PERFECT KIND OF TROUBLE by Chelsea Fine
(February 3, 2015; Forever Trade Paperback; $12.00)
EXCERPT
“So this is where
you work?” She gestures at the closed kitchen door behind me as she
approaches.
I step back so she
can enter the courtyard then glance over my shoulder. “It’s more
like the place where I help out in the kitchen, occasionally,” I
say. “I like to cook so sometimes the owner, Jake, let’s me jump
on the line.”
She tilts her head.
“I wouldn’t have pegged you as the cooking type.”
“No?” I arch a
brow. “What type am I?”
“Well the
professional lover type, obviously.”
The teasing in her
eyes along with the lightness of her smile does something soft to my
insides. This is a different Kayla than the one I was sitting next to
at the bar. That girl was stressed and burdened, but this girl…
this girl is hopeful and happy.
The only reason I
can think of for the change in her tone is the inheritance. Does the
idea of getting money please her so much that she’s suddenly this
cheerful person? Does it please me that much?
I remember Jake’s
comment earlier, about my being happy, and realize with a sinking
feeling that yes, the idea of an inheritance has made me happy. Money
would alleviate some of my problems and, therefore, it gives me a
security in my future that pleases me.
I’m not sure how
I feel about money having so much control over my contentment. It
makes me sound an awful lot like my dad.
“So what is this
place?” she asks, nodding to the courtyard around us.
I look up at the
small twinkle lights strung above the area. “Right now it’s just
storage space. But Jake wants to make it into a dining patio. You
know, so people can rent it out for private parties or whatever.”
“It’s cute.”
She walks around, checking out the rose bushes that line the fence
and the Tuscany-inspired mural painted against the back wall.
“So where you off
to?” I step closer so we’re both beside the painted wall. “Back
to your humble abode at the Quickie Stop?”
She scoffs. “Humble
indeed. But yeah.”
I glance at the
dark parking lot beyond the fence and the even darker streets that
lead to the edge of town, and frown. “By yourself?”
She faces me with a
cocked eyebrow. “Yeah. I’ve got my own driver’s license and
everything.”
I smile at the
ground. “Okay, that’s fair.” I glance at the dark streets
again. “I’m just a concerned citizen that wanted to make sure you
got home safely. That’s all.”
She nods. “How
very kind of you, citizen. Would you rather I be going back to the
Quickie Stop with someone?”
The idea of Kayla
going home with someone—anyone, other than me—rakes down my spine
like nails on a chalkboard. I don’t know when I got so possessive
of this girl but holy hell. My veins are on fire.
How very
unexpected. And somewhat annoying.
I don’t get possessive of women.
Ever. Sure, I care about Amber and Pixie but that’s different. I
care about them like sisters. I’m protective of them. I
couldn’t really give a damn who they, or any other female in this
town, go to bed with.
But Kayla?
Hot jealousy darts
through my veins.
How very annoyingly
unexpected.
I set my shoulders
back in a casual manner. “Not particularly,” I say coolly. “I
just wasn’t sure if you had a ride or not.”
“Oh.” She runs
a finger over her lips. “And what, you were going to offer me a
ride?”
I watch the tip of
her finger skim over the pink fullness of her bottom lip and my
breath hitches. She can’t say things like “give me a ride” and
touch her mouth at the same time. That’s just not fair.
“Well I might
have offered you a ride,” I say, inwardly cursing as I remember
sweet, precious Monique, “except I’m pretty sure you’re not
supposed to take rides from strangers. And since that’s what you
and I are…” I sigh dramatically. “It would have just been a
waste of time to ask you.”
She smiles behind
her moving fingers and I start to wonder if she’d let me kiss her.
My guess is, yes. Maybe.
I want to kiss
Kayla. Badly. But the idea of kissing her, of touching her at all,
also makes me a little nervous. And I’m never nervous when it comes
to women.
Goddammit. Everything about this girl
is unexpected.
“You’re so
obsessed with us not being strangers,” she says, and her eyes
shine. “That can’t be healthy.”
I probably
shouldn’t kiss her. We have an inheritance to claim tomorrow. We
have shit to follow through with. Kissing her is a bad idea. A very
bad idea.
“No. Probably
not.” I step closer so we’re only inches apart. “But I can’t
seem to let it go.”
She doesn’t move
away. She doesn’t break eye contact.
Yes. She’d
definitely let me kiss her. I’m sure of it.
My heart pounds and
it’s all I can do to keep my nonchalant demeanor in place.
“Is that what we
are, Kayla?” I lower my voice with a crooked grin. “Strangers?”
She meets my
crooked grin and raises me a tipped chin. Her eyes are steel and
sure, not giving anything away, and I suddenly feel unsure.
I lean in.
She doesn’t
react. But she also doesn’t back away.
Kissing her is a
bad idea.
Her lips part, ever
so slightly, a thin seam of wet flesh forming between the soft skin
of her pretty lips, and all my reservations vanish.
About the Author
Chelsea lives in Phoenix, Arizona, where she spends most of her time writing stories, painting murals, and avoiding housework at all costs. She's ridiculously bad at doing dishes and claims to be allergic to laundry. Her obsessions include: superheroes, coffee, sleeping-in, and crazy socks. She lives with her husband and two children, who graciously tolerate her inability to resist teenage drama on TV and her complete lack of skill in the kitchen.
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