Chapter 7
Brooke
I walk through the doors of Mischievous Mermaid with the gift card clutched in my hand. Maybe it’s knowing how small-town news spreads, but I’m twitchy and tense as a chipper blonde approaches.
“Welcome to Mischievous Mermaid.” Her brown eyes sweep my face, friendly and warm. “You’re Brooke?”
“Hi.” I’m surprised she knows who I am with my hair in a floppy topknot and glasses instead of contacts. I sputter a self-conscious laugh. “Fans don’t usually recognize me in my librarian costume.”
She cocks her head. “Fans?”
Crap. “I’m sorry.” I sound like an egomaniac. “Did we already meet somewhere?”
“The gift card.” She points to the pink piece of paper I’m holding. “Kaleb Spencer-King bought it. I wrote your name on the ‘to’ line.”
Of course. “That makes sense.”
“I didn’t mean to be creepy,” she says, sweeping her blond pixie ’do off her forehead. “It’s just the only gift card I’ve sold since tourist season ended. I’m Hayley Nixon. I own the shop.”
“Brooke Braham.” The embarrassed podcaster and self-help author . “I’m shopping for bras.”
“You’re in the right place.” She waves vaguely toward racks of lacy underthings. There’s a shelf lined with sleep masks and lotions. Some kind of scented powder dusts the air with jasmine and rose. Soft music drifts from ivory speakers mounted by a window overlooking the street.
“What a nice shop.” Nicer than lots of boutiques I’ve seen in big cities. Fair prices, but not cheap. “He didn’t have to do all this.”
“Kaleb?” Her feathery laugh makes me wonder how well she knows him. “He’s a thoughtful guy. The whole reason we have our teen section over there.”
“Um—”
“That sounded strange, didn’t it?” She smiles at my puzzled expression. “You know Harper? His niece?”
“Lucy’s daughter.”
“Yes. Lucy got frustrated the first time she took Harper bra shopping. Everything for young women was all goofy cartoon creatures or hot pink thongs. Nothing in between.”
“I believe it.” It was like that when Mom and I took Grace to buy her first bra. “It’s like clothing designers only want to dress six-year-olds or exotic dancers.”
“Exactly.” Hayley’s smile sets me at ease. “Anyway, Harper vented to Kaleb, Kaleb vented to me, and voila!” She points to a rack filled with colorful cotton bras and lace-edged boy shorts. There are patterns, too, but classic ones. Plaid and funky florals, but no sign of Spongebob or Disney princesses. No g-strings, either.
“It’s been popular with young women,” Hayley says.
“I can see why.” I also see more of what Kaleb’s like as an uncle. No way would I have talked about bras with Mom’s brothers. “This is a great selection.” I scan the racks, not sure where to start.
“Can I show you around, or did you want to browse solo?”
“Help would be great.”
“Fantastic. Most of my bras are this way.” She leads me to a section in the corner, each shiny rack blooming with satin and lace. Hayley eyes my bust. “You’re about a 34C?”
I tug at the underwire poking my rib cage. “I’ve always worn a B cup.” Now I’m reconsidering. “Actually, I’ve gained a little weight lately. Stress eating.” I don’t mention the late nights of H?agen Dazs since Grace died. Since I’ve fallen behind on this book deadline. “My bra hooks keep bending, and well…”
“Your cups runneth over?” She smiles. “I get it. Happens to all of us.” Her hand slips into the pink apron at her waist and she pulls out a tape measure. “If you have time, I’m happy to take some measurements.”
“Oh. Wow. I mean—sure.” It’s been years since I had a proper bra fitting. “You have to promise not to judge me for the awful bra I’m wearing.”
Hayley laughs and leads me to a dressing room. “If I had a nickel for every time I saw a shredded-up, dingy gray bra that was white in a former life, I’d be a billionaire.” She opens the door to an extra-large stall and ushers me in. “You can leave your shirt on if it makes you more comfortable. I can work with whatever.”
“Thanks.” I’ve known her less than two minutes and I’m relaxed enough with Hayley to shuck my top. “You’ll get a better measurement without all these layers.”
“Very true.” She flips the lock and uncoils her tape measure. “Seriously, don’t give any thought to the state of your current bra. This is a safe space.”
I like the sound of that. “You’ll guard all my underwear secrets?”
“You know it.” She grins. “Consider this your personal confession booth.”
Dropping my purse on a tufted cream bench, I hook my coat on a hanger stuck to one pale pink wall. “You’ve built the world’s most stylish confessional.”
Hayley laughs. “Right?” She waits while I peel off my sweater, which I fold on the bench. “If communion wine would complete the experience, there’s a bottle behind the counter.”
I can’t tell if she’s joking. “Really?”
“I mean, it’s not really for communion. It’s left over from art walk, but it’s still good.” She nods at my pale blue cami as I reach for the hem. “I can measure over that if you’re more comfortable.”
“Let’s get the best measurement we can.” I’m not shy, so the cami comes off and gets folded with my sweater. “Bra too?”
“Up to you.” She nods politely at one lumpy cup. “Looks like there’s some padding, but we can take that into account. It shouldn’t throw off the measurements much.”
“Let’s do this right.” I slip my arms around back to flick open the clasp. Just like my other bra, the hooks strain and whimper. “I’m way overdue for this.”
“Good thing you came by then.” She pulls the tape measure around my ribcage, snugging it under my boobs. She studies the number, then moves the tape to the fullest part of my breasts. “I guessed right. You’re a solid 34C.”
“Good thing we measured.” I wriggle back into my ugly gray B-cup. “Thanks for saving me from buying the wrong size.”
“That’s what I’m here for.” Her brow furrows the tiniest bit. “Okay, I should probably confess something.”
“Have at it.” I pat one pale pink wall. “We’re in the confession booth, right?”
“True.” The ease in her eyes says it’s nothing too terrible.
“You’re not really a bra fitter and you don’t actually work here?”
She laughs and stuffs the tape back in her apron pocket. “Close.” She waits as I pull on my cami and sweater. “I actually know Kaleb pretty well.”
Her words land like soft blows, the impact buffered by kindness in her eyes. “You’re dating?”
“God, no.” She winces. “I mean—not now.”
“Ah, I see.” A bubble of envy floats through my chest. “Exes then.”
“Not even that.” She laughs. “I’m making it sound worse than it is. We were boyfriend and girlfriend for a few months in middle school. It was right when they went through a rough patch with his mom, so it felt more intense than it was. First relationship for both of us, you know?”
“I do.” And I’m not threatened at all, I swear. “I’m glad he had someone like you. Helping him through hard stuff?”
“It was hard on them all.” Hayley’s brow furrows. “Kaleb was always their mom’s favorite. It hit him differently, you know?”
I actually don’t. “His mother had a favorite child?”
She shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “It messed with his head quite a bit. Anyway, young love.” Another shrug as she touches a hand to the dressing room door. “I only brought it up because I didn’t want it to be weird if you’re out on a date and it slips out that the first girl he groped touched your boobs in her bra shop.”
“Oh, we’re not—” Dating , I start to say. Then I stop. “We’re friends.”
“Okay.” Hayley tucks her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, a funny smile on her lips. “Know what he said when he bought you this gift card?”
I hate how much I want this answer. “What?”
She smiles, and a dimple dots her cheek. “He said, ‘don’t ask why, but I owe this woman a new bra.’”
Cute. And no wonder Hayley’s curious.
I should really set the record straight. “He’s just being funny.” Except it’s true he bent my bra hook exactly the way she imagines.
But I owe it to Kaleb to be vague. To let her think he spilled something on my shirt or?—
“You don’t have to worry,” Hayley says.
“About what?”
“There’s nothing between us. Kaleb and me? And I won’t tell anyone about whatever he may or may not have done to your bra.”
“You’re sweet.” I should really assure her I’m not sleeping with Kaleb.
But something stops me. Some deep-seated urge to lay claim to the man, or at least let that possibility linger.
“Let’s look at bras.”
With a smile, she throws open the door. “Right this way.” She leads me across the sales floor toward the same rack we studied before.
Touching a basic white bra, I check the size. “This looks…sturdy.”
“It does.” She studies me. “Do you want help picking stuff out, or should I leave you to browse?”
I hesitate. “Could you point me to some of the sexier stuff?”
She laughs and pivots us both to the rack right behind us. “I’ve got you, girl.” She holds out a bra in silvery-blue satin. “Feel how silky this is.”
“Wow, that’s nice.” I’m imagining Kaleb’s hands skimming these smooth cups. “It’s a great color, too.”
“It’s Kaleb’s favorite. Same color as his Bronco.” She says it so nonchalantly as she hands me a bra in butterscotch lace. “This one’s nice.” She hands me another. “And this one’s washable silk. There’s a matching panty, too.”
“It’s a really great texture.” I’m guessing Kaleb’s a tactile guy. Someone who works with his hands would be. “I like that one.”
“This?” She plucks a pretty plum satin number off the rack. “Good taste. It’s your size, too.”
“I’ll try it.” My fingertips toy with the satin cups, and I can’t stop picturing Kaleb. How good the man is with his hands. How being elbow deep in car parts all day might make him revel in silky fabrics and soft curves and?—
“This one’s your color.” She holds up a bra in shimmery cognac. “Matches your eyes.” When I take it, she smiles. “He’s got a thing for brown eyes. For smart women, too. I’m not surprised there’s a spark.”
I should tell her again we’re not dating. That no one but me will see all these pretty new underthings.
Instead, I tuck the bra with the stack in my hand. “I’ll try it.”
The space looks packed as I pick my way between tables at Big One’s Brewery. I should have gotten here ten minutes earlier. Is there even an empty chair?
I should leave. I’ve got no business being here. After what happened with Grace?—
“Brooke!”
I turn and there’s Lucy, waving from a booth. Kaleb’s sister points to a spot beside her, scooting closer to Zoe, who bumps Hazel with her hip. Hazel picks up her wineglass, looking stylishly out of place in wide-leg Valentino jeans and a cashmere sweater.
But her greeting feels warm as I weave through the crowd to their table. “Hello, Brooke.” Hazel moves to make room. “Nice to see you again.”
“Same.” I settle beside her, conscious of the chatter around me. So many women. “I almost didn’t make it. Had a conference call that ran long.”
“Is everything okay?” Lucy asks.
“Peachy.” Everything except the execs at Preston Publishing getting antsy.
My agent spoke gently on the phone. “I don’t have to tell you how much they’re bending over backwards to accommodate you, Brooke.” The background sound of traffic reminded me how far I am from that world. “But they really do need to see more progress.”
“I understand.”
And I do. That doesn’t make the words come any faster.
“Here.” Zoe nudges a basket of tater tots in front of me. “Communal property. Help yourself.”
“We’ve also got nachos on the way.” Lucy sets the napkin dispenser in front of me. “I’ll catch the waiter’s attention and snag you a drink.”
“Thanks.” My stomach growls as I pop a warm tot in my mouth, chewing as I scan the overstuffed brewery. Every table looks filled, crowded by women in tight jeans and tops that dip low in the front. I feel overdressed in my baggy green cardigan with a high-necked black tank and loose jeans.
At least I’m wearing one of my new bras. Not that anyone’s seeing it, since we’ve come for tips on car repair. Is Kaleb around here somewhere?
“He went to grab something from his truck.” Lucy gives me a knowing smile. “Kaleb, I mean.”
“Oh.” Was I that obvious? “I had no idea Lagers and Learning would be this packed.”
Zoe and Hazel trade a knowing look. “It always sells out.” Zoe sips from a pint of something foamy and dark that’s either porter or cola. “Tough to say if it’s the presenter or the information.”
“It really isn’t,” Hazel says primly. “It’s unquestionably the presenter.”
I follow her gaze to the side door as Kaleb strides through with a toolbox. He heads straight for a fit looking blonde woman in navy coveralls. His head mechanic, maybe? She holds up a wrench and says something as Kaleb nods. The toolbox makes his forearm flex nicely.
I’m not the only one noticing.
“For heaven’s sake,” Lucy says as Kaleb weaves back through the tables. It’s slow going, since women keep stopping him. “If Melissa Cantor scoots her chair any closer, she’ll end up in Kaleb’s lap.”
Zoe snickers. “Probably her plan.”
“Why does that woman in pink keep touching his arm?” Hazel doesn’t appear to expect an answer. “Is she checking him for a skin condition?”
“Yes,” Lucy says. “A debilitating condition called TMS.”
Zoe frowns. “What’s that?”
“I just diagnosed it.” Lucy’s mouth twitches. “It’s Thirsty Mom Syndrome. Of all my brothers, Kaleb’s got it the worst.”
My tablemates snicker as I admire Kaleb from a distance. He does appear to have a fan club. The woman in coveralls seems mostly immune, though I do catch her looking at Mason.
“That’s Erika.” Lucy nods to the woman. “Kaleb’s head mechanic. She’s the main presenter tonight.”
“Ah.” That explains why she’d be hands-off with the boss. “Does she have some kind of history with Mason?” He’s setting down drinks at the table beside her, and there’s an odd sort of frisson between them.
Lucy looks startled. “No, why?”
“Just thought I picked up on something.” Clearly, my radar’s off.
“They’ve been good friends forever,” Zoe says. “Erika has a boyfriend.”
“High school sweethearts,” Hazel adds. “He’s in the Navy, so it’s a long-distance thing.”
Lucy picks up a tater tot. “Mason’s dating Annabelle Hanlon. The vet?”
That’s right. “I think Kaleb mentioned it.”
Zoe goes back to watching the crowd. “Not to be catty,” she says, “and for the record, I believe women should wear whatever makes them feel sexy and confident.”
“Of course,” Lucy says. “And clearly a neckline cut down to her navel makes Samantha Price feel sexy and confident.”
“Right?” Zoe turns to Hazel. “You’re the fashionista of our group—is Bethany Lopez wearing actual lingerie?”
“Maybe.” Hazel looks quietly pleased to be counted among our group . “I can’t tell from here, but it looks like a very nice knockoff of a Dolce & Gabbana jacquard corset bustier top.”
Now I’m curious. “How can you tell it’s a knockoff?”
She shrugs and sips her white wine. “The real deal costs more than a thousand bucks.”
Zoe chokes on her drink. “For a bra ?”
“One that doubles as a top, apparently.” Lucy looks at me. “Mischievous Mermaid should get in on this. Sell corsets and call it the Kaleb special.”
“I shopped there earlier today.” I suspect she knows this already. Small-town gossip and everything. “Needed some new bras.”
“They have great stuff.” Lucy sips her drink. “Hayley’s sweet.”
“She is.” I scan for a server, doing my best to not look at Kaleb. To be fair, he’s not staring at Corset Chick’s boobs. He watches her face as he answers her question, a consummate gentleman in worn jeans and a tight black tee. The woman’s boobs bob like the bow of a ship, brushing his ribs so he takes a step back.
“Did you get something good at Mischievous Mermaid?” Zoe’s question drags my eyes off Kaleb.
“I bought four new bras.”
She tilts her head. “You must be wearing one?”
“Um—” How did she know?
“You keep touching the strap.” Zoe smiles. “Through your tank top. Is it sort of a steely blue?”
“I—yes.” I drop my hand to my lap, not sure why I’m out of sorts.
“Britney Blue, like Kaleb’s Bronco,” Lucy muses, not meeting my eyes. “Where the hell is our waiter?”
As my face floods with color, Kaleb catches my eye. He smiles and my face gets hotter. I’m conscious of my cheeks, of my silky blue bra, of my palms itching to run my hands over those pecs.
I roll my shoulders, adjusting the underwire rubbing my ribs.
“Atta girl.” Zoe bumps me with her shoulder. “Give him a taste of what’s waiting over here.”
“I wasn’t—” My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. “He’s not—” I snatch a pitcher of water off the table. “Is this glass spoken for?”
“Help yourself.” Hazel tucks a coaster under it. “The nachos should be here any second.”
“Thanks.” I fill up a glass, ignoring the tingle that says Kaleb’s watching. Is he seeing the bra strap exposed by my cardigan sliding off one shoulder?
I tug it back up and look at Lucy. “Is it always like this?”
“Women throwing themselves at my brother?” She shrugs. “Sometimes it’s worse. Like the time Melissa Cantor had too much to drink and threw her thong at him.”
“He kept right on talking about pistons,” Zoe says. “Didn’t bat an eyelash, even with panties dangling off the fuel pump he was holding.”
I snort back a prickle of envy as a pretty brunette hands Kaleb a drink. She touches his wrist way longer than necessary. “Women sure love him.”
It’s not really a question, but Zoe nods. “Before I took Cal off the market, the two of them were Cherry Blossom Lake’s most eligible bachelors.”
“Ah.” No wonder women keep looking over here. If the small-town gossip mill has me linked to their favorite boy toy, they’ve got to be curious. Angry, maybe, though I’m not getting that vibe.
“There’s our waiter.” Lucy waves both arms at a harried looking guy with a mustache.
Hazel nudges a tap list in front of me. “Beer’s on the front, cocktails and wine on the back.”
I flip to the front side. “I’ve been meaning to try Mason’s beer.” I study the list as our mustachioed waiter reaches the table.
“What’s everyone drinking?”
“Another porter for me.” Zoe drains her glass and points to me. “And whatever Brooke needs.”
“I’ll try the hazy IPA.” I never used to be a beer fan. Then Grace begged me to join her for Bend Brewfest in Central Oregon.
We made it a girls’ road trip, booking a cute little Airbnb on the Deschutes River. For two days, we tasted our way through malty stouts and crisp sours. I even found a gose I loved, salty and tart and studded with kefir lime.
“Stick with me, Sis,” she slurred as we tumbled, giggling, onto an overstuffed sofa at our rental house. “I’ll make a beer snob out of you yet.”
I swallow a lump in my throat as Lucy points at the menu. “Big One’s makes really good mac-and-cheese if you’re hungry.”
“The fish tacos are great, too.” Zoe smiles. “We won’t even make you share.”
“I’ll do the elk burger with a double order of fries.” I survey my new friends. “You’ll help with the fries, right?”
Lucy chuckles. “Twist my arm.”
As our waiter hurries away, a microphone chirps at the front of the room. Mason steps up on a makeshift stage, mic in one hand. “We’ve got a full house for this installment of Lagers and Learning, so thanks for coming out tonight.” Mason surveys the room, squinting against the lights above his bar. His eyes settle on Erika, then slip away quickly.
Maybe I’m not imagining things…
“We’ve got a few folks still searching for seats,” he continues, “so if there’s a spot at your table, put a hand in the air and make a new friend. We’ll give everyone five more minutes to get settled before starting tonight’s presentation.”
A knot twists tight in my belly. “My sister used to do that.”
“Do what?” Lucy asks.
I didn’t mean to say that out loud.
“Grace,” I say softly, clearing my throat. “My sister, Grace, would say that to total strangers in crowded places. ‘Come sit with us and make a new friend.’”
My feeble impression of her voice turns my tone thin and reedy, but Hazel smiles. “Drove me nuts sometimes,” I continue, “but I made lifelong friends that way.”
Zoe touches my hand, hers chilly from holding her beer. “You must miss her a lot,” she says. “I can’t imagine how I’d feel losing Cassidy.”
“What was she like?” Lucy asks.
“Gracie?” I don’t even know where to start. “Brave. Creative. Funny as hell. A little wild, but smart. Our mother always said she marched to the beat of her own drummer.”
“She must’ve loved you a lot,” Hazel murmurs. “Having a big sister who’s so steady and stable.”
The longing in her eyes suggests Hazel Spencer’s an only child. I don’t want to assume. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”
She looks startled a moment, then shakes her head slowly. “No. But Lucy and the rest of the Spencer-Kings sort of claimed me as one of them. Growing up, we practically lived at our grandparents’ place.”
Lucy laughs. “Just a wild bunch of kids, running all over that lakeshore.”
“Good times.” Hazel’s smile turns a little bit wistful. “We sort of fell out of touch when my father made some business decisions that—” She stops, looking down at her manicure. “Anyway, we’re good now.”
“We are.” Lucy leans across me to squeeze her cousin’s hand. “And I’m sorry we lost a few years in there.”
Our group therapy moment skids to a stop as Mason claims the mic again. “Okay folks, looks like we’re all settled. It’s my pleasure to introduce tonight’s presenter from Spencer-King Auto, my very good friend, Erika Gentry.” He starts into her bio and I’m a bit blown away by her long list of qualifications.
“She’s a badass,” Lucy whispers.
“No kidding.”
Mason moves on to his brother. “Assisting her this evening is none other than Mr. Kaleb Spencer-King, known in our family as Mr. Fixit. He’s the owner of Spencer King Auto.” He waves to Kaleb and the crowd goes wild. “When I was three and he was five, this man fixed my trike with his own tools, so I think we can safely say the dude knows his way around vehicle repairs.”
“And the clitoris!” someone shouts from over by the bathroom.
Somebody shushes her, but a few women giggle. Kaleb stares straight ahead as his brother wraps up Kaleb’s intro. “Tonight,” Mason says, “these two experts will tell you how to change your own spark plugs. Friends,” he says, pausing to smile at the crowd, “give it up for Erika and Kaleb!”
There’s a round of applause and several catcalls from the front row. Kaleb smiles grimly and picks up a bucket at the edge of the stage as Erika takes the mic.
“Good evening, everyone.” She sounds confident and friendly, and I like her right away. “I recognize a few faces from last month’s session on changing your oil. Let me just switch to the clip-on mic so I can use my hands. We’ll get started in a sec.”
Zoe bumps me with her elbow. “The oil change class was good,” she whispers, “but not nearly as hot as when Cal taught me.”
The gleam in her eyes says there’s more to that story. Either that, or Zoe’s had a lot to drink.
Lucy catches my eye. “I’m the designated driver,” she whispers. “In case you’re worried.”
“I wasn’t,” I say, though I was just a little.
Zoe’s smile softens. “My fiancé’s father is in recovery, so we don’t keep alcohol at home,” she says. “It’s a special occasion.”
“Zoe just finished her coursework for a Master of Library Science,” Hazel supplies. “We’re celebrating.”
“Congratulations.” The waiter sets down my pint and I pick it right up. “To Zoe.”
“Cheers,” says Lucy, clinking her glass against mine. “We’re having a girls’ luncheon at my place on Sunday, if you’d like to join us.”
“Thanks.” I remember what Maxine said about needing more female friends. “Let me know what I can bring.”
Erika’s got her mic working, so she starts in talking about spark plugs. Apparently, they’re vital for engine performance and easy to swap out with basic hand tools. I’m trying my best to listen. To pay attention to Erika’s words and the bright tang of hops in my beer. It’s cool and crisp on my tongue, but there’s heat throbbing through me as I feel Kaleb’s gaze brush my body.
Is he looking over here?
A noisy whisper at the next table tugs my gaze to a woman in a black mesh top. She elbows her friend, then points my direction. I do my best to pretend I don’t notice.
“Every vehicle needs spark plugs replaced at some point,” Erika continues. “Learning to do it yourself can save tons of money.”
Kaleb moves through the crowd with his bucket, handing something to each guest. The woman in black mesh grabs his wrist and studies his hand.
“That’s Trish Segal,” Lucy whispers. “And no, she’s not a palm reader.”
“Not a book reader, either,” Zoe says. “She came into the library last week and asked if we sell cigarettes.”
I stifle a laugh as Erika rolls through her talk. “Having bad spark plugs can kill your gas mileage, not to mention your engine,” she says. “What Kaleb’s handing out now are fouled spark plugs. We see a lot of these at Spencer-King Auto, so take a look and tell me what you notice.”
A blonde in a pink ballcap holds up her blackened plug. “Looks like my ex-husband’s flesh trumpet after he screwed his way through half of Lincoln County.”
The woman beside her chokes on a neon green drink. “They don’t call Newport the crab capital of Oregon for nothing.”
Zoe stifles a laugh as Kaleb reaches our table. She holds out a hand for one of the spark plugs. “Thanks,” she says as he gives her a charred hunk of metal. “What’s the difference between a spark plug and a butt plug?”
I’m not sure if she’s tipsy or if that’s just Zoe, but Kaleb catches my eye. “Is that a joke with a punchline, or a real question?”
Lucy ignores him and plucks Zoe’s plug from her hand. “Please don’t sit on it either way.”
Kaleb hands me a plug and his fingers graze mine. “Glad you could make it.”
“Thanks.” A streak of lightning shoots up my arm and I suck in a breath.
“You okay?”
“Yep.” Just wondering when my hand will stop tingling. “Thanks for inviting me. I’m learning a lot.”
Kaleb winks. “Wait’ll I teach you to pypo board.”
He keeps moving before I respond, which is just as well. Erika’s still talking, the room’s still buzzing, and the earth’s still spinning on its axis.
Why is my body responding like this? He’s just a man. Just a regular, flesh and blood guy.
Must be pheromones, or the fact that I haven’t had sex in forever. Or maybe it’s the bandwagon effect, since half the women in this room keep throwing themselves at Kaleb.
At least it’s taking my mind off the reason I almost didn’t come tonight. The reason a part of me still wants to run from the room.
Kaleb turns back from the next table. “Got time to grab a beer after this? There’s something I wanted to ask you.”
“Oh.” I’m conscious of women watching with naked curiosity. “I really shouldn’t. I’ve got an early call tomorrow.”
He looks for a moment like he might argue. “Another time.”
“Sure.”
He moves to the next table, taking his energy with him. I feel empty inside, like someone’s just stolen my air.
“Damn, girl,” Zoe whispers. “I just had an orgasm from how he looked at you.”
Lucy hands Zoe’s spark plug back. “As long as it wasn’t from this.”
I pick up my water and sip it, hiding my smile. I don’t want to be flattered by Kaleb’s attention. We already agreed that nothing can come of it. It’s basic science, right there in chapter twelve. I wrote the damn words myself.
“Take a look at your fouled plugs.” Erika holds one up for the room to admire. “Notice how some of them have a blistered tip?”
Black Mesh Top has something to say about that. “Did I mention my ex-husband’s pocket otter nearly fell off?” Her whisper isn’t much of a whisper. “Now that’s a fouled plug.”
Hazel snorts in her wineglass as Erika talks about ignition timing. I shift in my seat, conscious of Kaleb ten feet away. Of my skin’s itchy urge to have his hands on my body.
I’m leaving in less than two months. Romantic entanglements are a bad move for us both at this point.
What if it’s not romantic?
How about pure, carnal lust? A no-strings fling, just like I texted Camille.
Which I guess wasn’t Camille at all. Kaleb.
I told Kaleb I wanted a fling. Maybe the fact that I sexted him is a sign we should do something about it. Kaleb called himself a sign seeker.
Am I stretching too much to justify this?
“Here you go.” Our server sets down my burger and fries, along with a bottle of ketchup. “Anything else?”
“Maybe some extra plates?” I look at Lucy, who waves a hand.
“Don’t worry,” she says, grinning at me. “We’re not classy. We can grab right from the basket.”
“Save your dishwasher some trouble,” Zoe agrees.
Our clever blonde teacher cues up the big screen TV. “Let’s walk through the steps of changing your own spark plugs,” Erika says. “Then we’ll all know what to do before our engines misfire.”
Two retirement-age women snicker. “Miss Fire would be my stage name if I was a stripper,” says one of them.
“Mine’s Pancake Tits,” says her friend, even louder. “With lotsa maple syrup.”
I focus on Erika, breathing deep and slow. Grace took classes like this one. Did she take notes or commit lessons to memory? Did she know all the steps for disconnecting an ignition coil and using a socket to take out the old spark plug?
“Kaleb’s coming around with printed handouts,” Erika says. “These will give you the same information I’m showing you up here.”
I feel him approaching before I turn. Just like before, his fingers skim mine as he hands me the paper.
Just like before, I shiver.
“Cold?” His voice hits a pitch I feel in my core. “I can tell Mason to crank the heat.”
“I’m great.” Pulling my sweater around me, I see Miss Fire ogle Kaleb’s ass. Like a slow-moving crane claw, Pancake Tits stretches to grab him. I shoot her a scowl, and she yanks her hand back.
“Sorry, hon.” She gives me a nod of respect. “Didn’t know he was yours.”
Kaleb doesn’t look behind him. Just lifts one brow, eyes locked with mine. “Is that so?”
“Hm?” It feels very, very hot in here. Is anyone watching Erika? I feel like I’m onstage as Kaleb’s molten eyes hold mine.
“Property of Brooke Braham.” He pats his chest where the label might go. “Got more of those bookplates?”
I draw a shuddery breath. “She said it, not me.”
“I don’t hear you arguing.” He’s amused by the thought. “Enjoying the class?”
“Very much.” I peer around him to see what I’m missing. Erika’s bent down answering a question for someone in the front row.
Everyone’s eyes are locked on the two of us. Licking my lips, I watch his gaze drop to my mouth. “Enjoying being ogled by half the women in town?”
“Only half?”
“The other half’s related to you.”
“Fair point.” He glances behind him to check that he’s not interrupting the lecture. “Know what might make them ease up?”
“What’s that?” I ask, wondering if he’d even want that.
“A public declaration of affection.”
“Is that right?”
“Yep.” The fire in his eyes puts the spark plugs to shame. “By someone who might lay a claim.”
“I—” My mouth feels dry. “Who’d do something like that?” I’m trying for coy, but it comes out shaky.
There’s no shake in Kaleb’s cocky grin. “Someone who knows, in no uncertain terms, that I’d fucking love to take her home.”
It’s two thousand degrees in this room. “I’m not sure I know anyone that presumptuous.”
“Hmmm.” His voice rolls out low and rumbly. “Let me know if you think of anyone.”
I shiver again, every nerve in my body ablaze. I’m conscious of Zoe and Lucy and Hazel watching. Of dozens more eyeballs, all fixed on us.
But it’s Kaleb’s eyes searing mine.
Is that why I do it?
As I get to my feet, I know that’s not it. I feel dizzy and drunk, though I’ve only had two sips of beer. It’s something else. Pheromones or lust or whatever leaves Zoe fanning herself.
“This is hot,” she whispers to Hazel.
“No kidding.”
I don’t take my eyes off Kaleb. Snatching the front of his shirt, I yank the man to me. Commanding myself to be brave, I look deep in his eyes without blinking.
“How’s this?” I rasp as he regains his footing.
“Fucking great.”
Our mouths collide and Kaleb takes charge. He’s forceful and sure as his tongue touches mine and he presses me back to the wall.
He growls and lets go of his handful of papers, a cascade of printouts that float to the floor. I hardly notice as he cups my ass and pulls me tight to his body. His mouth tastes like mint, and his skin smells like pine trees and ozone. Like a crack of lightning in the forest.
Gripping his shoulders, I let out a whimper. With my back to the wall, I pull him against me. I’m dimly aware of the buzzing around us. The gasps of surprise, the giggles and whispers.
None of it stops him from kissing me senseless.
We’re both breathing hard when Kaleb draws back. He searches my eyes, his cocky grin turning my insides to goo. “Still believe what you wrote in chapter twelve?”
“What’s chapter twelve?”
At the front of the bar, Erika clears her throat. “Since my assistant is occupied,” she says, “could someone please help with the handouts?”
“On it.” Lucy jumps to her feet, elbowing her brother as she moves past to gather the papers. “Told you so, asshole.”
He doesn’t break eye contact as he brushes the hair back from my face. “Still got plans tonight?”
“Uh-huh,” I breathe, heart thudding in my ears. “They just changed.”
“Thought so.” He steps back slowly, hand grazing my hip as he moves. “My place,” he murmurs, spearing me with a sexy smile. “Ten minutes after class lets out.”
Squaring my shoulders, I draw a deep breath. “Make it five.”