Free Driven to Ink by Karen E. Olson Page B

his dress shirt. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
    He didn’t look like Dean Martin anymore. He had a rakish look about him, sort of like the high school football quarterback who knew he’d get the head cheerleader in a compromising position at the prom.
    I wasn’t quite ready to be compromised, and I had a can of Mace in my bag along with my cell phone.
    “I don’t think so,” I said. “I’m sorry, but I hope you understand.” I paused a second before asking, “You probably have a girlfriend or something waiting for you anyway, right?” Might as well try to lighten up the mood—let him think I was more worried about his personal commitments than my own safety.
    An expression that I couldn’t read crossed his face, but then he shut the door. He gave me a cautious smile. “Do you have a name, or will the media start calling you the runaway bride?”
    “Brett Kavanaugh,” I said without thinking. He hadn’t answered my question.
    He cocked his head, indicating the tattoo on my arm, the koi in a sea of blues and greens. “I like your tattoo.” He shrugged off his jacket and shoved the sleeve of his shirt up. A skull with daggers through its eye sockets adorned his arm. It was faded with time, but it wasn’t bad work.
    “You should have that touched up,” I said, reaching into my bag and producing a business card.
    He studied it a second, then grinned and put it in his pocket. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.” He paused. “Want me to call you a cab?”
    I thought about Jeff Coleman and how he totally would not approve of what I was doing. But did I care?
    “That would be nice,” I said, “but I think by the time the cab gets here, my fiancé”—my voice caught on the word in a little cough—“will have found me out here with you.”
    And speak of the devil, but didn’t Jeff Coleman bound right out of the door we’d come through. He didn’t look too upset, though, maybe even slightly amused.
    “There you are, sweetheart,” he said, his arm snaking around my waist. “What’s going on?” He looked at Will. “Who is this?”
    I shrugged him off and stepped back. “Will Parker. He’s one of the—um—performers here. I got locked out.” I hoped he wouldn’t press as to where I was locked out from.
    “Thanks for taking care of her,” Jeff said to Will. “I wouldn’t want to lose her.”
    I was going to be sick. He didn’t have to lay it on that thick. Especially since the longer I was looking at Will Parker, the longer I thought maybe I would like to take a ride in that car at some point.
    “No problem, man,” Will said, nodding, then turned to me with a concerned expression. “Are you going to be okay?” Now that I had a “real” fiancé, he seemed ready to forget about my snooping.
    I nodded, although the thought of being engaged to Jeff Coleman still made me woozy.
    “She wanted to get married in a church. This is all my fault,” Jeff told Will before giving me a wink Will Parker couldn’t see, then added, “We can go back home and talk about this.”
    “Hope to see you again,” Will said, his eyes twinkling as he nodded at me.
    I had a sudden urge to tell him to definitely call me. Jeff must have sensed my hesitation because again I felt his hand on my lower back, and he steered me back around to the front of the building. He gave Will a little finger waggle as we went.
    “What was that all about?” he asked as we settled into the Pontiac. “Flirting with another man on our wedding day?” he teased.
    “I was trying to get some information out of him,” I said, strapping myself in with the seat belt.
    “That wasn’t all you were after,” he said.
    “You’re not really my fiancé, so what do you care?”
    He cocked his head at me and looked at me for a couple of seconds before saying, “You’re right. Why should I care?”
    And then he gunned the engine, and the tires screeched as the car slid out of the parking lot.
    “So what did you find