You don’t even know if he likes to work on cars.
She shook her head and tugged her cap lower, making sure her face was as obscured as possible. Then she got out and trudged around to open his door.
Her hand hovered over his shoulder. It was one thing to borderline stalk him. Another to make physical contact.
No, all of those things are terrible.
With one finger, she tapped his shoulder lightly. “Gabe?”
Nothing. She dared to grasp his shoulder, trying not to notice how hot and solid it felt under her touch. “Gabe? We’re home.” She shook him, and his head rolled back.
His eyes blinked open and he stared up at her. “Anne,” he slurred. “You have the prettiest lips.”
Chapter 3
Gabe was usually great at telling women exactly what they wanted and needed to hear, generally because he sincerely meant whatever he was telling them. But he knew immediately he’d said the wrong thing.
It was just that Anne was standing with her back to the streetlight, and that silly hoodie cast most of her face in shadow, but he could see her lips. They were pink.
And familiar.
He searched through his alcohol-soaked brain for why they were familiar. He came up empty. But he wasn’t so drunk he couldn’t identify how her lips tightened.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You don’t mean that.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re annoyed. If you want to tell me to fuck off, tell me to fuck off. I shouldn’t be commenting on your lips.” He hiccupped. Thank God it wasn’t a belch. “It’s ina-inapprop—it’s not right.”
“It’s not?”
“I mean, no. Right?” Wasn’t it inapprop—not right? She was in his service, albeit only for the length of his drive.
Those lips pursed again while she thought. There was something familiar in that too, in her hesitation before uttering words. “I’m not annoyed. I was surprised.”
Her hand on his shoulder registered. The heat of it penetrated through his shirt, right through to his skin. It was nice. “I don’t want to surprise you.” What did he want? He wasn’t even sure anymore.
Her fingers curled in, the tiniest bit, and then her hand was sliding away. “We’re home. Uh, you’re home.”
“We are?” He looked past her, at his small house. The lawn was starting to grow, a sure sign of spring. He’d be mowing it soon, a chore he enjoyed. “Why is the sidewalk so crooked?”
“It’s not.”
“Looks crooked.” She skittered back when he moved, and he felt bad. He tried to make his body smaller as he stood, hunching his shoulders so as not to overwhelm her small frame, but that made him overbalance. He grasped the door when he staggered. “Whoa.”
She hovered, twisting her hands together. Her baggy hoodie barely left her fingers uncovered. He’d never seen her in anything else, had no idea what her body actually looked like under those huge clothes.
Whoa. Why was he thinking of his driver’s body?
He liked Anne, was always happy when they matched up. He liked talking to her. He didn’tlikeher. He was a flirt, but he was careful of who he flirted with. Women at bars, yeah. Waitresses, bartenders, drivers? Women he was paying for a service? No.
But those lips.
“Are you okay?”
“Sure. I’m always okay.” He cautiously let go of the door and shut it, a thud that made him wince. He took one step, then another, and then he grew cocky, because he looked at her instead of his feet on the third.
