“How do you figure that?” He reaches across and pushes the dipstick back in until it clicks.I didn’t know it was supposed to click.“What makes you think I know a damn thing about engines?”
“Because you worked in the motor pool.” I drag my gaze around and stop on his darkened eyes. “You said you worked together. I figured that meant?—”
“No. Of course.” Clearing his throat, he drops his gaze back to the motor, heavy brows casting shadows over the tops of his cheeks. He scratches the side of his neck and tries—but fails—to hide his scowl. “I just meant, what makes you think I’m gonna help? I want this truck, too. Wouldn’t it be in my best interest to screw your deal and take it for myself?”
Testing just how far he’ll go to secure that coffee date, I flutter my lashes. “For Ry? He’d want you to do the right thing, don’t you think?”
“Wow!” He stumbles back, eyes comically wide. “Wow! Are you seriously pulling that shit already? So soon, Nova Nichols?” Chuckling, he shakes his head. “Low blow.”
“You think so?” I wrinkle my nose and pray Ryan doesn’t smack me the second I walk through Heaven’s gates. “Was it really bad?”
“Lower than the depths of Hades. Jesus Christ. Fine.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he steps forward again and studies the engine bay. “It’s yours, assuming it ain’t a piece of shit. I won’t bid against you for it.”
“Aw, man,” Aaron grumbles. “You just ruined everything. Now, not only don’t we get a bidding war, but Nov is gonna haggle me down until I wanna hang myself with my shoelaces.”
Curious, Lincoln’s lips flatten into a firm line as he studies me.
I nod.It’s true.
“I’m gonna take it for a test drive.” I peek over my shoulder and wait for Aaron’s eyes. “Keys, please.”
8
LINCOLN
WELL, YOU FUCKED THAT UP
The motor pool?
Worked on engines?
The fuck is that all about?
My temper burns hot, but the expression I plaster onto my face while Nova climbs into the driver’s seat tells her nothing is amiss. Not my fucking intel. Not the documents Aster sent over. Or, and possibly more likely, not that her own fucking brother lied to her about his time serving.
The motor pool, my ass.
“Starts smooth.” Nova strokes the steering wheel and grins when the dash lights up. While outside, Aaron Dixon folds his arms and pouts.
Because he lost the truck? Or the girl?
I think he thought they were both as good as his.
Dragging the sun visor down and checking the little mirror, Nova’s happiness dims at the reminder of a highway-sized bruise on the side of her face. Without mentioning it, she snapsthe visor up again and stretches her legs to measure the distance between her feet and the gas. When it’s too far, she reaches down the side of her seat and adjusts it forward. “Cup trays,” she murmurs, like the having, or not having, of them, will make or break a sale. “There was a little ding on the front, near the headlight. Did you see that?”
Nope. I was looking at you.“Yep, but you can get it buffed out. Shouldn’t be too expensive.”
“It’s still in pretty good shape. I think it used to belong to Mr. Hollins. Blake,” she clarifies, since it’s obvious I have no clue who that dude is. “He runs the fishing store over by the lake. He’s nice and lives a quiet life.Hada wife, but she died a few years back.” Finishing with her seat and sitting tall to stare over the hood, she flicks the little dial from P to D—gone are the days of the old-fashioned gear shifts—until slowly, we’re rolling forward and exiting the lot, bouncing onto the public access road. “He upgraded to a brand-new RAM last year. I’ve seen it around.”
“That’s probably why this one smells of old fish.” I pinch my nostrils, only to laugh and catch her hand when she attempts to smack my thigh. “Ouch! Hitting is bad, Nova Nichols!”
“It does not stink!” Yanking free, she wraps her palm around the steering wheel and ambles toward the intersection, and when traffic is clear, she brings us across and pulls onto a long straight-away that’ll lead us to Main Street. “You’re listening to the engine, right? You’ll be able to hear if something is amiss? Ryan could do that.” She happily sighs, settling into her seat and resting her elbow on the doorframe. “He could be twenty feet away and just listen, and he’d know what was wrong with any motor.”
“Yeah?” I lean against my door and watch a beautiful woman feel happy for a few minutes. Her long hair is clipped back with one of those claw things, slipping free of the teeth and draping across her bare shoulder. She has freckles on her arms, but not on her face, which means she applies sunblock to the latter, but probably forgets the former. She wears a dress today, just like she did the last two times I’ve seen her. But unlike the black mourning dress from the day of the funeral, and the cream-and-black office attire from yesterday, she wears a flowy white sundress today. Her thighs are on full display, and her muscular calves became a taunting siren when she leaned over the hood and tried to look knowledgeable about engines. She wears wedge sandals of a light-brown that almost matches her hair, and a chain around her neck, though the charm on the end remains hidden beneath her dress, tucked safely between her breasts.
It’s for her to keep close, I guess. Not for fashion or for anyone else to see.
“Engines were like Ryan’s entire personality. I’ve never had to service my own vehicle. Which,” she exhales, less exuberant now. “I realize was kind of shortsighted of him. He taught me how to throw a punch, swing a hammer, run five miles, and fix the washers in the faucets. But neglected to teach me how to maintain a car.”
