges my shoulder with his.

“What if I’m never ready?” I whisper.

“Well,” he blows out a breath, “I signed a contract with Creekwood, so technically I’ll still be here.”

I bark out a laugh, marveling at how it can feel so good at such a bad time.

“Seriously though, I’ll be here. Remember what I told you?”

He stands, offering his hands to help me up. I give him one and mostly do it myself.

“You say a lot of stuff. How am I supposed to remember everything that comes out of that pretty face?”

Coty doesn’t release my hand as he guides me to the driver’s side. He spins around to face me. Without thought, I step back, rocking on my heels.

“Pretty, huh?”

“That’s all you heard? Figures.”

A charming smile splits said face. I gently pull my hand from his.

“I told you I wouldn’t let you fall. I got you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“Then let me,” he counters. “Let me get to know you.” He steps closer and slowly, ever so slowly, brings his hands up to frame my face. The intensity in his eyes holds me captive as his boots brush my shell toes. “I want to know everything about you, babe, but I’ll settle for whatever you’re willing to give me.”

I don’t realize I’m crying until I feel Coty wipe a stray tear away with his thumb. The realization sends me reeling. Coty, however, senses my withdrawal and leans forward, resting his forehead against mine.

I close my eyes, willing the others not to follow their predecessors.

“Are you still going riding with me?”

I shake my head which only makes him laugh.

“Yes, you are. You already promised. I mean you basically dry humped me when I asked so that’s as good as a promise in my mind.”

My eyes snap open to find him smiling mischievously. He knows just when to lighten the mood. Jerk.

His gaze holds mine, leaving the ball in my court, and I take the moment to simply breathe him in. The hint of coconut is slightly washed out from his long ride. Nature, fumes, and unconcealed want—he smells like a man on a mission. He knows where he’s going and there are only two options—jump on and enjoy the ride or get the hell out of the way. You only regret the chances you don’t take, right?

I bring my hands up to wrap around the back of his neck and gently scratch his hairline behind his ears. His eyes remain open but darken to a dusky brown, almost black. Before I can overthink it, I lean in, closing the distance. As my lips touch his, he hesitates, still leaving the choice up to me. His hands twitch on my cheeks but he doesn’t increase pressure. He lets me go at my own pace, not pushing me into anything I’m not ready for. My eyes flutter closed as I press my lips to his in a tender kiss. He groans out his own appreciation, but still, he doesn’t move. His lips are the perfect mix of soft and strong. I know he could overtake me at any moment, yet there’s something so potent in trusting that he won’t.

I pull back to thank him again but Coty beats me to it.

He drops his hands from my face, avoiding my questioning stare.

“Let’s get you home.”

I return to Creekwood without any music, letting the calm night air fill my senses while reflecting on the unexpected turns this night took. I was close to losing my grip. The grip on why I continue. On why I keep fighting when I’m constantly reminded how easy it would be to give up. I’ve struggled my whole life to change the course my mother mapped out for me. Tonight felt like one wrong turn too many. Joe’s callous treatment had me considering crashing the entire thing just to escape the endless obstacles.

I didn’t though. Coty appearing unannounced being a big reason. His presence soothes me as much as it unnerves me. He shouldn’t have the effect he does on me, only having known each other for a short time, yet he understands what I need when I need it. I’m sick of fighting the attraction I have to him, but I still need to keep some distance, at least emotionally, since living next door is proving difficult where space is concerned. I never want to leave my happiness, or sanity, in the hands of a man like my mother has spent her life doing. A little fun with Coty without a commitment might help take care of both desires. Light and easy. Nothing too deep.

I also need to figure out what to do about Joe. I can’t let him catch me like he did again. He may get others to play his sick games but I won’t be one of them. No matter what promises he makes, it’s not worth selling the only thing I have left—my dignity.

There’s no way I can tell Drew what happened. There’s no way I can tell anyone about what Joe did. It’d be my word against his and mine already has the stench of my mother’s misdeeds attached to it.

If anyone did believe me, they’d expect me to quit, but I can’t. Not yet. I need the job at Hot Spots at least until graduation when I have additional availability to offer a new employer.

Just a little longer.

* * *

I hear Coty enter the lot behind me. He followed me the entire way back, keeping a comfortable distance for my sake more than his I’m sure.

Climbing the stairs, exhaustion from the day settles over me like a harsh current threatening to pull me under.

As my foot reaches the top step, the boys’ door flies open, hitting the wall with a metallic clang. Beckett appears in the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest, eyes narrowed to slits. He’d be intimidating if I didn’t already know what a softy he is.

“And where have you been?”

Seriously?

I bypass him and his probing stare, heading straight for my door.

“Hello to you, too.”

“You never work this late, so what were you doing?”

He finally unfolds his arms only to adjust his hat, facing it backward. The move strikes me as a nervous tic but that doesn’t make any sense. Why would he care whether I was home or not?

The little scruff on his face makes him look utterly adorable—as adorable as a 6’6” man can be—added with his lips turned down and I have to fight the urge to laugh. I pity his future daughters already. And he will have daughters. Only the baddest of boys get rewarded with daughters. It’s the most surefire way to make them pay for their transgressions. To spend their life trying to protect their daughters from the same indiscretions they themselves committed to others. It’s genius, really.

Obviously, my dad chose to skip his penance altogether by ignoring my existence from the start.

“I’m not the only one, you know? We were worried.”

His forest green shirt reads Ride The Beast and I wonder, not for the first time, if he has a monthly subscription of tacky motorcycle shirts made just for giants like him.

A throat clearing has both our heads turning. Coty, jacket unzipped and hanging open with his helmet propped under an arm, approaches us with eyes glued to his roommate’s. Beckett breaks into a grin, bringing his gaze back to me though.

“Looks like you found her after all.”

My eyes shift between them, confusion wracking my brain. Apparently, neither feels inclined to elaborate further though because all they do is play a round of The Topic’s Lava, refusing to even touch the subject.

“Well, I’m home now. Thanks for the concern?”

A chuckling Beckett leaves, giving us some privacy.

Coty meets me at my door instead of going to his own like I knew he would.

He leans his arms against my doorjamb, taking up the frame like I hoped he would. I peruse his body, from his badass boots up his ripped jeans to the all-black jacket over his plain tee. How does he always make simple outfits look so damn attractive? His lips remind me of our sweet kiss made even sweeter by the candy we’d eaten. I reach his mocha swirl eyes that are already on mine. He was watching me check him out.

He’s too tempting and I’m a mess. He’s beautiful and I’m defective. I don’t want to risk corrupting him which is why I close the door softly after a whispered goodbye.

Light and easy.

He’s like a fantasy slowly consuming me while I’m living a nightmare I can’t seem to purge. Yet.

I hear a soft, “goodnight, Angela,” followed by the distinct click of a door closing across the hall.

Hitting repeat on “Head Above Water” by Avril Lavigne, I jump in the shower, hoping to scrub off today’s residue. I scrub my body like a criminal cleaning their crime scene. No fingerprints left behind. No trace—visible or otherwise—of Joe’s touch to be found, I clean my body again. And again. And again. I scour my skin, wishing a new layer would form in its place with each brush. My vulnerability combined with the vigorous cleansing leaves me feeling raw and exposed.

With scalding water pounding my chest, I lean my head against the wall, breathing through my mouth. The steam coats my throat like the heat steeping my skin. A hiccup escapes followed by another, then another.

I stay there until the water runs cold. Until Joe is no longer a phantom haunting my disinfected form.

My head, however, is a different story.

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