Chapter Twelve
Brew
I lead her out into the parking lot and to my truck.
“Here we are,” I say as I take the keys from my pocket.
“Whoa, this is an old truck,” she says as she runs a hand over the hood. “I like it.”
I raise a brow. “You do?”
“Yes. It’s fantastic.”
The last word I expected a woman to use to describe this old beater is fantastic .
It’s definitely a classic, and I’ve intended to restore it for years, but I never seem to find the time when I’m home, and now that I have the Corvette to tinker with this winter, it’ll be at least another year before I get around to it.
So, it sits in the garage at my house, and I take it out and drive it every time I’m in town, just to keep the engine running.
“It belonged to my grandfather, who gave it to me when I turned sixteen. That was over twenty-three years ago, and it was already twenty-two years old then. It’s not in the best shape; I’ve been meaning to find the time to fix it up,” I say as I walk to the passenger door and open it for her.
“It’s an old farm truck. I think it looks good. Besides, it’s all about the big engines in these things, not the paint job. How does a man keep a truck running for so long anyway?”
“That’s easy. He keeps it covered and doesn’t drive it like a race car,” I say as I shut the door after she gets in.
Then I walk around to the driver’s side and let myself in. I put the key into the ignition, pump the gas pedal a few times before turning it, and the old engine roars to life.
“I love that sound,” I say, looking in the rearview mirror and pulling out of the parking lot.
“Yeah, me too,” she agrees.
As we turn onto the highway, heading toward the bridge to the island, she says, “So, I’m guessing you’re, what, thirty-nine? Forty?”
I glance at her. “And how did you come to that conclusion?”
She shrugs. “Well, this is a 1980 Dodge 150 Midnite Express, and you mentioned you got it for your sixteenth birthday, which was over twenty-three years ago. I just used my power of deduction.”
“I didn’t tell you the make and model,” I point out.
“I’m a mountain girl. I know trucks,” she says.
“A mountain girl?”
“Yep. Born and raised in the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee,” she says proudly.
“And you’re here in Sandcastle Cove …” I leave the question open-ended.
“Temporarily,” she says. “I’m house-sitting for my aunt while she is visiting my cousin.”
Temporary. That’s good.
“And Erin and the other girl? Was her name Jena?”
“They’re friends from home. I’ll be here until after the New Year, but they just came to visit for the weekend.”
The New Year is months away. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
Before I have time to process my thoughts, she speaks again. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“What question was that?” I ask.
“Your age?”
“Yeah, I’ll be forty next summer,” I admit.
“Aren’t you going to ask me how old I am?” she asks.
I shrug. “Nope.”
“You aren’t curious?”
I glance from the road to her. “I know better than to ask a woman her age.”
“Hmm …”
“What was that?” I ask.
“Nothing. It just must come in handy, not asking about ages when you work at a bar.”
“Well, it’s never been an issue because I’ve never left Whiskey Joe’s with a woman before,” I reveal.
She turns in her seat and crosses her arms over her chest. “Really? You expect me to believe that?”
I shrug. “It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not. It’s the truth.”
She goes silent for a few moments.
“What made you do it tonight?”
It’s a fair question; one I’ve been asking myself since last call. What am I doing?
“There was just something about you that made me not want to end the night.”
That answer must satisfy her because she turns back toward the windshield and settles into the black leather seat.
We arrive at the end of the bridge, and I stop at the traffic light, looking at her expectantly.
“Where to?” I ask.
Her eyes widen in surprise. “Oh, I thought we were going to your place,” she mumbles. “Since the girls are at mine,” she adds for clarification.
That does make the most sense. We’d have complete privacy. But for some reason, I like the fact that she thinks I’m just a bartender. Taking her to my beach house on the east end would definitely ruin that illusion.
“Um, my place is kind of a mess right now,” I lie.
“Oh, okay. Um, I guess my aunt’s place is fine,” she replies.
I reach over and take her hand in mine, feeling a jolt of electricity at the touch. “I have it on good authority that your friends are very heavy sleepers,” I inform her, which makes her laugh.
“I’m sure they are,” she says, and she intertwines her fingers with mine, then starts giving me directions.
When we pull up to the small home, I’m shocked to find that it’s right next door to Sebastian and Avie’s cottage. Yet another sign that this might not be the best idea. I ignore my inner voice again as I park behind a large silver truck and shut off the engine.
We sit in the dark for a long time. Her thumb gently rubs a circle on my palm, and when I finally move in to cup her cheek with my other hand, her eyes shift from mine to my lips.
That’s when I lean in and kiss her. Her lips are soft and warm.
It starts as a slow, exploratory kiss, but it quickly turns into something more passionate.
I release her hand and bring both of mine to twine in her hair.
It was only meant to be a quick kiss, but before I know it, our hands are all over each other.
I’m not sure how long we make out in the truck like teenagers, but by the time we finally separate, we’re both breathless, and my cock has grown painfully hard.
Suddenly, she crawls over the gearshift and onto my lap and wraps her arms around my neck.
Then she slams her mouth against mine, and I caress her thighs that are resting on either side of my legs.
Her hips start to move against my erection.
I bring my hand between us and find the button of her jeans, and she breaks the kiss.
“Wait, someone might see us,” she pants.
“I don’t care,” I say as I pop the button.
She brings her head to rest against my shoulder as I tug her zipper down and feed my hand inside.