Dirty Deeds (Mechanics of Love #3)(8)

Just like her.

Steam that had been building up all week because she couldn’t get that damn fancy-pants man with the accent out of her head. It’d been only one night, but that one night had thoroughly messed with her head.

Just thinking about him made her eyes fall shut, her lower belly heat up. She didn’t want to admit it when she was sober, but now that she was half-lit, she could concede she craved him a little.

She loved how hyper focused he’d been on her. When she’d had his attention, she’d had his full attention. He’d made her feel so damn wanted, even sweaty after a day’s work. He hadn’t cared. He’d wanted her. And her forwardness hadn’t seemed to make him question his self-esteem. He didn’t have to be top dog; he wanted her however she was willing to give herself.

Dammit, she needed another shot.

Something brushed her elbow and she turned her head. A man with a ball cap pulled low over his brow met her eyes. He was big—broad shoulders, work-roughened hands. He smelled like cigarette smoke and beer, and a short beard surrounded his full lips.

He was giving her that look, his gaze lingering on her mouth and her breasts.

A month ago, she would have smiled. Flirted. Let him take her home.

She would have ripped off her clothes and torn off his and tumbled onto the couch or in bed or wherever was closest.

She would have lost herself in the feeling of a man’s hands on her, his lips wetting her skin, his cock inside her.

And she would have left immediately afterward.

It would have been fine. She was happy then. Except now she wasn’t. Because all she could hear was Spencer’s voice, and she craved that in her ear and his hands on her skin.

Not this guy next to her who looked like he would be up for a rough ride.

So she didn’t smile, and she donned her effective resting bitch face, and turned away.

The man snorted, ordered his beer, and walked off.

She closed her eyes, listening to the beat of the music, and dropped her head between her shoulders. She jerked when a hand landed on her arm, but when she looked up, it was only Ivy. Her smile was soft, her cheeks flushed. She squeezed Alex’s shoulder. “Come on, it’s girls’ night and you’re hanging out at the bar like a weirdo.”

“That’s what people do, ya know, at bars. Hang out near them and drink.”

Ivy tugged on her hand. “Delilah wants to dance with you.”

Alex squinted at her sister. “How drunk can I get?”

“Pretty drunk. Brent is picking us up, and Vi is sleeping over at Cal’s.”

Alex nodded, ordered another shot, and downed it in one gulp. She slammed the empty glass on the bar. “All right, let’s dance.”

By the second song, the alcohol was burning a fiery path through Alex’s body. Her limbs were loose, and her head was spinning a little. She knew she was on her way to the not-cute drunk stage, but she wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

When they took a drink break, a water was placed in front of her. She glared at Ivy, who blinked at her innocently. Alex grumbled and sipped the liquid through her straw.

“So,” Delilah said. “I heard you’re training Gabe.”

Alex used a napkin to mop up a spilled drop of water. “Yeah, I am.”

“How’s that going?”

Alex shrugged. “It’s okay when he’s not staring at my boobs.”

Delilah opened her mouth but Jenna cut her off. “I thought the rule was that we don’t talk about boys on girls’ night out.”

“I’m not talking about boys,” Delilah protested.

“Gabe’s a boy.” Ivy stated the obvious.

“He’s a boy, yes,” Delilah said. “But he’s not . . . you know . . . a boy. I’m asking Alex about her job.”

Jenna raised her eyebrows.

Delilah threw up her hands. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you like anything. I just think that was a sneaky way to ask about a boy. I’m disappointed in you, Delilah.” Jenna wiped away an imaginary tear.

“I’m not interested in Gabe,” Delilah said through gritted teeth. “He’s like, a teenager.”

“He’s twenty-two.”

“Too young for me.”

“You’re thirty, not seventy-five.”

Delilah stared at her drink and crossed her arms over her chest. “I like them older, okay? More experienced.”

“Don’t pout,” Jenna said.

“He is kind of cute,” Ivy said.

Delilah glared. “I don’t go for cute.”

Alex smacked her palm on the table. “There are no boys, and there is no fighting on girls’ night out.”

Delilah ducked her head, Jenna picked at her nails, and Ivy nodded as she said, “Except when they are our designated drivers and pick us up.”

Alex snorted. “Yeah, except for that.”

Ivy smiled, Delilah and Jenna started giggling, and then Alex joined in until they started getting looks from other customers.

An hour later, they were all sufficiently drunk. Delilah and Alex were hiding out in a booth. Delilah had pulled her sunglasses over her eyes, so Alex wasn’t sure how she could see. And she sipped her water slowly from a straw.

At least, Alex thought it was water. It could have been vodka.

“I like his handwriting,” Delilah mumbled.

“Who?” Alex asked, craning her neck around the bar.

Delilah smacked her arm. “He’s not here.”

“Who?” Alex asked again.

“Davis.”

Alex was starting to think it was vodka, and her mouth opened in an O. Davis was Brent’s neighbor, a former firefighter who was now in a wheelchair after an accident at work. Alex liked him; he was gruff and no-nonsense and fit well into the family. She didn’t, however, think Delilah had even noticed the guy, let alone what his handwriting looked like.

“When did you see his handwriting?” She didn’t bother reminding Delilah it was girls’ night out and they weren’t supposed to talk about boys.

Delilah rattled her drink. “He came into the shop, looking for a present for his sister. He wanted something a specific style, and I couldn’t figure out what he meant so he drew it. With words. I got a little turned on.”

Yep, it was vodka. “You got turned on by a guy’s handwriting? Am I hearing this right?”

“It was all soft lines and capital letters and hot, okay? Shut up. Quit judging me.”

“I’m not judging—”

“I don’t know. Whatever. He thinks I’m a shallow flake.”

Alex was going to protest, but then decided not to. Maybe Davis did think that. She barely talked to the guy.

“Why couldn’t his handwriting suck? Look like a preschooler’s? Then I wouldn’t have conflicting feelings.”

Alex was having trouble following this conversation. “Are you attracted to his handwriting or him?”

Delilah rolled her eyes. “Him too, of course. And his voice. And sometimes his eyes when he’s not scowling. Oh, who am I kidding? I love when he scowls.”

“Does he know you . . . think this about him?”

“Hell no.” Delilah violently turned in her chair to face Alex. “Everything I said just now was in a cone of silence. I meant to declare that first but then I forgot. So. Retroactive cone of silence.” She made a weird hand motion around them, like she was encasing them in something.

Alex wondered at this point who was more drunk, because she was nodding vigorously in agreement.

And then she started thinking about how she hadn’t seen Spencer’s handwriting. Then she started thinking about his hands again, and his voice, and that magnificent ass.

Shit, why was she thinking about Spencer? “I need a drink.”

“Me too,” Delilah said, draining her glass. “But first, tell me about the British guy.”

Alex’s body stiffened. “What?”

Delilah pushed out her lips. “Shit.”

Alex elbowed her. “How do you know about the British guy?”

“I noticed Ivy giving this British guy in our store the cold shoulder. He was hot too, so I asked her what the hell that was about. And she told me you two hooked up.”

Alex knew her hackles were raised, but she wasn’t sure why. In the past, when she’d found a hookup for a night, she never kept it secret, like it was shameful. She was up-front about it to her friends. So Ivy telling Delilah that Alex had hooked up with the guy shouldn’t have mattered.

Not at all.

So why did it?

“Why was she giving him the cold shoulder?”

Delilah didn’t meet her eyes. “Uh . . . ”

There would be no reason for Ivy to do that, unless Spencer had adopted his snobby attitude. Which wasn’t unlikely. “Did he say something?”

Delilah pretended not to hear her question.

“Look, I’ll never see him again, so it’s not a big deal. Just tell me what happened.” She should get up and walk away. Why did she give a shit?

Delilah turned to her. “He was buying a necklace. For a friend.” She said the last word with her fingers crooked in air quotes.

Alex swallowed, and she gripped the bench so hard, her fingers went numb. “Okay.”

“Shit, I have a big mouth,” Delilah said. “I’m sorry, I—”

“It doesn’t matter.” Alex hadn’t seen a ring. The knowledge she could be an “other woman” sat like acid in her gut, but she couldn’t do anything about it now. She hadn’t seduced him. That had been a team effort, what they did. “Okay, I’m going to go get that drink now.”