Hit and Run (Hot-Lanta #4) Read online

  Her sexy moans turned into feral cries. His slow paced movements turned into wild thrusts. The pounding of skin rang through the room.

  The room started to spin on Molly as her impending orgasm took over. Her legs shook, her voice filled the air, and her pussy clenched around Luke’s cock as she exploded around him.

  “Yes!” she cried, just as Luke groaned out his own pleasure, shaking beneath her.

  Spent, she laid back on his thighs, her legs still up around his shoulders and his cock lodged inside of her.

  “Fuck, Molly. I needed that.”

  Luke’s voice was grateful, as if she’d just granted him his one and only wish.

  Dr. Drake might be correct in some aspects…that Luke and Molly tried to solve their problems with sex…but right now, she had her man with her, in the present and loving her. She couldn’t ask for anything more, and she wasn’t about to rock the already shaky boat they were on.

  They might need to work on their communication and build a more solid base, but right now, Molly was satisfied with what she had. She had her man back, and that was all that mattered to her.

  At least that’s what she believed.

  **Nash**

  “Fuck you, Nickelback,” Nash spat at the radio, as he frantically tried to change the radio station to anything other than the whiney ass band.

  Hozier filtered through the speakers, a welcome change. Nash sat back in his seat and drummed his fingers to the beat, enjoying the earthy tone of Hozier’s voice. It was a sunny afternoon in Atlanta with a light breeze blowing through his open windows. Kids played on the playground in front of him, playing tag and screaming their heads off for no godforsaken reason, only to be loud.

  “Fucking kids,” Nash shook his head and glanced at his watch. Sean was late.

  No surprise there; Sean was always late. The boy ponied out some good weed, but had no concept of time, making Nash look like a creeper parked in a car watching over children playing. Sean insisted upon the location.

  Nash really needed to refill his stash. He’d been conserving his use, since he hadn’t been able to connect with Sean lately, and Nash was feeling the effects of it. His leg was burning, a discomfort he paid to forget. Recently, phantom pains greeted him at night, causing multiple sleepless nights of remembering why he loathed himself.

  Taylor Swift came on the radio, telling him to shake it off. Instead of switching channels, he looked around to see if anyone could see him. The coast was clear, so he turned it up.

  A small amount of shame passed over him from the way his foot tapped against the pedal. The only reason he allowed himself to enjoy the teeny bopper song was because Taylor was hot. He would have no problem with allowing her to wrap her long legs around his waist. Fuck the cat obsession, hate on her ex-boyfriends/lovers and her unusual attitude, he would still fuck her up against a wall.

  As he tapped his foot and tried not to sing along, he spotted a brown blob bobbing and weaving through the crowd of children.

  “What the hell?”

  Children parted like the Red Sea; they sneered and jumped out of the way as the brown blob morphed into a person. From a distance, it almost looked like a woman was charging straight toward his car.

  Wait, was that a woman?

  Leaning over his steering wheel, Nash tried to get a better look. That was when he realized the brown blob was Fallon.

  “Shit,” he muttered, hiding his face so she wouldn’t see him.

  Frantic, he grabbed the lever to his seat and pulled up. Immediately, his chair flopped backwards to a fully reclined position. Taylor Swift blared through the speakers, reminding him that his car was still idling. He needed to turn it off, but if he sat up, he knew she would see him.

  Scooting down in his seat, trying to go all Slinky on his car chair, he moved his body down, but his prosthetic leg was holding him back, once again, making it impossible for him to reach the ignition of his car.

  His fingers danced with the keys, but never gripped them.

  “Crap…”

  “Let me get that for you,” Fallon’s voice rang through the car as she reached through the window, turned off the car, and tossed the keys to the passenger side. “Taylor Swift? Really, Nash? I would have pegged you more as an Arianna Grande type man. Oh, and nice try on being invisible. You really had me there for a second.”

  Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

  Folding her arms, she leaned on the open window of his car and looked down at him. She was wearing an oversized brown shirt and brown cargo pants. Her hair was in a messy bun on top of her head with a brown scarf wrapped around her crown. Her eyes were free of makeup and her cheeks were a pretty Irish rose, highlighting her freckles.

  “You look like a piece of shit,” Nash shot back, annoyed.

  “Excuse me?” Fallon sat back, shocked at his abruptness.

  “Didn’t anyone ever tell you matching too much can be a sin? Brown on brown on brown? Were you trying to give people the impression that you wanted to look like a piece of walking crap fresh out of the asshole of a random fat fuck?”

  Fallon looked down at her clothing and pulled on her shirt, a little self-conscious, making Nash feel bad. She wilted slightly under his harsh words, but then quickly put a bright face back on.

  “Some people like the monochromatic look,” she joked.

  “You’re not going to attract anyone with the monochromatic look,” Nash added.

  “Maybe that’s the point,” Fallon said softly, before clearing her throat and crossing her arms over her chest. Her quirky self was back. “What are you doing here, Nash?”

  Sitting back up, Nash straightened his shirt and said, “Enjoying the sunny day.”

  “Is that right? Enjoying the sun while watching kids play and listening to Taylor Swift? You don’t find that creepy?”

  Of course it was creepy. Fucking Sean and his choice of drop off locations.

  “Seems legit to me,” Nash lied.

  “So, you wouldn’t mind if I went over to that little gaggle of stroller wielding moms and told them about your spectating?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Fine,” she smiled. Without a second glance, she turned and started toward the moms.

  Fallon toilet papered the mayor’s house, or at least he thought she did; he had no doubt in his mind that she would tell the moms about the creeper in the car.

  “Wait,” Nash called, as he got out of his car and hobbled after Fallon.

  She turned just in time to see him limp toward her. She quirked an eyebrow at him and looked down at his leg.

  “Getting old?”

  “Something like that,” Nash muttered, straitening himself and trying not to show weakness.

  “So, what are you doing here?” Fallon repeated herself.

  “You know what I’m fucking doing here,” Nash said, his hand running through his hair. “Where is your brother?”

  “He went to college,” she said, matter-of-factly.

  “What?”

  It was the middle of the semester and Sean had no aspirations for college.

  “He went to college. What’s so hard to understand about that?”

  “He never told me he was in college.”

  “He’s not in college. No, he’s way too dumb for that.” Fallon spoke to Nash as if he was stupid. She looked at her nails, huffed on them, and then rubbed them against her chest.

  She was so fucking weird.

  “What the fuck are you talking about then?” Nash practically yelled, getting irritated from the conversation and the pain in his leg.

  “He went to college!” Fallon yelled back.

  “What is he doing at college?” Nash threw his hands up in frustration.

  “Selling weed. Duh.” Fallon walked over to Nash’s car and sat on the hood, her legs crossed.

  Running his hands over his face, Nash counted to ten, calming the anger that wanted to surface. He would never punch a woman; he would never punch a woman.

&
nbsp; “So, why didn’t he tell me that? I wouldn’t have waited around for him.”

  “Because I told him I would take care of his deal for him.” Fallon reached into her pocket and pulled out a bag of weed and dangled it near her face.

  “Christ!” Nash pushed her hand down and looked around to see if anyone saw what she was holding up. “What is wrong with you?”

  “What? You scared you might get caught?”

  “Pretty much,” Nash responded, wishing she would get off his car so he could get away from the weirdo.

  “Then you shouldn’t be smoking it. Common sense, Nash.”

  Growing more irritated by the second, Nash said, “Listen, I don’t need you to be the morality police for me. I’m a big boy.”

  Fallon sat back and gave Nash the once over. “You might have experienced things in life, but you’re still an idiot.”

  “I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion on my character. Now, if you could get off my car so I can leave…”

  Fallon tilted her head to the side and studied Nash. “So, you don’t want to make a deal today?”

  She spoke loudly and twirled the bag around, practically letting everyone around them know what they were up to.

  “Would you fucking stop that?”

  Not wanting to get caught, Nash had no other choice than to pick Fallon up and put her on the ground, far away from his car. The movement and weight shot more pain up his leg, and he wished at that moment that Sean hadn’t sent his sister to do the dirty work. He should have seen this coming from him.

  “Hey, you’re going to get my clothes dirty,” Fallon whined, as she got up and started brushing her pants off.

  “You’re dressed like a fucking potato, pretty sure any mud you accumulate will blend right in.”

  Nash shook his head at her and went to his car. He opened the door and got in quickly so he could get the hell away from Fallon. He brought his seatbelt across his chest and was about to buckle it when he noticed Fallon sitting in his passenger seat.

  “Fuck!” Nash startled. “What are you doing in here?”

  “I take sales seriously. I won’t take no for an answer. Two hundred dollars, hand it over.”

  She held her hand out and dangled the bag in front of his face. Snagging the bag out of her hand, he grumbled to himself and pulled cash out of his pocket.

  “Take it and get the hell out of here.”

  “You’re so moody,” she observed. “You know, you should really try enjoying life.”

  “I enjoy life plenty.”

  “Really? Seems like you’re a real dud. You don’t want to go toilet papering, you don’t want to make a drug deal in front of kids. What happened to living on the edge?”

  Who the hell wanted to make a drug deal in front of kids?

  “I prefer not to be arrested, thanks.”

  “Then why smoke pot when you know it’s illegal?”

  Nash pinched the bridge of his nose and grinded his teeth.

  “Can you just leave?”

  “Sure.”

  Just like that, Fallon took off at a full off sprint into the middle of the park, her brown clad ass disappearing amongst the kids.

  “What a fucking weirdo,” Nash mumbled.

  He looked down at the bag of pot and picked it up. His stomach dropped out as he realized what was inside. To confirm, he opened the bag and took a giant sniff.

  “Mother fucker,” he swore, and tossed the bag to the side.

  He just paid two hundred dollars for a bag of cooking herbs.

  Chapter 4

  **Brady**

  His head wasn’t in the game today. Grounders kept flying off his glove and into his shoulder. One more rip from one of the coaches and he was going to be out for the day.

  Ever since he came back from Lucy’s funeral, he’d been off. Thanks to Jane.

  Divorce¸ was she serious?

  There was no way in hell he would be signing those papers. As long as he was living, he would be married to Jane.

  The crack of the bat brought him out of his thoughts. He looked forward just in time to see a ground ball screaming toward him. With his glove, he stopped it right before it knocked him in the chest. The force of the hit sent him backwards.

  A slow clap came from the dugout, pulling Brady’s attention in that direction. Marc Sullivan stepped out of the dugout and walked toward Brady.

  Tossing the ball to the side, Brady greeted Marc with a handshake and a hug.

  “What brings you out here?” Brady asked, happy to see his best friend. Ever since Marc retired, Brady had been having a hard time getting in the spirit of the upcoming season.

  “Heard you’ve been getting toasted out here,” Marc said with a grin.

  “Deek call you?”

  Deek, their manager, was always on Brady’s ass; rightfully so, since Brady was team captain, but there were times when he wished he wasn’t. Times like this, when his personal life was crumbling to the ground and there was nothing he could do about it.

  “What do you think?”

  Brady was about to answer when Deek interrupted them. “Why don’t you two ladies talk somewhere else?”

  Speak of the devil.

  Speaking to Marc, Brady said, “Let me finish up practice, and then I’ll meet up with you.”

  “I think you’re done here for the day,” Deek stated. “Get out of here, Matthews. You’re useless today. Come back tomorrow with a clean head.”

  Deek’s face spoke sincerity; Brady knew once again, his manager was giving him a break. He might be a hard ass on the field, but he was also an understanding human being and knew when his players needed to clear their heads.

  With a nod, Brady took off toward the showers. He dropped his stuff at his locker and quickly washed up while Marc waited for him. Clearly, Deek set the whole thing up, having Marc come out to spring training, but Brady was okay with that. He needed the short break from being worked constantly.

  With Brady freshly cleaned and wearing a pair of jeans and a plain black shirt, the two men found a small bar not too far from the stadium to grab a beer. Luckily, they were able to find a booth in the back where they wouldn’t be disturbed by fans. Brady didn’t mind fans coming up to him, but right now, he knew he wouldn’t be able to be as cheerful as he normally would be.

  Once they ordered, Marc sat back in the booth and said, “How’s it going, man? Looked like you were taking a beating out there.”

  Brady played with the coaster on the table as he answered Marc. “Do you really have to ask? You probably know me better than anyone.”

  “You’re right about that. Can I be honest with you?”

  “When have you ever held back?” Brady asked.

  “You’re right about that.” The waitress brought their beers just in time for a bout of honesty from Marc. “You look like shit out there. If you weren’t captain of the team, I suspect Deek would be tempted to send you back down to the minors.”

  Brady took a big gulp of his beer and set it back down on the table, studying the color of the brew.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “There can only be one reason for your head not being in it. What’s going on with Jane?”

  Brady had yet to tell anyone about what happened after Lucy’s funeral. He wasn’t one to project his issues, instead he kept them bottled up until he was barely able to function anymore. He was at that point now.

  But he didn’t want to talk about it. If he spoke of Jane wanting a divorce, then it might just happen; that was a risk he wasn’t willing to accept. Denial was a concept he was very familiar with. He trusted in the system of denying what reality wanted to show.

  “Brady,” Marc nudged.

  Brady sighed and looked Marc in the eyes. “She wants a divorce.”

  “What?” Marc shout-whispered. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Would I ever joke about something like that? You know better than anyone that Jane is my fucking world. When it comes to her, I’m always serio
us.”

  “Shit,” Marc sighed with his beer in his hand. He took a sip and leaned back in the booth. “What did you say?”

  “I don’t even remember,” Brady shook his head. “Last thing I can recall her saying was that she wanted to erase every moment we had together. She wanted no evidence of us ever being together.”

  Marc was silent for a second, taking in Brady’s words. When he spoke, he said, “I don’t know what I would do if Patty ever said that to me. I just know I would lose my fucking mind.”

  “Tell me about it. She won’t talk to me; she barely looks at me. I’ve tried, Marc. The only reason I know she’s doing alright is because I talk to Albert every day. If it wasn’t for him, I would be a mad man right now.”

  “Has she gone to therapy? Losing a baby is never an easy thing to go through alone.”

  Marc didn’t have to tell Brady that. Just the mention of what happened a few short months ago made Brady queasy. Not only did Brady lose his baby girl that day, but he lost his wife as well.

  “No,” Brady answered, knowing very well that she’d refused to even attempt to get through her pain. She just lived in it instead.

  “Has Albert tried taking her?”

  Brady shook his head no. “You can’t force someone into therapy, Marc. You have to be willing to go. She’s completely shut off to the world. I don’t know what to do.”

  Marc nodded, but then a smile crossed his lips, pissing Brady off.

  “Why the fuck are you smiling?”

  Taking another sip from his beer, Marc relaxed in his seat and said, “She won’t talk to you? She won’t even look at you? Well, I have the perfect plan that will force her to have to look at you.”

  “Tying her up until she agrees not to divorce me is most likely illegal,” Brady said sarcastically.

  “I’m getting married…”

  “Yeah, good luck with that.” Brady tipped his beer toward Marc and downed the rest of it.

  “Your enthusiasm is appreciated, man.”

  Brady shrugged his shoulders. “I only speak truth, but if I haven’t said it enough already, congrats on your future nuptials.”