Shit. He’d blown a damn tire.
If she moved her hand up any farther, he’d blow something else, too.
“What the hell was that?” Her hand squeezed tighter through the fabric of his slacks.
“Pot hole. The tire blew.” He closed his eyes. She hadn’t moved her hand.She needed to move her hand.
“Lucy?” He dropped his head against the headrest.
“What?” Her fingers still held a death grip on his thigh.
“Could you move…your…uh, hand?” He covered her fingers with his own to shift them closer to his knee.
They locked gazes and the cab of the truck shrunk between them. Neither of them moved. Her lips parted. His followed suit.
She jerked her hand off of him. “Oh my God. I’m sorry.”
He glanced to her. She’d gone red again. His lips twitched.
“No worries. Let’s just get this fixed.”
“Do tow trucks even come out this far?” There wasn’t much around them except a great deal of trees, a meadow, and a speed limit sign. A few cars splashed by, but the nearest town would be an hour out.
“I don’t need roadside assistance. I’ve got a jack and a tire iron.” He swung open his door and dug behind the seat for his tools. He may have had a privileged childhood, but his dad made sure he knew how to change a tire. One of those life skills that came in handy. Before his mother passed away, his father had actually been a decent guy. Taught him a lot of shit that came in handy, even now.
She scooted out the passenger door and pushed it closed. “How can I help?”
He knelt beside the tire in question and went to work. “Cheer me on?”
She did a little jazz hands number. “Go, Will.”
He paused at her use of the nickname. No one called him that anymore. He preferred his full name usually. Coming from Lucy, though, he didn’t mind the nickname. Hell, he even enjoyed it. He tugged off the jacket to his tuxedo to lay it across the side of the truck bed.
“That the best you can do?” Sleeves rolled, he put pressure on a particularly tight lug nut.
“I wasn’t exactly a cheerleader.”
“No?” That’s the most information he’d gotten from her so far.
“Ha. No.Go, Willis the extent of my—”
A particularly large SUV picked that moment to pass them. A sheet of water from one of the abundant potholes drenched his back.
He looked to Lucy. She was soaked.
Shit. Damn.
He was on his feet in a second. The wall of water got them both, but he had his head down by the tire. A full frontal attack hit her. Head to toe.
He tagged his jacket to wipe at her cheeks.
“Sonofabitch, Lucy. I’m so sorry.” The last time he tried to help clean her up—after the whole coffee debacle—he accidentally felt her up. No way was he going to make that mistake again. This time, he kept his attention to the neck up.
She shrugged off her blazer, revealing a sleeveless blouse that exposed the creamy skin of her shoulders and arms.
“I’ll grab your suitcase. Get you something to change into.” He reached into the bed of the truck and grabbed her bag.
The damn thing was soaked through.
