Quarter Mile Hearts(15)
“Since Hank hired me.” He pushes up to stand while my eyes bug out and I continue to stare at him like he has two heads.
“I gather no one told you?”
“Nuh-uh, they forgot to tell me that vital piece of information.”
“Will it be a problem?” He steps closer and picks up the rag at the side of me and wipes his hands.
“Why would it be a problem?”
He tosses the rag onto the engine of the Golf he is working on. “Seeing as we've slept with each other and you're crazy for me.”
My hands fist on my hips indignantly. “I am not crazy for you.”
He holds his hands up in mock protest. “Whatever you need to tell yourself.” And then he winks at me with the cocky smile on his face that makes me want to knock it off with a monkey wrench.
“As we're going to be working with each other, I'm going to need you to keep your hands to yourself.” Again with the smirk.
“I wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole. You’re such a dick.”
He steps closer and his hand appears out of nowhere, wrapping around my waist to pull me into his body. I raise my hands in an effort to stop our bodies from colliding, and they make contact with the solid warm muscle. Tingles spread from my fingertips, down my arms, and work their way through every cell in my body.
“It's happened before.” His eyes flash with annoyance, making him appear even more dangerous, and dammit if my body doesn't respond, growing warm in the most inappropriate places, which is namely between my legs. His lips brush against my ear as he bends to whisper.
“It's only a matter of time.” It sounds more like a promise than a statement of fact, and my nipples draw tight at the husky quality of his voice. My breath hitches and my hands on his chest rise and fall sharply as his breath quickens.
Before I can question it further or indeed formulate a response, witty or otherwise, I hear footsteps and Aaron call out.
“Morning…” His voice trails off, and we jump apart. Tucking hair behind my ear, I turn away from Max and nod at Aaron.
“Thanks for the heads-up.” And I march to the office but don't miss the questioning look Aaron throws Max and his shake of the head, as if answering with, ‘don't ask.’
• • •
Between running back and forth to the hospital with a change of clothes, pandering to my dad’s every need, and catching up with my aunt and uncle, I’m hardly in the garage. Part of me is avoiding Max and I’m still a bit pissed that nobody thought to tell me that he works there. When I asked my dad about it, his answer was a shrug, and he justified it by saying that he didn’t think it would be a problem. When I visit him on Friday evening, he has more color in his cheeks and isn’t wincing in pain quite so much. Then he tells me that I’m not needed for visiting duties this weekend.
“You don’t need to come around as much over the weekend. Go and have some fun with Beth and Aaron.”
“Really? Beth wants to talk about the wedding.” I groan inwardly, thinking I had a perfect excuse to get out of it.
“Yes, go and mix with people your own age. Plus Fred and your Uncle Pat said they would pop in a few times.”
“If you’re sure? But if you need anything, just phone.”
“Of course.” I lean over and give him a quick hug before leaving him to switch on the TV and immerse himself in some documentary.
Well, it looks like I’ve got a free weekend. Now I just have to decide what to do with myself. I pull out my phone and select Beth’s number from my favorites.
“Whatcha doin’?” I drawl down the line, and she squeals in response.
“Yay, you’re just in time. Come pick me up and we’ll get some dinner and then head to the quarter mile. You up for that?” With a smile that she can’t see on my face, I shake my head slightly at how excited she gets. No doubt she is in the middle of putting on her make-up, choosing an outfit, and fixing her hair.
“See you soon.” I hang up and debate whether to go home and get changed or go as I am. In the end, I pop home and change my top to a hot pink strappy number, which should meet with Beth’s approval.
Ten minutes later, I pull up outside Beth’s house and gun my engine, waiting until she appears at the front door. She takes one look at my bike and shakes her head.
“Nuh-uh. There is no way I’m getting on the back of that. Especially not wearing this skirt.” She steps out the door and closes it behind her. Okay, she has a point. The denim skirt is way too tight and way too short. It would end up around her waist if she tried to get on the back of my bike.
Without saying a word, I park the bike in her drive and climb off, while she opens up her Honda and waits until I get in before pulling away from the curb.