Her hair is styled a little more carefully. Messy waves that frame her thin face and dust her shoulders. Bone structure that any woman would kill for. Something tells me that’s not filler in those full lips, those plump cheeks. She’s naturally both soft and sharp, all at the same time.
I want to draw her close, even though I have the feeling she’d claw to keep her distance. She’d be worth the scars of any battle it took to win her time.
Speaking of making our vehicles jealous, my car should begreenwith envy over the thoughts I’m having about this girl right now. My Charger is used to being the sole object of my affections.
Lust is a mistress I’m familiar with.
Love? Never met her.
But lust, I’ve been pretty much exclusive with her since I was a teen.
This? What lights me up when I look at Amelia? It’s a potent hit of that shit that doesn’t come around often.
If Wyatt weren’t here, if I weren’t under hisrulesfor my stay in the Heights, if she and I were anywhere else, I’d be taking my chance, exploring this live wire of a connection between us, see if her senses are telling her that my body was made for hers too.
It’s the tiny changes in her appearance that tell me I’m not alone in this. Things I’ve been attuned to notice in the fairer sex since high school. Her pupils expanding, nostrils flaring ever so slightly. Chest rising with a sharp inhale, cheeks and lips just slightly flushed. If I could see her thighs beneath that hoodie, they’d probably be flexing just a bit. As it is, I can see her cross one white sneakered foot in front of the other, one arm stretched across her abdomen, holding her other elbow.
I can tell when a woman is attracted to me with a blindfold on. And I have, by the way.
This one? Definitely into me.
Not like I can make a move on her right here and now, with this audience. I’m the Lothario who stomps on hearts, according to my only sibling.
Doesn’t matter that I’m always up front with them. I promise them a good time and nothing more. When they get it in their heads that we could be more, that’s when it goes south.
And that’s why I’m a one-and-done, and that’s it.
I sure would like to get just that once with her though.
Maybe once my brother is done going over her van, I can get my chance to get her alone.
“We can go over this later, Weston. I need to go over Amelia’s van with her.”
I nod my head, bowing slightly in acceptance, and let them head back toward the open bay doors. I follow behind because it would be weird to stay in the corner all alone, not because I’m trying to insert myself in her business.
My niece reaches for her father as they walk, making grabby hands and noises of distress until he takes her from Rory. The change in him is instantaneous, becoming a softer version of the guy that I grew up with, someone I don’t entirely recognize.
I catch Amelia watching too. Her face melts as she watches their interactions, the purity of the love between a father and daughter. She doesn’t strike me as the overly sentimental type, but I could swear I see a tear close to dripping from one of those gorgeous ocean eyes. She turns around, both hands going up to her face, and I’m distracted by the noise of my niece starting to cry.
“No, no tears, baby girl. You’re staying right here. Just need you to go to Mama for a minute.” Wyatt’s version of a baby voice isn’t going to get him a YouTube channel for kids anytime soon, but his daughter seems to love it.
“Come here, little love,” Rory soothes her, but she’s inconsolable, reaching back for her father, wailing. Her little screams hurt my chest, and I step in.
“Wanna come see Uncle West?” I hold my hands out to her, and she stops screaming. Her little cherub cheeks, all pink from her sobs, they pull up in a toothless grin, and I swoop in to take her from her mom’s arms. “Come here, munchkin. Let’s do a lesson on why motocross is cooler than street racing.”
Wyatt rolls his eyes at me and Rory snorts a laugh, but we all know it’ll be plenty of time before I’m getting this little rascal into any trouble on anything more than her chubby legs.
My brother steps over to the office for a moment and comes back with a box of tissues. For a moment I wonder if he’s watching Amelia as closely as I am, but her eyes are dry now. He yanks one tissue out and waves it in the air like a white flag. Then he extends one arm, offering her the square box.
“I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you,” he says, so solemn I realize this is his version of humor.
“Is this the hospital waiting room then?” Amelia asks, catching on immediately.
Wyatt nods a couple of times, and she takes a deep breath, seeming to center herself. “All right then. Lay it on me.”
“It’s not just your engine. It’s your transmission too.”
Her face falls, cracking like an egg, and I watch as the shock of it runs down her face.
