Chapter 2
Griffin
My heart is pumping a million miles a minute as I slam my car door behind me and hurry over to the frightened dark-haired woman curled around her luggage on the side of the street.
“Is it over? Am I dead?” One honey-colored eye pops open and slowly travels up my body.
It’s a raw, assessing sort of look, and I don’t miss the way her full bottom lip trembles with the question.
“No, you’re not dead. Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to run into a damn road?” I stop short of saying kids these days because that would make me feel older than fucking dirt, and she’s not a kid. She’s all woman, albeit a young one. “You should know better.”
Her lashes flutter up at me. “Yes, sir.”
Something dark and dangerous flares inside me at the sound of her slightly husky voice rasping out that phrase. My dick jumps in my jeans, and I tamp that feeling right down as I extend my hand to help her up.
Can’t be reacting to shit like that from a woman like this.
She’s too young and too pretty for a guy like me.
I ignore the ripple of heat and awareness that shoots through me when her fingers brush mine. Pulling her to her feet, I get an eyeful of everything that damn luggage was hiding. Alluring curves, lush lips, and a set of perky tits that God only grants women too young for me to touch.
My mouth runs dry as I take in the white lace peeking up at me over the top of her deep V-neck. The thin cotton of her shirt strains across her heavy breasts like a fucking temptation.
“You, ah, um,” I gesture stupidly at my chest.
“Hm? Oh, thanks.” She adjusts the top, actually yanking it down further so that the lace is visible over the tops of both breasts, and I yank my gaze up to hers.
The fuck?
“I guess I have to thank you, you know. For not running me over. That would’ve been the icing on my shit cake, and I’m really, really tired of eating shit.”
“Huh?” I blink at her and scratch the back of my neck.
“Sorry. It’s been a long… year. I don’t really eat shit.”
“Fucking hope not.”
She blinks, then laughs, her entire face lighting up as she reaches out and touches my arm. The contact burns through all the layers of my skin, and my mouth quirks up at the sound of her throaty, musical laugh.
Between us, a sudden connection crackles like a live wire.
She must feel it too because when her laughter subsides, those big hazel eyes shimmer with amusement. Curiosity is scrawled all over her open, expressive face as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind one ear.
Oh, no. No, no, no.
I know what that look, that touch means. It means she’s interested. But I don’t do flirtation. Or flings. Hell, I even gave up on all forms of dating—casual or serious—a long time ago.
To gently discourage this, I step back and right her weighty bag. Then I thrust it in her direction and nod at it.
“The hell is in there, anyway?”
“Equipment,” she says. “For work.”
My gaze swings from her to the packed-out Rav4 in the drive, registering all the boxes marked kitchen, living room, and bedroom. She’s moving in next door, taking over the run-down O’Donnell property.
Under my breath, I grunt out, “So, Andy finally sold the house. Well, shit.”
“What?” she pushes her bangs out of her eyes and looks at me with surprise. “You know my dad?”
“I—what? Andy O’Donnell is your dad?”
“Yeah. Why are you so surprised?”
My stomach drops, and realization hits me like a two by four to the gut. At second glance, that bright, open, curious face with the straight nose and big, blinking eyes doesn’t look much like the man I grew up alongside.
“Oh. No, nothing. I used to run through the surf and skateboards with him when we were kids. For years, I’ve been on him to sell this shith—um, this place. Or fix it. I didn’t know his kids were…” so fucking hot. No. “All grown up and moving in.”
I cringe and will myself to shut the fuck up.
“Ah, right. Well, Dad’s not so good with paperwork or life admin. Or texting, I guess. That’s more Mom’s wheelhouse.” Her eyes rake over my body, lingering on my hands and forearms before flicking to my truck and the house next door. “Let me guess. You must be Griffin?”
My name rolls off her tongue in a low rasp, and I clear my throat.
Yeah, no, definitely not going to commit the way she says my name to memory.
I’m certainly not going to fantasize about my oldest friend’s daughter, no matter how much she’s grown up since I last saw photos of her.
It was sometime when she was still wearing braces and going through a punk rock phase, I’m pretty sure.
“Griffin Owens. Nice to meet you…?” My eyes narrow, trying to dig out the names of Andy’s three girls from the depths of my brain.
“I’m Sage, the eldest.” She grins. “Rosemary’s back east, and Juni’s still in high school.”
“Sage,” I say, testing the way her name feels in my mouth as I rock back on my heels and jam my hands into my pockets. “The actress, right?”
“Well, drama instructor now over at the university.” She shoots me a small, sad smile. “But hey, you never know. I might still take to the stage now and again. Would you come watch me?”
Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she leans in, face tipped up to mine.
Every alarm bell is firing off in my head, blaring so loud I think I must be out of my fucking mind and reading way too into every word. Clearly, it’s been way too long since I’ve involved myself with a woman. I’m rusty and feeling in over my head.
“I’m not really a… theater kind of guy. Just a man good with his hands.” I cringe again. “I mean, I’m a woodworker. Got a workshop set up in the back.”
I lift my chin, indicate the house next door and the hidden workshop in the backyard.
“Oh, handy. My place needs a lot of work.” Sage bites down on her lower lip and glances over at the house. “Dad said you were someone I could trust, so I might come knocking if I need any help.”
Keep it cordial, Owens. No use getting close to temptation and burning down bridges you built a long time ago. She’s off-limits, and that’s that.
I don’t trust myself to speak, so I give her a gruff nod before I stomp to my car and resume what I was doing before I almost ran over Andy’s daughter—I get back to work.