He gave her that narrow-eyed look again, as if he were trying to figure her out. “Just put ‘Arlington.’ I’ll know where to find you.”
“You will?”
She didn’t know where she was going to find herself, so his comment made her both doubtful and suspicious.
He laughed. “Well, unless you’re planning on camping down in the back of the shop here, I’m going to assume I’m taking you to a motel.”
Her cheeks heated. “Oh, right. Yes, that would be great. Thank you.”
She finished the form and handed it back to him. He stashed it beneath the counter and held out his hand.
She hesitated. “You need payment already?”
He shook his head. “Nah, I need the keys. You took them back, remember?”
Her cheeks heated again and she ducked her head, fishing in her purse for her keys. Damn, how did this guy manage to make her feel like an idiot at every turn? She fished out the keys, and then dipped her hand back into her purse and took out one of the antibacterial wipes from the open packet she kept in there. She’d touched the inside of the truck door, plus the pen, which God-knew how many other people had handled. Hoping he wouldn’t notice, she wiped her hands clean and then crumpled up the moist wipe. Desperately, she wanted to dispose of the wipe, but she had no way of doing so without Ryker noticing. Instead, she squashed it into the corner of her purse, trying not to think about all of the germs that might be crawling off the thin material and dispersing among her personal belongings.
She tried not to let the idea make her hyperventilate.
Unaware of her discomfort, Ryker moved around the counter and headed back toward his truck. He glanced over his shoulder at her. “You coming?”
Jenna nodded, but before following him, she pulled the wipe back out of her purse and left it on the counter. She felt bad for littering, but figured a panic attack would be worse.
Ryker waited by the truck.
She remembered something. “Hey, I know I’m being difficult, but I have a few things in my car I need to bring with me. Do you mind giving me a hand?”
He nodded and gave a shrug. “No problem.”
Ryker opened the car for her, and she scraped together the worst of her clothes from the back seat. She shrank inside as she hooked one of her bras from the headrest and quickly stuffed it in one of the two big hold-alls she carted her property around in. Normally, when she moved from place to place, she packed in a regimented way, with each layer of clothing folded in such a way that it wouldn’t make contact with any dirty layers, but for once she made herself forgo her obsessive behavior. She didn’t have time for that with Ryker standing over her. Anyway, she wouldn’t need all of her clothes, but she didn’t like the idea of them all being left on display like this.
With her things collected, Ryker bent to haul one of the bags, while she lifted the other one.
He reached out and took the second bag from her. “Hey, let me.”
He lifted both bags and she tried not to appreciate the way his muscles bulged beneath his tattoos. The tattoos were all works of art, and ended at his wrists. Her eyes tried to distinguish each individual picture, though they were done in such a way the shapes and shading all blended into one image. There were some traditional elements—a rose, a skull, a pin-up girl—but joining them all were swirls of what could have been either waves or fire. The tattoos were beautifully done. While she didn’t have any herself, she appreciated why they were considered art.
He caught her staring and grinned as he threw her bags into the back of the truck. “They’re my one permanent thing,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “Everything else in life changes or ends. These babies won’t be going anywhere until the day I die.”
She wondered what else in his life had changed, but didn’t want to pry. They both climbed in the truck and Ryker started the vehicle back up. He pulled away from the garage and they continued the drive on the road into town.
“So your boss doesn’t mind you taking off like this in the middle of the day?” she said, changing the subject.
Ryker frowned at her. “My boss?”
“Yeah, the guy back there—Sam?”
He laughed. “Sam’s not my boss. That’s my garage. Or at least, it was my dad’s garage, and he passed it on to me.”
“Why? Did he have a change in careers or something?”
“Nah, he died.”
“Oh, shit. Sorry.”
She shifted awkwardly in her seat, not knowing what else to say. Part of her wanted to tell him how her mom had died when she’d been young too, and that she’d never known her dad. But she wasn’t one for sharing, especially not now. She even regretted giving him her last name back at the garage, but he’d have wanted to see her papers for the car anyway. The less he knew about her, the better.