Page 2 of Tempt Me

“I’m sorry,” I mumble as Tee smiles softly at me.

“The attack was only last week. I’m surprised you still came.”

After handing her an envelope filled with my night’s tips, I watch her return to the shop. No one suspicious lurks nearby. Cars zip past mine. People are enjoying their Friday night.

Yet, on the five-minute drive from the shop to my condo building, I struggle against my paranoia.

Once I’ve parked my Mercedes in my assigned spot in the secure parking garage, I freeze up and won’t leave. The underground garage is busy with vehicles entering and exiting through the security gate. I’m not alone in a creepy place. I know my building. I haven’t seen a threat. Yet, a voice in my head screams for me to stay put.

My instincts are usually solid. I felt nervous before the ranch hands turned aggressive. Austen trusted them because she trusted her father, but I sensed we were in danger.

Last week, when I was mugged, I felt tense beforehand. I sensed trouble coming. I feel the same way now.

However, my instincts can be tricked like they were with Tack. I knew he was a member of the Backcountry Kings. He’s big, burly, and tatted, yet his good looks distracted me. I wanted so badly to be charmed by the rugged biker.

Tack made the choice to downplay how dangerous his lifestyle was while I chose to believe him. We were only prolonging a flirtation destined for no payoff. Time was bound to tear us apart.

If Tack worked any other job, I would offer him whatever he wanted. Instead, we can only be friends.

Even knowing the logic behind my decision, I miss him when we’re apart for too long. As soon as we share a space, I breathe differently. He’s the man I fantasize about when I’m alone with my vibrator. He’s also the one I wish was sitting at my side as I face my current fear.

However, I don’t text Tack about my paranoia tonight. We’re friends, but I’m aware of how he wants more. Every time I reach out to him, I rub salt in the wound.

I’d normally text my mother for advice, but Suzanne is currently jet-setting through Asia with her newest boyfriend. If I bother her when she’s halfway around the world, she’ll call in the troops to save me. What if my paranoia is unwarranted?

My mother’s need to control the world can be suffocating. I didn’t even tell her about my mugging last week. If I set off her fears, she’ll swoop in and assign a security detail. I won’t own my life anymore. That’s just how Suzanne Knutsen operates.

As I remain stuck in my Mercedes, the garage’s security gate frequently opens and closes. My building is full of young professionals enjoying Banta City’s nightlife.

I glance at my phone and consider who I can call to soothe my likely irrational fear. What if I’m wrong and look foolish to Siobhan and Natasha? But what if I’m right and someone is lurking in the well-lit garage?

I send a text to the building’s security to ask if they’ll escort me to my condo. When I receive no response, I convince myself to stop hiding. I turn off the car and reach for the handle.

Yet, I’m absolutely fucking certain I’m in danger! Evidence be damned, I’m scared and consider reaching out to Tack.

Instead, I text Siobhan. “I think I was followed home. I don’t know if they’re in the parking garage with me. I texted building security, but no one has shown up.”

When Siobhan doesn’t respond right away, I assume she’s working the bar at Above Snakes. I find myself wondering if Tack is there. I imagine his shaggy blond hair in his baby-blue eyes.

I recall when he visited me unexpectedly after the mugging. Even wanting him to come inside, I blocked his entry. I didn’t want to tease him or imply something I couldn’t offer.

Years ago, Suzanne insisted, “Men are fragile creatures. They are especially dangerous when their feelings are hurt.”

I don’t fear Tack O’Malley. I stare at his name on my contact list. Would texting him for help be cruel? Is our friendship tempting him to wait for me?

Inhaling sharply, I don’t reach out to Tack for help. Instead, I give myself a mental pep talk. Even if someone is lurking in the garage, I have my weapons. I will run to the secure door and get into the building. If anyone tries to follow, I’ll hit them with pepper spray. Problem solved.

Yet, I still don’t exit my car. I’m waiting for a response from Siobhan or security. I turn the engine back on and pick a playlist. The Black Keys settle my nerves. I check the back camera for movement. I see more people entering and exiting. If I left my car right now, I bet I’d be fine.

As I reach to turn off the engine, I notice movement across the back of the car. My heart tightens. Suddenly, a figure is at my driver’s side window. The man seems large, thick across the shoulders and chest. He’s wearing a black T-shirt and jeans. I notice a duffle bag strapped to his back, and a Miami Dolphins baseball cap is tugged low over his forehead.

The sight of him steals my breath, yet my mind remains sharp. I shove my hands inside my beige purse strapped across my chest. My fingers search for my weapons.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” asks the stranger in a southern drawl as he peers in at me. “Do you need assistance?”

“I’m fine. I’m waiting for someone,” I explain in an effortlessly poised voice.

Lingering at my window, the man stares in at me. Before I can ask him what he wants, my front passenger-side window shatters. I flinch away, spotting a second man holding a tire iron. He reaches into the car to unlock the door.

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