Page 17 of Icing the Enemy

What? Oh, that.

CHAPTER SEVEN

corbin

I spentthe early morning hours at the Atlanta police station. The first thing they did was ask the police units in the areas of the airports, trains, and bus stations to scan the parking lot for my truck. It didn’t take long for them to find it and surprisingly, Oakley left the keys in it.

If she wasn’t having fun or didn’t want to stay, why wouldn’t she just ask me to bring her to the bus station? Why would she say she would be right back after she checked on Dixie? And why in the hell would she kiss me before she went up to the room?

Bryce is right. I’m too trusting. Too eager to help. Damn my parents for raising me to be good to people, especially women and animals.

The wedding party and former Stallions congregate in the lobby to go on the 5k run, but I’m headed home, hoping the police find Oakley James—if that’s even her real name, and I’m going to make her life miserable. I don’t know where she lives, but the officer said she bought a ticket to Nashville with a prepaid credit card.

Is it possible we live in the same town? And why didn’t I ask where she lived?

Luckily, we had taken a couple of selfies and group photos with my phone, so I was able to share them with the police. She’s not getting away with humiliating me.

Reed and Bryce slap me on the back. “This is one way to get out of going on the run.”

“I may not be as fast as you two on the ice, but I promise I’m faster on foot.” I’m in a bad ass mood.

Reed puts his hand on my shoulder. “Let’s just hope the gossip rags don’t get wind of the stolen truck. Brooke said there was a photo of you walking her dog and one of you with your hand on her back going into the hotel.”

“Fuck. I hadn’t even thought of that.”

Bryce clamps a hand on my shoulder, making sure I meet his stare. “Get straight home. No rescuing raccoons or any stray chickens today.” I roll my eyes, but he keeps at it. “And as entertaining and delightful as Oakley was, maybe avoid picking up any more ladies at truck stops, okay?”

Ever the leader, Bryce Wynward uses humor to convey his point. I’ll be ninety, and these asshole teammates that I call friends will be reminding me of this weekend. Every time someone mentions Bryce and Emmaline’s wedding, I’ll be the butt of their jokes.

“Wynward, I got it.”

Dane jumps in. “We’ll be back in Nashville on Monday. If you need anything, let us know.”

“Thanks. Until next time, fellas,” I say, diving into a round of handshakes, back slaps, and a few hugs.

Before I arrive home,I get a telephone call from the Nashville police asking me to come to the police station. They’vefound my Oakley. No, not my Oakley, the evil vixen Oakley. As tired as I am, I make a pit stop at police station number nine.

I stand in the fluorescent-lit lobby of the police station, completely devoid of any warmth. Still seething over being used, I wait for someone to call my name. Finally, a man and woman come out. “Mr. Shearer?”

I nod and give them a quick handshake.

“I’m Officer Trout, and this is my partner, Officer Alvarez. Come with us.” Officer Alvarez leads me between walls of painted gray concrete blocks with a thin blue line. This place is depressing.

“We need you to identify the suspect,” Alvarez says as he motions me inside the door.

The room reeks of fake leather, coffee, and sweat. And there she is. “Why isn’t she in an orange jumpsuit or better yet black and white stripes?” Bitterness coats my tongue.

Trout, the woman officer, snorts, laughing, and her coffee spews from her mouth. She wipes her mouth and says, “That’s only when they’ve been convicted, or they’re being held without bail.”

“That’s her. Can I talk to her?”

“Sure. Do you want to press charges?”

“To be determined,” I mumble as I enter the room with the woman who stole my truck. Sitting across the room, seemingly unfazed and tapping her fingers in a furious rhythm. Our eyes collide, and a spark of defiance churns like when Mamaw makes homemade butter. Those same eyes made me want to help her at the truck stop. Well, not this time.

“Why?” I demand, my voice cutting through the hum of the air conditioner above. She raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips like this is some grand game of chess. Damn her for being the most infuriatingly captivating woman I've ever encountered. There’s chemistry here, a volatile reaction ofthrowing gas on a fire, and the realization hits me that I've never wanted someone more even as I want her to pay for humiliating me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice drips with sarcasm.

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