Weekend Fling Read online

  “Please,” I beg. “I know we’re late, but I’m doing everything I can. Isn’t there some sort of payment plan we can be on?”

  “You’re already behind on your payment plan payments, Miss Parks.”

  I know that. We’re behind on everything. I kick a stray pebble and slump against the brick. “When’s the deadline again?” I ask.

  I already know. Two weeks ago was the extended deadline after the extended deadline.

  Tears burn the backs of my eyes.

  “One week,” the woman says in a thickly accented voice. “That’s the best I can do, and then we’ll have to take the car. You’re six months behind on the payments.”

  “Three thousand dollars in a week?” I fight the urge to shriek. To kick my foot against the brick wall in frustration. But that anger is there, bubbling. Simmering. Coming to a boil that will soon bubble over.

  There’s no way I can pour enough coffees or invoice enough clients to make up the difference.

  A shadow around the corner of the building slowly grows and turns into a male figure as he follows it, and I straighten.

  Trey Kollins. Ugh. Of course it is. If I didn’t value my life, pounding my head against a brick wall would be the perfect idea at this moment.

  “Have a good day, Miss Parks.”

  I snort and hang up the phone without a response. Like that’s possible now.

  “Can I help you?” I ask Trey, crossing my arms over my chest. I’m still leaning against the wall but I make no effort to move. He followed me out here for a reason, and his inability to respect the word no is grating on my nerves.

  “H-h…” He cringes. Shoulders raise and fall slowly. “Hi, Willow. You okay?”

  His cocky grin erases the sweetness from his tone, and he props his shoulder against the wall. Why? Why is he here?

  “Fine.”

  His arm swoops to the side, not touching me but clearly trying to stop me from walking around him. I pull to an abrupt stop before I run into his hand. “My mom always says when a woman says ‘fine,’ it means you better run and hide because things are anything but.”

  His mother’s a wise woman. A brief smile cracks through my frustration. “Did you follow me out here?”

  “I wanted to apologize for earlier. And to see if I can talk you into giving me a chance at that date.”

  Man, this guy is relentless. Beautiful, with dark eyes with a crazy ability to pull me in so much so it almost makes me want to say screw reality and yes to him. Avoiding reality is what helped me fall into this mess, though.

  “Trey.” His name falls from my lips on a sigh. “I really don’t have the time to date, and I’m in no position for anything serious.”

  Perhaps a dose of honesty will have this guy running.

  He shrugs, like he has no care in the world. He probably doesn’t. At least he doesn’t have my problems. “Who said anything about something serious? I’m just looking for a weekend.”

  “A weekend?” There’s no way.

  “My best friend Caitlin’s getting married in San Diego this weekend. I want you to come with me.” I open my mouth to immediately object, or fall over in shock. A weekend in San Diego? Is this guy crazy? “I’ll take care of all the expenses. Separate rooms if you want, too.”

  Maybe a weekend away would be good for you. My mom’s words from earlier filter through my brain and I kick them to the side. I might have the weekend off from Java Joe’s, but I still have to work. I need to get ahead on my freelance editing work so I can try to fit more in.

  But the beach…it’s exactly what I imagined earlier.

  “Are you joking?” I shouldn’t be entertaining this. I’m not really. But man…a weekend in San Diego? It’s a pretty dream.

  “I never joke about spending time with a beautiful woman.”

  Trey Kollins is a self-made millionaire. He’s on the cover of local magazines in poses that make all the single women and, my guess, most of the married ones drool over his body and his wealth. He also has a smirk on his face that says not only is he not used to hearing the word no very often, but he’ll have an enticing little one-liner like this one handy to get women to change their minds.

  And yeah, it’s tempting.

  Unfortunately for him, the stack of unpaid bills on my mom’s kitchen table is louder than his pickup lines. “Listen, Trey, I don’t want to be rude, and a weekend on the beach sounds like a dream, but I honestly don’t have the time. I have to work.”

  I step around him. I need to get back inside, and this conversation is over.

  “Molly says you have the weekend off.”

  “Yeah,” I call out, not bothering to turn back. “At this job.”

  Yanking open the door to the building, I keep my head held high and go back to work. This day already seems endless and it’s barely ten in the morning.

  * * *

  —

  Swiping the towel off the bike’s handlebars, I wipe it across my forehead and let the pedals slow. This class has been a killer, mostly because I’m already exhausted. Partly because my head is nowhere near mentally capable of focusing on this spin class. Twice my feet slipped off the bike’s pedals in ways I’m sure will leave nasty bruises on my shins by tomorrow.

  “What’s going on with you?”

  I drop the towel and reach for my water bottle. “Nothing,” I tell my friend Cara.

  She’s a relatively new friend I’d met at the gym months ago. I’d been coming to the night class for only a few weeks, my new job at Java Joe’s having thrown off my entire schedule, but the gym membership is the one thing I refuse to let lapse. If I don’t get my hour of workout in several times a week, I’ll lose my mind. My spin class is my sanity-saver.

  Cara had taken the seat on the bike next to me and turned, and with all the nervousness in her eyes, I’d instantly known it was her first class.

  “First time?” I’d asked her.

  She’d laughed quietly. “Yeah, that obvious?”

  “It’s not so bad.” I’d said back. It was a lie. Spin class was a sweaty bitch, and I didn’t see her for a week after that.

  When she returned, she had taken a seat on the bike next to me, smiled, and said, “You’re such a liar. I couldn’t walk right until yesterday, and let me tell you, my husband wasn’t happy.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at her. Her willingness to call me out. The cute way she spoke about her husband.

  We’d been friends ever since, slowly growing closer, from spin class to smoothies at the bar in the lobby afterward to the occasional night in at her house. She now has a baby that’s almost a year old, and I learned she joined the gym to help lose the baby weight, although when she mentions this, her sexy-as-hell husband, Braxton, narrows his eyes and growls at her, “You’re perfect any which way you look so shut your trap.”

  They live in a high-rise penthouse, where she paints, and she works part-time at an art gallery, and their house is constantly cluttered with plastic and wood baby toys and paintbrushes that, for some reason, get littered all over the place.

  “You’re lying,” she says, as I follow her from the quiet room. We’re almost always two of the last participants to leave.

  Tonight I wish I’d hurried.

  “Stuff on my mind.”

  Not a lie. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Trey’s offer all day. A weekend away with him? What girl is crazy enough to say no? And if I work on the plane, it’s possible I can meet my current deadlines….

  “Your mom?” Cara asks, and there’s a sadness in her tone. Her parents quit speaking to her well before her little boy, James, was born, and as far as I know, they’ve never even met their grandson.

  Which is a shame. He’s the cutest and chubbiest little thing I’ve ever seen.

  “It’s just work stuff.” I toss my tow
el into the hamper outside the spin class room and catch the stench of sweat. “You ready for a smoothie?”

  “Sure.” Cara grins and opens her water bottle. “Then I’m making you tell me what’s going on. You have this weird look in your eyes.”

  “What weird look?”

  “Like you have gas. Or something.” I bark out a laugh and she shrugs. “What? I said it’s weird.”

  Leave it to Cara. She’s sweet and fun and a damn good mom. She and Braxton don’t have a huge social circle, but they’re social people, and I love being at their place, either hanging out with Cara when Braxton works late at his tattoo parlor, or babysitting Jimmy when they go out. They can easily afford a sitter, but I like the time with him and insist.

  “Let’s just say I was given an offer I’m having a hard time forgetting.”

  “Like a job?” Her brown hair sways in her ponytail as she bounces down the stairs.

  “More like an indecent proposal,” I mutter.

  She looks back at me, frowning, and then recognition forces her brows up her forehead. Leaning in, she grabs my arm. “Someone offered you a million to sleep with them? And you didn’t call me?”

  She sounds awed. Weirdly excited. I stammer once or twice, trying to find the words, and unfortunately, my own stammer only reminds me of Trey’s. And darn it. I haven’t been able to stop thinking of him. His offer. His eyes. His body. Some of that’s new. The rest is all stuff I’ve thought of before. What would it be like to be on a date with a man who looks like that? It can just be a date, right?

  More than once I’ve kicked myself for not asking more questions.

  “No. Like a weekend trip to the beach.”

  “What?” she shrieks and grabs my arm. “What are you talking about?”

  Cara is one of the few friends I have and I need some advice. Going away for the weekend is irresponsible. Who knows what my mom will do without me here to make sure she eats? And how in the heck can I possibly make up the money we need? Still, the beach…Trey Kollins in swim trunks…

  “So, have you ever heard of Trey Kollins?”

  “The tech millionaire dude? Single guy? Sexy as sin, second only to Braxton?”

  I bark out a laugh. She’s crazy. “So that’s a yes?”

  “Uh. Yeah.” She pauses then and her mouth drops. “Are you telling me Trey is the guy who offered you a weekend away? On a beach? And you’re debating this? Oh, girl.” She yanks my arm and drags me down the stairs. “You are telling me everything, every tiny little juicy detail.”

  Chapter 3

  Trey

  Women don’t often tell me no. I’m not being an asshole by saying it, it’s simply fact. I’m rich and good-looking, and frankly, I’m a stand-up human being. Willow’s consistent dismissal over the last few months has me questioning everything.

  Like…there are women out there not attracted to sexy and single and wealthy? It’s mind-boggling to say the least, and yet it makes me all that much more attracted to her. And I’ve been attracted to her for months, since the first time I saw her.

  She has legs that are a mile long. She’s tall and toned, with the body of a woman who takes care of herself but still looks like she won’t say no to dessert after a full meal, or vegging out on the couch all day while having a few drinks, or downing a plate of nachos while cheering on a sports team. Granted, I know little about her, but I’ve imagined that sexy-as-hell body of hers in my hands and clinging to other body parts, frequently.

  It’s more than that, too. It’s the friendly way she interacts with customers, everyone but me that is, that tells me something else. She’s definitely attracted to me…she just doesn’t want to be. That alone intrigues me. As well as her mention of having another job. The more bits and pieces I learn about her, fed mostly to me through her coworker Molly on the down-low, the more I want to know. My purple-haired spy has been withholding information from me.

  Like why does she have to work two jobs…and what else does she do? She’s at Java’s almost every morning of the week before I ever get down there at eight and she’s still working when I leave hours later, which means whatever else she does, she’s not on a regular nine-to-five schedule. So, yeah…I’m interested. Plus who wouldn’t want to hang out on a beach all weekend at some swanky hotel in San Diego?

  I’ll simply have to find a way to fix it, and thankfully, my girl Caitlin is the perfect person to ask. She not only knows women, seeing as how she is one, she knows all about running away from commitment and men she wants. Which is why I convinced her to work from her place this morning instead of going down to Java’s like we usually do.

  Unfortunately, right before I can knock on her door, Caitlin swoops out, knocking me backward. Her cheeks are flushed, and her red hair is not only damp, but piled high on her head.

  “Coffee,” she demands, breathless. “I need coffee. Stat.”

  I stare at her like a fool. “That’s why I was coming here.”

  “Machine broke. Jonas is being…well…” she flips her hand in the air, “Jonas. And if I don’t get out of here, no work will get done today.”

  I’m completely clueless as to what she means. Jonas is a great guy. Loves her more than he loves his own life, which is the only reason why I helped give him some background information on Caitlin—in order to help them get their heads out of their asses. They’d been friends with benefits for years, but then she ended it. When he came to me wanting help in winning her back, I realized he loved her enough to know the truth of what she’d been through. It wasn’t the prettiest way Caitlin and I had met, years ago at Stanford, with our other best friend Corbin, but Jonas had to know what he had on his hands with her, and since then, he’d been the only man she’d seen.

  “We can go to my place, then.” I need a game plan before I see Willow.

  “What? No…I need my macchiato.” She grabs my wrist and pulls me forward as the door behind us flings open.

  “Woman,” Jonas says, and both of us turn our heads toward him.

  Except he’s wrapped in a towel, hair wet, body dripping water from the shower….I squeeze my eyes closed and curse, turning my head in the other direction. “God damn it, you two!” It’s not the first time I’ve seen Jonas almost fully naked since he moved into Caitlin’s apartment ten floors below mine.

  “What?” Caitlin snaps, and she lets go of my hand. Good thing, too. I need that hand to scrub away what I’ve just seen.

  “The next time you get on your knees—”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I snap, and stomp toward the elevator. Now I need forks for my ears. Something to erase the visual and his vocal threat.

  Behind me, Caitlin is laughing while she sings, “See you later, honey!” Her footsteps are quickly catching up to me.

  I punch a button for the elevator, stabbing it with my finger like I wish someone would stab me in the ears, and lift my hand. “Shut up. Don’t even talk. I don’t want explanations and I don’t want to know anything.”

  Caitlin snorts and her shoulder bumps into my arm. “Well, you see, when a boy likes a girl—”

  I shoot her a glare and her smile only widens. Good Lord, she’s freaking crazy. It’s all that red hair. You never know what’s going to set her off.

  “I will puke on your feet,” I threaten.

  She laughs louder, muting out the ring of the elevator arriving, but as the doors open, I step on board and push the button for the lobby.

  “So I guess we’re going to Java’s after all?” she asks sweetly. She’s hugging her computer, almost dancing on the balls of her feet.

  I stare at the brightly lit L and curse to myself.

  “Yeah. That’s where we’re headed.”

  * * *

  —

  She’s here, wiping down a table, slightly bent over as she reaches to the far side, and my mind races with a
handful of thoughts. None of which will help me apologize. My brain, which has slid to the southern half of my body, doesn’t seem to care about that at all.

  No, it’s purely focused on Willow’s curves, the fact that she’s tall, even in Converse shoes, and there’s something I like about that. I’m not particular when it comes to women and their looks. I don’t have a “type,” but I’ve mostly been with women who are smaller and thinner. But Willow’s curves and height are a sexy combination. Like she needs a big, strong man to match her, and lucky for me, at six-three, the woman could wear the highest of heels and she’d still fit perfectly next to me. Perhaps even more so.

  Yeah, I like looking at her. It’s a shame when I open my mouth and screw it up.

  “What are you gawking at?” Caitlin asks me, and I realize my jaw is slack. Snapping it shut, I scowl at her and reach for the door to Java’s. Pulling it open, I catch Willow glancing at us, bent over another table, blond hair tied back in a complicated-looking braid-type thing. Her eyes flash, and she turns back to her task without any other acknowledgement.

  At least she’s not stomping over to me and demanding I leave.

  “You get our drinks, I’ll get a table.”

  “Sir, yes, sir.”

  “Shrimp,” I tease and gesture for her to step in front of me.

  While Caitlin goes to the counter, I hurry to the table Willow has just cleaned off and next to the one she’s wiping down. One breath. Two. Three.

  What is it about this woman, more so than others, that makes my tongue trip and tangle in my mouth?

  “Morning, Willow.”

  “Trey.”

  Not the response I was hoping for. Better than the “dickhead” I deserve.

  I pull out the chair and settle into my seat, shuffling my calendar and two files off to the side. I’m stalling for time, to figure out something to say, but then I realize Willow has been cleaning a perfectly clean area of the table.

  “When Caitlin and I are done working,” I say, stressing the working part, “I’d like to talk to you. About the other day.”