Still, though we’ve stayed at the farm house a few times like Brody said, we mostly choose my place, with its privacy and a bathroom we don’t have to share.
“The black one,” he suggests.
I hold the black shirt up, turning around to face him. “Why?” I’m honestly curious because I was about to put on the red shirt I bought while shopping with Emily. She’d said it looked ‘more approachable,’ which is mostly code for ‘not bitchy like usual.’
“The lacing at the shoulders makes me think of unwrapping you like a present and it makes your tits look good.”
Sweet and sexy. This man is my damn undoing, making me want things I don’t have time for but am making time to do with him. Like go on a double date with my sister and her doctor guy.
“You don’t need to undo the laces. You could just pull the shirt over my head. Or . . . we could just stay here and not even put it on.” I throw the shirt to the bed, standing in front of him in just my bikini panties, my nipples already hardening.
“Tempting.” His hat comes off, curls in his hands, and goes back on his head, letting me know he’s thinking about that plan of action really hard. “You and the laces. It’s the tease of it.” His voice has gone dark and deep, hitting every button I’ve got and he damn well knows it. He smirks. “Clothes. Date. Then we’ll fuck later.”
He’s good. The ordering me around, grunting like he’s telling me what to do is a surefire way to get shut down even now, but promising me exactly what I want? He’s playing dirty, and he’s good at it.
“How did you two meet?” Doctor Dan asks Brody. Dan is a tall, slim blonde and blue-eyed dreamboat, and I can absolutely understand what Emily sees in him. He seems friendly and kind, easily a Prince Charming type from Emily’s romanticized fantasies come to life.
“Funny story. She almost killed me with a wrench. I knew she was it for me right then.” Brody looks at me, his face perfectly impassive and not giving anything away.
Dan chokes on his whiskey and water at Brody’s dry delivery of the truth, sputtering. “You’re kidding, right?”
Emily places her hand on Dan’s arm. “Unfortunately, no. I told you my sister is a bit . . . interesting.” She winks at me, the smile letting me know she means it as a compliment.
“How about you?” Brody redirects.
“She sold me a truck and gave me her card. I took the chance that it wasn’t purely for warranty issues and was right, fortunately.” He chuckles like that’s funny, and Emily laughs along too. Brody and I look at each other, finding exactly zero humor in his lame joke. But I smile anyway because Brody looks hot tonight.
He’s got on black jeans, ones I know he’s never worked in because they’re completely free of any stains or rips and fit like a second skin over his ass, loosening up over his muscled thighs. His button-down shirt is black and so are his boots. He’s like a dark knight, with a gunmetal belt buckle, a camo-cow hat, and a thick leather strap bracelet.
That bracelet had been a surprise tonight. I’ve never seen Brody wear a single bit of jewelry, and I would’ve said he’d find it as unnecessary and useless as I usually do. But for some reason, all I’ve been able to think about are his fingers on and in my pussy with that leather bracelet on . . . and nothing else.
He licks his lips, likely knowing exactly what I’m thinking, and takes a sip of his beer.
The waitress comes by to take our orders, doing the double-take that Emily and I are used to. Luckily, this time, there’s no stupid twin-ology question. Can you read each other’s minds? Do you get confused over who you are? If one of you is hurt, does the other feel it? Do you ever switch places?
We’ve heard them all, but our waitress seems much more taken with Dan and Brody than Emily and me having matching faces, and the guys are who she’s staring at.
“Chicken sandwich, plain and dry, sweet potato fries,” Brody says, pointing at me, then he continues with, “cheeseburger, medium rare, A1 sauce on the side, and onion rings.” He glances at me, giving me an opportunity to make any corrections, but he got it perfect. The best part is that I know he ordered that way so we can split everything, having the best of both worlds on every front because that’s what we always do.
We have a ‘usual order’, and the idea of that makes my heart jump into my throat. In a good way. It means history, of the evening where I could not make up my mind so Brody came up with the amazing idea to share everything, and it means understanding that we are an ‘us.’
And also . . . we might need to add some veggies to our diet. Maybe a salad night? I laugh a little at the image of Brody digging into a big dinner of salad. His dark eyes search me questioningly.
“Salad,” I say, with no context or frame of reference at all.
“Pass,” he answers as if we’re having a normal conversation. “That’s what we feed the hamburgers.”
Emily is watching the Erica and Brody show with rapt attention, like we’re fascinating creatures to study. I glare at her, ordering her not to make a big deal of nothing. Except I know that double negatives aside, it’s not nothing.
It’s something . . . when Brody casually lays his hand over the back of my chair and I snuggle into his side.
It’s something . . . when he tells me his Tree House stout is delicious and I take a sip from his glass, agreeing that it’s pretty good, but not as good as the lager he brought over last week.
It’s something . . . when my hand naturally lands in his lap, cupping his thigh and tracing small lines along the denim but imagining it’s his bare skin beneath my palm.
It’s something . . . when he talks about his animals, and I remind him to be nice to Baarbara because she’s my favorite badass goat. And that’s something I never thought I’d have.
It’s something . . . when Brody kindly proclaims me to be an artist with engines again, like he’s decided that’s the best way to describe my dirty, work-with-my-hands-all-day job.
“Emily tells me that you do a little more than run a repair shop. Is that right?” Dan asks politely.
I scowl at Emily, but she shrugs like sharing my secret is no big deal.
It is.
Brody knows. Emily knows. And fine, all the guys at the track know. But the more people who know, the higher the risk becomes of Dad finding out. I do the mental calculations of how likely Dad and Dan are to run into each other. Dan already said he spends most of his days, nights, and weekends at the hospital, though I suspect what free time he does have is spent with Emily. Dad avoids doctors as if they’re death peddlers, so unless he happens to pop into Emily’s at the same time as Dan, statistically, their crossover rate is pretty low.
“I don’t advertise it.” It should sound playful and coy, but it sounds like a threat, which is honestly more my intention. “In fact, don’t tell many people at all . . . but I do custom car work on the side for a select group of car enthusiasts. Under the hood stuff, mostly, though I can outsource. I work on classics, newer models, nitrous add-ons, and specialize in getting the most horsepower out of every single engine.”
“Racecars?” Dan asks as a follow-up.
“Yes.”