Chapter 6
Keeton
“Well?”
I look at my brother, who’s still standing behind me. I’m watching the taillights of my new BMW glow off into the distance. “Well, what?”
“What the hell happened in the fifty-five minutes she was in your office? Is she pregnant yet?” he snorts.
“Jesus, Eric. You’ve got shit for brains, you know it?” Not really. The kid is whip-smart. He’s just annoying. I step over to the little hunk of junk she drove here. Leaning down, I try to push the seat back, but I think it’s rusted in that spot. “Come on, help me push this thing into the empty bay.”
“I think we should just junk it and replace it with something better.”
I arch my brow. “Oh yeah? You buyin’ her a new car?” He’d better say no. If anyone’s buying her a car, it’s me.
“Nah, but I wouldn’t mind buying her baby sis a car. That chick was hot as sin.”
“You said she was cute.”
“Cute as in I’d like to fuck her, cute.” He pauses. “More than once.”
Okay, that may sound really ass-holish but, for Eric, that’s a compliment. He never sleeps with women more than once. “Don’t even think about it. You’ll upset Lainie if you mess with her sister and I won’t have you upsetting my girl.”
“’My girl’ again? You serious?”
Running my fingers through my short locks, I sigh. “I don’t know. It’s like she hypnotized me the second she walked into my office. I’ve never felt that way before. You know, smitten.”
Eric cackles. “Smitten? Jesus, bro. What are you, a hundred?”
“Fine. Territorial. How’s that? Like I didn’t want anyone else to get near her. Ever. So, I’m thinking that makes her mine.”
“Does she know?”
“She will.” I mutter. “Now, come on. Let’s push this thing inside. I need to get some shit done.”
With Eric on one side and me on the other, we push the car into bay one. “Get Billy on this tomorrow, okay? I want a list of the shit that needs to be done to this thing. I’ll decide where we go from there.”
“Right on.” I start to leave but he grabs my arm. “She’s a sweet girl, Keeton. You deserve some sweet in your life, bro.”
I grunt. “We’ll see.”
“Hey,” he yells just as I’m at the door to the showroom. “You need to sign off on this bike.”
I turn. “Looks good. Call the broker. See if he’s got time to come down to look at it.” I work with a broker who sells the stuff that wasn’t a commission or special order. I don’t like to deal with the hagglers and the nitpickers. We make ‘em, he sells ‘em. It works out great for all of us.
Back in my own office, I flop into my chair. Leaning back, I throw my feet on top of my desk and a stack of paperwork, muttering, “What the hell happened today?” Squeezing my eyes shut, I lay my head back on my headrest. I needed to wrap my head around this. It’s not like me to just throw caution to the wind, especially when I’m dealing with a woman. I’m circumspect. It’s why I’ve been successful––just the right amount of risk to caution ratio. But with this girl, that shit went out the window.
Reaching out, I hit the contacts on my phone. Finding the one I want, I hit call. After only one ring, she answers. “Hey, asshole. What’s up?”
“Hey, Deb. Just thought I’d check in.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line. I know why. I don’t check in with my ex-wife. I only call her when I’ve got a reason. Not because I don’t like talking to her; on the contrary, I do. But we’re both busy, we don’t chit-chat.
“Like I said, what’s up?” Yeah, see? She knows something’s up.
“I’m having a weird day. Wanted to talk through it with you.”
“Okaaaaay.”
