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“What’s wrong with your truck?”
“Oh, she speaks.”
Sarcasm drips from my lips because I know she heard me tell Reed about the transmission. Apparently, I’m a recent convert to masochism because I’m looking forward to her vitriol-filled comeback, but Lil Bit doesn’t respond. Eventually, I give in. “Bessie was doing fine, then started jerking. Seemed like the tranny was slipping.”
“Bessie? What is she?”
I swear I hear a smile, but when her head pops up, her lips are pressed straight. But trucks seem to be an interest, so I indulge her. “Ninety-six Ford F-250, Power Stroke diesel.”
Lil Bit hops off her stool, her thick-soled boots making a small thud. Her hands go to her coverall pockets as she eyes me. I’m not sure what measure she’s taking this time, but I’m eye-fucking the shit out of her. She moves toward me, and my cock stands up at hopeful attention. But she simply frees one hand, holding it out palm-up. “Keys?”
I don’t question it, just drop them into her outstretched hand as she passes me by. She pulls open Bessie’s door and literally hops inside. Vaguely, I wonder how many things she has to hop up on and down from in a day.
A second later, the loud engine breaks the silence. Lil Bit looks thoughtful, and I realize she’s listening to the chug-chug-chug sounds as if they hold the secrets of the world. Hell, maybe to her, they do. To me, it sounds like a truck. Loud and ready to work, except I know Bessie ain’t doing so well once she gets in drive.
A four-door sedan pulls into the lot, drawing my eye. I can see Marla, Katelyn’s assistant, waving at me. She’s a good helper for Katelyn, though I know more of her from Katelyn’s stories than I actually know Marla. This makes the third time I’ve ever met her face-to-face. Luckily, the other two times, she rambled nonstop about her husband and twin girls, and I assume today will hold more of the same and I won’t have to say a word.
I lift two fingers in a wave to Marla and the truck silences.
Lil Bit hops down again, walking toward me already talking. “I’ll take a look at her. It’ll be a couple of days before I can get to it, though. Once I’ve done diagnostics, I’ll call before I fix anything to get approval on the charges. Number?”
She puts the keys in her pocket, smart businesswoman taking the truck hostage until I agree. But I’m desperate and she knows it.
I’m not usually one to be at a disadvantage with anything, and certainly not with women. But damned if she doesn’t have me dead to rights intrigued, and she seems wholly unaffected by me.
“Sure. There’s a business card for my boss in the visor. Call him to approve the money stuff.”
Lil Bit nods and keeps on walking, past me and right back into the garage. She grabs a chain off a hook and the door rolls down between us. A loud click sounds out, letting me know she’s locked the door. It reassures something in me that she’s locked safely away for the night to watch the baseball game she didn’t want to explain to Reed.
Dismissed and striking out just as badly as Reed, I amble toward Marla’s car. Just before I get in, heavy metal music starts blaring again and I look up to see Lil Bit watching me leave through the row of glass windows in the blue garage door. Maybe not a complete strikeout, then?
I expect her to jump, maybe act like I didn’t bust her clear as day looking at me. She does nothing of the sort. She simply stares at me as I fold my long legs into Marla’s sedan.
Chapter 2
Brody
“Thanks, Marla.” I’m back to one-word responses with bare pleasantries. I was right. She talked about her girls and husband the whole time so they’re literally the first words I’ve said to her.
“No problem, Brody. Katelyn is finishing the setup for the breakfast meeting in the morning, so she might be a while. Grab a beer and dinner in the bar. I’ll let her know where you’re parked.” She hustles off, and I can almost see her tick off the item on her mental to-do list. Pick up Brody . . . check. Deliver to resort . . . check.
I pull my cap off, curling the brim, and slam it back on my head. I’m not dressed for the resort bar. It’s not what most folks would consider fancy, but around here, it’s as fancy as it gets. And as Lil Bit reminded me, I’m wearing dirt like an accessory from head to toe. Deciding I don’t give a fuck because a beer sounds good, I head in and find a stool off to the far edge of the room where I can watch the comings and goings and not be easily seen in the shadows.
