Before I can say no a little more clearly, something along the lines of ‘fuck no, never gonna happen,’ Emily’s phone rings.
“Oops, I need to take this. Back in a sec.” She’s digging her phone out of her tiny purse—what does she keep in a bag that small, anyway—as she hustles toward the breakroom, disappearing behind the door.
Reed meets my eyes. “If you’re getting drinks tonight, I’d be happy to drive so everyone stays safe. I’ll make sure no one bothers you.” He might as well try sticking a flag in my ass, claiming me as his. Just one big problem with that . . . I’m not.
“We’re not getting drinks, and even if we did, I don’t drink to be impaired, you know that.” I can put away my fair share of beer, having earned my alcohol tolerance the hard way . . . in the military against guys twice my height and width, with livers to match. But I’m responsible, always.
Reed shrugs. “Offer stands anytime, Rix.”
I smile, just a little one, because it’s hard to be mean to someone when they’re being that nice, but I also don’t want to lead Reed on. I know he’s onboard with our dads’ grand idea and is patiently waiting for me to come to my senses and marry him.
Which isn’t going to happen. Ever.
An old brown midsize truck pulls into the lot. “Incoming,” I warn Reed and Manuel. You never know what type of job or what type of person is going to pull up, and I love that moment before I find out. Maybe it’ll be an engine repair or something easy like an oil change? Maybe it’ll be a little old lady who needs help or an asshole I can overcharge with the ‘putting up with you’ service fee?
The old truck has seen better days and seems to be hauling . . . a goat in the back? Not the weirdest thing I’ve seen around here, but definitely not a common sighting, either. It comes to a quiet stop, so not brakes, and the engine sounds smooth, so not that either. The passenger door opens and then slams shut on the far side.
As the truck pulls away, I see him.
Cowboy.
Damned if he didn’t piss me off the other day when he brought Bessie in. I had almost taken his head off with that wrench, not just brandishing it, but a bare breath away from swinging it at him. I’m not usually that jumpy, but he’d scared the bejesus out of me by touching my shoulder. But he hadn’t been the least bit scared of me. No, I’d been holding that tool to his neck, his huge hand wrapped around my tiny wrist, and he’d almost smirked about it, his lips temptingly full in the middle of a day’s worth of scruffy beard growth. Like I’d surprised him, and more importantly, like he liked that.
For a moment, the air had felt charged like we were unexpectedly caught in the middle of foreplay. I’d almost kissed that look right off his smug face right then and there just to shock him even more. Hell, I’d wanted to see those brown eyes open wide in surprise and then close as I kissed the shit out of him. I’ve never had that type of instant reaction to someone before, though I’d hid it pretty well with snark and venom.
He’d pissed me off even more when we were chatting each other up. Though I’ll never admit it, later it occurred to me that he had been the highlight of my day. Sparring and glaring, neither of us backing down, had been exciting. And he’s hot, not like some cute bad boy Emily has deemed her flavor of the month but in a barely restrained, molten lava way. The fire inside Cowboy isn’t like a warm bonfire you want to snuggle up to. It’s fiery and destructive wildfire you know will scorch you to ashes, but you can’t help but want to touch it anyway.
And don’t I sound just as FUBARed as Emily? She’d laugh her ass off at me if I admitted that, not that I plan to.
“Hey, Cowboy, you here to get Bessie?”
His dark eyes lock on me, freezing me in place. I watch as he boldly scans me head to toe in slow motion. Ballsy, cocky bastard. Usually, that’d be enough to have my middle finger flying his way, but this feels different somehow. Oh, he’s checking me out for sure, but there’s a hint of confusion swirling in those dark eyes.
I don’t fit in boxes the way other women do, which confuses people. Rough, dirty, and foul-mouthed are not your typical feminine traits.
But for some reason, I didn’t want to be confusing to him. Even though I’m filthy, sweaty, and messy, I guess I wanted him to still find me . . . interesting. I won’t admit, not even to myself, that I want him to be attracted to me. Because after our little incident the other day, I went to bed thinking about him, another thing I wouldn’t dream of admitting to anyone but George, my purple vibrator with rabbit ears. He knows things about me no one else ever will.
“Hey, Lil Bit,” Cowboy drawls out slow and low, smiling as he says it. It makes little sun-kissed crinkles pop out next to his eyes, and I realize he’s nicknamed me too.
I hate it.
Okay, I don’t. But I hate that I don’t hate it.
He’s watching for my reaction, so I give him the one he expects and scratch at my cheek with my middle finger. He chuckles and steps closer, lifting his hand slowly, the question of whether I’m going to stop him in his laser-locked gaze. I don’t say a word. Hell, I don’t think I even breathe, too curious about what he’s doing.
“You missed it. That smudge is right here.” He cups my jaw, swiping at my cheekbone with a delicacy I wouldn’t have expected from such a rough and gruff guy. I feel singed heat in the wake of his gentle thumb, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I tilt into his touch, wanting even more of his fire.
Our eyes meet across the distance from mine down low to his, a good foot above me. I swear I hear his chest rattling like he’s growling. No, humming. He’s humming under his breath, but it’s tuneless, just unrelated notes, and I decide that’s the sound of his hunger. Like a growling stomach tells you when it’s time to eat, this humming is Cowboy’s version of ‘it’s on like Donkey Kong.’
He’s going to kiss me.
I know it with every fiber of my being.
I want him to.
I know that just as well.
I lick my lips in preparation, enjoying the way his eyes track the movement, and feel myself lean forward to get closer to him.
I’m not this girl. Not by a long shot.
I’m not the girl in a late-night romance movie who lifts to her toes to reach some guy whose real name I don’t even know, especially when I’m wearing steel-toed work boots and shapeless coveralls.
But here I am. And here he is.
And damned if I don’t want to kiss him stupid. That cocky confidence tells me he knows what he’s doing, and I want to treat myself to a man who knows how to work my body and his own. It’s been way too long, and I need orgasms like I need air, I decide. And while a kiss isn’t gonna get me there, it’d be a good litmus test to see if I’m right about Cowboy’s skills.
He leans down in slow-motion, and I feel surrounded by him, engulfed not only by his size but his presence. An unsuspecting fish caught in his net.
We’re a sliver away, so close I can taste the wet heat of his breath, feel the electricity buzzing between us, that last moment before we both succumb to the base desires running through our bloodstreams.
A loud whirring breaks the moment, and I rock back on my heels, getting an inch of space to breathe my own oxygen instead of Cowboy’s. I look over and see that Reed and Manuel have been watching the whole show we are putting on. Not that it was a show, or at least it wasn’t yet, but it was definitely something.