“You’re one big, bad bitch hiding in that lil pipsqueak of a package.”
The laugh tears out of me, surprising even myself with how readily it spills past my lips and into the heavy, hoppy air of the bar.
She winks at me. “You don’t have me fooled, girl. I see you.” Lexi bumps into me with her hip and—not being braced for it—the movement slides me over into Gracie, who catches me gently and lets me catch my balance again.
“Quit changing the subject,” Gracie whines.
“Can you stop depriving us of the tea now?” Lexi asks, eyes flaring with mischief. “Just put us out of our misery. How good is he?”
The thought of that sneak peek I got of what Weston’s packin’, it makes me lick my lips, and I probably look thirsty for more than just the drink we’re still waiting to order.
Both women whine in unison, groaning, and Lexi even throws her head back.
“Oh, oh that’s not fair!”
“That face you just made!” Gracie squeaks.
“Let me just order,” I beg, ready for something that burns on the way down. “Then we can find a table somewhere no one else is listening and I’ll answer two questions.”
Gracie’s face lights up and Lexi’s brows raise.
“Might have to go a few towns over to find somewhere no one is listening, but it’ll be worth it.”
Gracie leans into Lexi, eyes glowing. “What should we ask?”
“Only two questions,” I tell them, finger held high, but it doesn’t block my smirk.
“Big Momma has spoken,” Lexi jeers, nudging Gracie with her elbow before wrapping an arm around each of our shoulders. “We’d better choose wisely.”
“Ladies.” The low voice that utters the single word in lieu of a full sentence grips all three of our attention with those two syllables.
Turning, I face the bar to see one of the most intense looking men I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Black hair—short on the sides, longer on top—eyes like coal, and an air about him that sends a chill through me, I’m not prepared for his gaze to burn when it lands on me.
Perhaps if I hadn’t met Weston, I’d have returned the look. But this man isn’t even on my radar tonight. Nope, the only blip on my navigation system is the blond, sun-kissed guy back at the garage, greased up and working over my van, like the lucky bitch she is.
As attractive as the bartender is, it only makes me wish I was with Weston tonight instead. The man has broken my libido. Like I said, my last night in Smoky Heights can’t come soon enough.
NINE
WESTON
It was actual relief on my brother’s face when I proposed taking over most of the labor on Amelia’s van. His workload is starting to overwhelm him, with the influx in population we’ve had recently and Gonzo not being around.
It’d probably help if a few of the old-timers traded in their rides for something newer, but good luck getting people around here to part with their prides and joys.
Like me.
Have I burned the rubber on my baby in a decade or more? No, but I dare you to try to take her from me.
So who am I to blame Old Lady Dix if she wants to keep her Bessie around for another round of the automotive equivalent of a knee replacement or seven? Even if it does make my brother’s life a little more difficult.
The first day on Amelia’s van, Wyatt and I removed the engine block together and he assigned a section of the garage to me for the project. He checks in with me on it daily, offering oversight, direction, and a second opinion when I need one, but is glad to not have to do the bulk of the time-intensive labor on it.
It’s a good thing I got in some time with my mom my first week in town, because my schedule isn’t as comfortably loose asI prefer it right about now. She was so excited to have me back in the Heights, but texts are gonna have to be enough for a little while.
All week long I’ve picked Amelia up late morning (both of our preferred starting time), when we go tackle the day’s painting at whichever shop is closest to opening. Then, when we’ve made good progress for the day, we return to Gonzo’s Garage, where she brings her laptop over with a foldout chair and I get to work on her engine.
