13. Wade
13
WADE
“Damn it, Bernie,” I muttered as I scrubbed the worst of the dirt and grease off my hands at the utility sink.
She’d called to say she was sending August over with a late lunch for me in a few minutes and hung up before I had a chance to ask why. Dalton was there now—she could have sent it back with him. Since she hadn’t and she was a natural born shit-stirrer, it made me think that August was pissed at being railroaded into working without warning, and Bernie thought a lunchtime confrontation might be funny.
This day kept getting better.
I’d done more than drop August into a post-hurricane circus, which by all accounts she was handling like a pro. I’d also been steering clear of her for the last day or so—for both our sakes. I was genuinely up to my neck in fires to put out, but I’d also needed time to think about everything that had happened that night. To rework my plan, since a friendly, helpful neighbor didn’t usually admit to staying away from a woman for years because he wanted her.
Because it made you sound obsessed and might scare her ?
Maybe a little.
But she hadn’t been that scared, and she’d let me in too. More than she’d planned to, at any rate. All I’d known about her writing up to that point was that she hadn’t had a release out that I could purchase in a while, and Morgan was worried. Now I’d seen how much she’d been struggling with it, and blaming herself for things she had no control over. Knowing her sister and mine like I did, I was astonished neither one of them had dragged her out, whether she was reluctant or not, to go dancing or to one of those wine-and-painting parties they took each other to whenever one of them was in a funk. Maybe they didn’t realize how much better she was doing now.
That night, in the dark, I’d told her about Cody and the race. I might have shared more, but then I was touching her, and she was enjoying it. If Lucy hadn’t shown up when he did, I might not have been able to stop myself from taking more. She’d wanted me to take more. I could see it, plain as day.
But he had shown up, so I’d spent the night caught between heaven and hell, offering her a job instead of pulling her into my arms, too aware that clothes weren’t the only obstacles still between us. There were years of distance. Our family complications. My tendency to hold back and hers to rabbit and run away. She wasn’t ready for what I wanted. I didn’t know if she’d ever be.
She wanted you to kiss her. Wrapped her legs around you. That’s not nothing.
Feeling the time crunch, I dried my hands, dropped the towels in the trash and pushed open the connecting door to the small waiting area before ducking into my office. There was a high-top table under the window across from my desk, but it was covered with catalogues, car magazines, and stray parts, so I swept it all into piles on the back stools. If August and I were going to talk, I wanted to do it in private, without my desk between us .
At least I’d talked Oscar out of putting the stray and her new puppies in here for the moment. It seemed she’d looked so healthy because she was pregnant, and she’d given birth a few days before the storm. They’d made a temporary spot for her in the shed out back. Hudson’s Garage had a litter of damn puppies to deal with now. This was what I got for being a soft touch.
I was swiping down the surface with a Clorox wipe when I heard August calling me from the shop. Giving one of the stools a swipe for good measure, I trashed the wipe and headed out there.
She was standing with her back to me, so I took a moment to center myself with a deep breath.
“Hey, August. I didn’t expect you to be bringing my food,” I lied.
She spun around, holding two to-go bags and clutching a couple of brown bottles against her chest. “You scared me.”
She scared me right back. If cozy-and-casual Gus was rough on my willpower, dressed-up August was damn near stroke-inducing. I’d seen more of her legs every day for weeks, but knowing what was underneath that flowing, pretty little skirt somehow made it more enticing.
“Sorry, I was cleaning up before chow.” I held up my hands. “It’s a dirty job.”
She looked me up and down, from my sweaty cap to my scuffed steel-toe boots and all the grease-stained navy work clothes in between. “You look good to me,” she said simply, before holding out the bags. “I hope you’re hungry. I think Bernie packed enough for four instead of two.”
“You look good to me.”
With one sentence, this woman got under my skin. She couldn’t know that most of the dates Morgan set me up on over the years had looked down their noses at my calloused hands and occupation, focusing more on the fact that I owned my own businesses. My ex wouldn’t let me touch her until I’d spent an hour at the sink with Gojo and a nail brush. And even then, she complained that I always smelled like motor oil.
“I can’t remember the last time I ate, so I can do it justice,” I finally said as I took the food. “You joining me?”
“That’s the plan.”
She didn’t look angry. That was a good start. “Air-conditioned office or the picnic table out back?”
“Like that’s a question,” she said dryly, wiping the sheen of sweat off her brow with the back of her forearm.
“Office it is.” I pushed open the door and ushered her inside. Setting the sack on the table, I gave the vinyl stool I’d wiped off another look to make sure there was nothing to stain her skirt and then gestured at it. “Take a load off. I hear you’ve been on your feet all day.”
“I have and I’m not used to it yet.” She set the bottles on the table and hopped up onto the swivel seat, flexing and pointing her toes with a groan. “That’s better. I don’t think I’ve been on my feet so much in years, which is a horrible thing to admit, but there you go. If someone had warned me that I’d be kidnapped by a pirate queen and her hungry mob today, I might have worn my sneakers with the pillowy insoles.”
I winced as I took the stool beside her. “I didn’t know this would happen. I shouldn’t have volunteered the space before I was sure I could be there myself, but we’re in the center of it all and on the right side of the bridge, so it couldn’t be helped.” I sighed. “I’m missing Phoebe’s organizational skills more and more.”
Her smile when she thought about my niece was sweet and disarming. “She’s got a big fan club over there, too. If I haven’t mentioned it before, you and Bernie did a great job with our munchkin.”
“Not a munchkin anymore. I didn’t realize how much she did around here until she went on that break.” Images flashed quickly through my head at her nickname. A baby being held by a seventeen-year-old August while she was blessed by my stepmother’s friend “the shaman.” An eight-year-old in a tiara wielding a lightsaber. A young woman wearing a cap and gown.
Not surprisingly, I was having a hard time dealing with the fact that Phoebe was about to have a baby of her own.
I pulled both boxes out of the sack and handed one to her, suddenly famished. “Thank you for this.”
“Thank your sister, I’m only the delivery girl. I heard you’ve been busy today too,” she said, already digging into her potato salad with a plastic fork.
I swallowed a smile with my first chicken leg, loving the fact that she didn’t pick at her food or pretend not to be hungry in front of me. It was something I’d always admired about her. Gus was genuine. If she was feeling something, you knew it. If she was hungry, she ate. She didn’t play mind games or use her emotions to manipulate. With her job, she could have a dozen characters in her head at any one time, but she could never be anyone but herself, and didn’t try.
We ate, trading war stories from our respective days in between heaping bites of home-baked goodness. She told me about all her serving fails and near-misses, emphasizing the kindness of strangers, and I told her about the idiots who’d tried to drive across the flooded bridge and ended up flooding their cars instead. I’d towed three of them in since getting here at seven a.m. and at least one was a total loss because the owner had started it up right away, cracked a piston and effectively turned his engine into a lawn ornament.
I could get used to this. Having lunch together in my garage. Those eyes on me. Listening to her talk and seeing her smile.
That’s what I was thinking when she said, “So about the Lemons race…”
She was fiddling with her napkin nervously, though her voice was confident. “Since you apologized for your initial reaction, I’m assuming you don’t plan to try and talk me, or anyone on the team, out of my idea again.”
I chewed slowly on a bite of brisket, aware that I needed to handle this carefully. There was no way I’d try talking her out of it again. Kingston’s advice and my own conscience wouldn’t let me. But I did want to make sure she was fully prepared, informed and safe.
I needed to make sure she was safe.
Swallowing, I set down my fork and wiped my mouth with a napkin. “I have a few conditions.”
Her shoulders drooped slightly and she spoke to her lunch instead of me. “Here we go.”
Dalton chose that moment to poke his head in the door. “I’m back, boss.”
“Thanks. We’ll be in here for a bit, if you wouldn’t mind closing the door.”
“Not a problem.”
As soon as the latch clicked, I said, “Hear me out, August. If you want me to have an open mind, you need one too.”
She sighed, finally raising her eyes to mine. “That sounds fair.”
“Good. That means you’ll listen when I say I’d like to make sure the woman who hasn’t driven farther than the corner store or her doctor’s office in the last year knows what she’s doing behind the wheel. Especially that wheel. Jiminy isn’t like your automatic.”
When she glared at me, I wasn’t upset about it. I didn’t want her defeated. I wanted her determined to prove me wrong.
“I’ve driven on California freeways and Texas highways most of my adult life,” she declared. “In that car, I’ve driven through mountain ranges in rainstorms and to the end of the Florida Keys and back. Long-distance driving is a Retta family requirement. I might be rusty, but a few hours for one race should be a piece of cake. ”
“It won’t be, but experience helps, so I’m glad you have it. Do you know why it’s called 24 Hours of Lemons?”
“Because a few guys decided to make a parody of a prestigious professional endurance race in France called 24 Hours of Le Mans,” she said immediately.
“Did Wikipedia tell you that?”
“Maybe.” She was swiveling in her seat restlessly and picking scraps off her half-eaten chicken breast with her fingers.
“Well, it got it right this time, although twenty-four is stretching it. In my experience, it’s more a nine-to-five situation, with two to four drivers splitting their time on the track, roughly two hours at a time. After a night of camping out, bragging and heavy drinking, they have another eight hours to look forward to. It’s slightly easier to navigate at that point, since half the entrants are gone by then.”
She stilled, listening closer now. “Why so many?”
“There’s either a crash or a breakdown that can’t be fixed in the paddock in one day, or the teams are too hungover to be worth a shit on the track.” I thought about if for a second and added, “Some of them just decide to go home. One day is enough for them.”
“You’re making it sound easier than I thought it was going to be, not harder. I’m not sure what you’re worried about.”
That was what I was afraid of. She needed to take it seriously.
“It’s still a real racetrack, August. The first day you’ve got more than a hundred cars going over a hundred miles an hour. Some of the vehicles are decorated more for show than speed. Debris can and will come flying at you, possibly obstructing your vision as you navigate every sharp turn. Half of the cars are shit, by design, and parts have been known to fall off right in the middle of the track. You’ll have to keep an eye out for those too. There are always new drivers, and there are always accidents, from simple bumper taps to actual wrecks. Don’t make the mistake of thinking this is easy. ”
She’d gone pale as my words sank in. “You said my experience would help.”
“It will, but I can give you more.”
Her eyes flickered to my mouth and I swallowed a groan.
“I don’t race,” I managed after clearing my throat, “but I know experienced drivers that could help give you the edge you need. And I’ll be familiarizing you with what’s under the hood. I assume you know that Jiminy’s engine is in the back end instead of the front?”
“I did know that, thanks,” she said sarcastically, before narrowing her eyes again. “Wait, you want me to work on the car? I said I could drive, not rebuild a carburetor.”
“Nothing in that car needs to be repaired. The last time I was allowed to work on it, it was in exceptional condition.” I eyed her, so she’d know I was aware that she’d been taking it to a competitor since she’d owned it. “I don’t need you to fix or touch anything. I only need you to be able to point it out.”
“Did you make Gene do this?”
“I did. No one gets behind the wheel until I’m sure they know enough about what they’re doing to not get themselves killed or destroy all my hard work.”
She grinned suddenly. “You sound like you’re about to make me stay after shop class if I get caught not paying attention.” When I gave her a stern look, she chuckled. “I’m listening. You’re the boss, Motor Daddy.”
The challenging look in her eye told me she was doing that on purpose. My mouth went dry and my pulse revved up at the images flitting across my mind’s eye, most of them having to do with my desk and that skirt tossed over her head. But now wasn’t the time. Damn it.
“This is serious, August,” I said severely.
She stuck out her tongue and then sighed. “Are you really upset about me selling Jiminy to the team? ”
“Not anymore,” I said carefully. She didn’t need to know how much I dreaded tearing out the interior. “I have some good memories attached, that’s all.”
“I do too,” she admitted. “But a car that has driven from sea to shining sea multiple times now sits in my driveway collecting dust. I take him around the block occasionally, but Jiminy deserves better than that. A second life as an endurance race car sounds pretty good to me.”
“You make a decent point,” I conceded.
“I hope so. I’m also hoping this race and that car aren’t why we haven’t said more than two words to each other since the other night. Even though you said we needed to talk,” she added with a pointed look.
This was the conversation I’d been expecting since Bernie told me she was coming.
I sat back and pulled off my cap, scratching the back of my head with a sigh. “I had some considering to do,”
“I knew you’d have second thoughts after the pool?—”
“Nope. No second thoughts,” I corrected quickly.
She stared at me. “Then what? Do you think I’ll instantly expect a serious, committed relationship if we revisit that…conversation? Because I can tell you right now that I won’t.”
Her lack of expectations was not the selling point she thought it was, though I had no idea how to convey that without scaring her off. I didn’t want to trip over my tongue and say the wrong thing again.
“That’s not even on my radar,” she continued obliviously. “I don’t want or need romance. In fact, the only person I might demand a romantic proposal from is Professor Todd.”
What the hell? “Why would Phoebe’s boyfriend be getting romantic with you?”
She rolled her eyes. “I want Todd to propose to Phoebe , not me, you goofball. And not by mansplaining their finances or getting his judgmental grandmother to vouch for his better qualities. Both of which he’s already tried to do.”
I was aware of the man’s failings in that area—he was an art professor that had won her over with poetry, then lost his mind as soon as he learned about the baby—but something August said caught up with me. “You don’t want or need romance? Are you sure about that, Gus? Remember, I’ve read your books. The mate marks and the soul bonds. For fantasy, there’s a lot of romantic notions in there.”
“That’s fiction for entertainment purposes only,” she said, her cheeks going pink. “I’m too cynical for it now, but Phoebe isn’t, and she deserves it.”
She thought she was cynical. “The stray in our shed just had puppies. Maybe Todd could bring her one and soften her up. Phoebe loves puppies. Would that be romantic enough?”
“I suppose it would be a good start. But only a start. He’s going to have to up his game to make up for his previous failures. We’re talking Jumbotrons and Lucy-style flash mobs.”
“Maybe I can sway him in the right direction.” I grinned and picked up my bottle. “So, what do you deserve?”
She looked startled. “You might be the first man to ever ask me that question, if that helps answer yours. I guess at this point in my life, I don’t need flowers and puppies or soul mates and magic. I’d much rather have honesty pools, orgasms and comfortable shoes.”
I shouldn’t have taken a drink after asking that question, because her answer had me choking on it.
“Do you need the Heimlich now?” she asked solicitously, leaning closer to pat me on the back. “Sorry about that. Chick—did I mention he’s flying here in a few weeks for a visit? Anyway, he doesn’t have a filter or believe in TMI, and I think it’s rubbing off on me.”
I waved her off, my mind racing. Chick was coming here? “I’m good. At this point in my life, I like a woman who knows what she wants.”
She made a face. “Well then, you’re out of luck, buddy. Because other than you, I have no idea what I want. I only know what I need to do. Get the house ready. Finish my book. Join this race.”
“Other than you.”
I could see the moment she realized what she’d let slip. And when she decided not to take it back.
Maybe I hadn’t been looking at this from the right angle. She might not be ready to meet me where I was, but we did have something in common. We both desired each other. Denying it would be a waste of energy when it could be another link in the chain instead. The next part of my plan. Friendly neighbor with a bonus, if not full benefits.
“You want me, August?”