Fiona.I wiped the sleep out of my eyes—I had no idea what time it was. She wasn’t on the bean bag floor anymore. Good. Maybe she’d left. It was easier that way. Less messy.
My watch read eleven—and I had an entire day to do whatever the fuck I wanted.Now what do I want to do?
My sister and Quinn were at church. The few friends I had spent the entire off-season with their families. That left no one.God. This sucks.Sure, I could head to a bar and take up with some random woman who recognized me. It would satisfy my temporary sadness but that was just it—temporary. The sadness would come when I crept away after spending hours with her. And avoiding it altogether sounded better. That left me with what? Working out with a leg that hurt like a bitch?
No wonder I was a miserable sack of shit. I succumbed to the fact that I would spend my Sunday afternoon alone, doing something worthless. But before I could decide what that worthless activity would be, my stomach let out a growl.When did I eat last? Oh yeah, the fucking shit pizza.
I hated cooking—especially for myself. It was tedious and boring to cook healthy meals filled with vegetables and protein. I much preferred to order out, but then Agnes would find out. Agnes, the agony-inducing nutritionist. Food was a beautiful thing, but she wanted me to suffer.
I made the slow trip to the kitchen and scanned the fridge. The lack of variety annoyed me. I guess eight eggs it was. I was about to crack them into the bowl when I heard a loud grunt. Setting the carton down, I scanned the foyer.What the hell?
It came from the front room, or maybe outside. I didn’t have neighbors so maybe a kid had forgotten something. I peeked through the little window on the side of the front door and suddenly, my mood lifted.
Fiona kicked the side of her car, hair flying everywhere and nothing but swear words escaping her large mouth. I fought a snort—who kicked their car?Oh shit.She did it again, pointing and yelling at the hood of the car. She then threw her bag on the ground and kicked the beat-up piece of metal again Good lord. She was a train wreck. I continued to watch her—she had someone on the phone and was pacing around the vehicle. I guessed she hadn’t received good news when she hung up and narrowed her eyes at my house.Shit.
She saw me and curled up one side of her lip.Busted.I flung open the door and prepared myself for a verbal attack. But it didn’t come. I could be a gentleman when I chose to and I considered being one. “Issue with the car?”
“Nope. I’m boycotting American-made cars. I heard about a protest people are doing all over today. Just today. And you pretend to kick your car…to raise awareness.”
Jesus, she couldn’t lie. I grinned. “Raise awareness about what?”
“People who need cars.” She crossed her arms and her gaze darted in every direction. Her voice even went an octave too high. My little co-coach was amusing as shit. I remained silent, waiting her out. She sucked in one side of her cheeks and the gesture sent a burst of desire to my groin.How would her mouth feel on my cock?
Woah. Don’t go there.
I cleared my throat and leaned against the doorframe. “Well, good luck with yourprotest.”
“Wait—” She cringed and mumbled something to herself. “Do you… Do you have jumper cables?”
“Is this part of the protest?” I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to fluster the hell out of her. Maybe it was how cute her blush was, or how her words slurred when she spoke faster.
“Goddamn it.” She licked her lips and ran her fingers through her hair. It gave her a wild, free look. “My car won’t start. I’ve been trying for twenty minutes. Do you have cables?”
“Well, it’ll cost you.”What am I saying? Am I fucking flirting with her?
“I have twenty bucks.” She reached into her bag before I stopped her.
“It was a joke. Jesus. Come on.” I shut the door and opened the first part of my four-car garage. I had three cars and a motorcycle. Cheryl’s words haunted me.No one needs this many fancy cars. You look like an idiot.A rich idiot.
But Fiona whistled and ran her finger over the hood of my Corvette. I know I got shit for it, but I had a Mustanganda Corvette. I could afford it. “Hot damn, a 1968 Stingray?”
I stopped. “You know the date? The model?”
“I dated a petrolhead. Spent a lot of time in that model. I’m surprised I remembered the details, actually.” She bent down without shame and pointed at the handle. “Did you know this is the only year they had the release button like this? It forces you to open the driver’s side with your left, the passenger side with your right.”
I blinked at her. She left me speechless.She spent time in this model naked?“Uh, I think— I think my cables are in the Blazer.”
“Cool.”
I took three long strides to the back of the SUV and spied them in the corner. “I’ll bring it out closer to yours.” She didn’t respond and I stuck my head out. Her ridiculous outfit seemed out of place next to my Harley-Davidson. “Fiona?”
“What?” she snapped.Woah.
“You ready?”
“Yeah, sorry.” She faced me and a slow blush crept up her neck. Her eyes heated over…or I thought they did, for a second.Does Fiona have a thing for motorcycles?“I’ll go wait out there.”
But I didn’t move a muscle. Neither did she. She brought her fingers down to the sleek black of the Lowrider S, her breath hitching enough for me to hear.Holy shit. The motorcycle turns her on.Anticipation flamed in my stomach. “Do you want to go for a ride?”
