Wyatt steps away, toward the arriving vehicle, but he’s got a little more acceleration in his gait than usual. Instead of a casual amble, it’s hurried. Another chalk mark in theweird behaviorcolumn in the mental tab.
I hear his wife’s voice and the coos of a baby and am going to assume his eagerness is just wanting to see them after spending the whole day apart.
I’m too busy rubbing a gentle finger over the finish of my car’s trunk, caressing the mark, trying to see if it’ll come off, if there’s texture to it, if we’re dealing with a—gasp!—scratch, or what on earth is going on, to pay them any more attention.
But when minutes pass, my nose practically pressed to the paint, and he hasn’t come back, my patience has worn as thin as this mark right here. “GRADY!” my voice booms, deeper than usual.
“Talking to yourself?” Rory’s melodic voice teases me, but I can hear her heels tip-tapping and click-clacking as she approaches.
“Talking to your husband,” I reply, deadpan. Never thought I’d say it, but this isn’t the time for humor. “Get over here, Wyatt Andrew!”
“You’re not Mom, asshat. You can’t middle name me.” Lucky for him, his voice sounds from right next to me.
“I’m about to call you a lot worse than your God-given name. What the fuck is this on my trunk?”
My eyes finally part with the scuff-skid hybrid—as I’m refusing to believe it could actually be a scratch—and I meet his gaze. Something cocky shines back at me.
“Looks like a scuff to me.”
“You’d better hope it’s just a scuff. I left her in pristine condition, so what is this from?” My eyes narrow on his, but Rory’s cheeks flushing distract me for a second. She quickly looks down at the baby in her arms and nuzzles her, nose-to-nose, rather than look at me.
Wyatt decides to take the bull by the horns. “That’s from my wife’s heels.” The way he owns those words, the pride in them, it creates a drop in my stomach that might be considered envy. Longing, just to even know what that’s like.
“Why were youwalkingon my trunk?” I stare her down, arms crossed, but she keeps talking to the baby, not the pissed off brother-in-law in front of her.
Wyatt’s smirk turns unbearable. “She wasn’t walking.”
His meaning hits in an instant.
“Aw, dude, gross! Come on, bro.”
Rory blushes, cheeks turning a shade of pink I’ve never seen on her before, and she drops her head further, burying herself in the adorable rolls of their child instead of looking me in the eye.
“Tell me that baby wasn’t conceived on my fuckingcar.”
Wyatt’s eyes narrow on me, like he doesn’t love the tone I’m using when it comes to his precious girls. “Of course not. Your car was just the background to the hottes?—”
“NO!” I cut him off, not letting him finish the word, much less the sentence I don’t want to know the ending of.
I don’t need nightmares when I look at my pride and joy.
“Not cool, man. Not. Fucking. Cool.”
I shake my head at both of them, as stern as I probably have the ability to be if we’re not throwing fists, and I realize Rory’s shoulders are shaking. She’s laughing at all of this?
The disrespect. Not even to me, because my brother has never respected me. But at least to the car. He’s a mechanic, oil runs in our family blood. He knows better. That’s like when a rock star smashes a guitar. Nothing cool about it, you just look like a prick, trashing a creation you proclaim to love.
“Fucking fix it. I’m going to get her up and running again, starting tomorrow. And you’re going to not just buff that shit out, you’re going to make her bodysparkle.”
“Well, now you’re just making Van Gogh jealous,” comes a higher pitched voice that I wasn’t expecting. That little rasp in it rakes its nails across my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
I flinch, jumping and turning around to face her. Was I so absorbed in my car that I missed her arrival? Luckily, I collect myself quickly.
“Aww, no need to be jealous, darlin’. She can get the full treatment too. Just as soon as Wyatt’s done with mine.” I shoot her a wink and hope she can’t see my veins throbbing, pulsing beneath my skin, from the electricity racing through them right now.
Nope, yesterday definitely wasn’t a fluke. This girl is even hotter than I remember.
Short, toned legs on display beneath those tight little shorts, most of her upper body hidden beneath the same NYA sweatshirt as last night, but she’s got makeup on today.
