Page 29 of Feel It in the Air

“Gus, seriously? A muscle car? I didn’t take you for a…” I wait for her to finish that statement. “That kind of guy.”

“I’m not,” I tell her. “But twenty-one-year-old Gus? He was convinced that this car was the shit and had to have one. Because it was going to bring in all the chicks. So, that’s what I went out and bought. A 1971 Plymouth Barracuda, in Glacial Blue.”

“It’s so…so…”

“Pretentious? Cocky? Obnoxious?”

“I was going to say out of character,” she offers. “I’ve been under the impression you were a lot more serious than a seventy-one Barracuda would suggest.”

Out of character… I’ll take it…

“Hux went with douchey the day I brought it home. They gave me so much shit for buying this car. And the more they did, the more I dug my heels in. I was all Tom Petty and ‘I won’t back down’ about it.”

“Wow, such a badass…”

“I was. A real badass,” I chuckle, the sarcasm dripping off my words. “Twenty-something Gus Hayes, badass extraordinaire.”

“And did it? Did it bring in all the chicks?” Margeaux mocks, playfully knocking me with her shoulder. I take the jab, knowing I deserve it. I opened myself right up to it by admitting to that. I’ll take a jab from her any day though, as long as it keeps her right here with me.

“I did okay. But sadly, it did not have the ROI that I had hoped for.”

“Yet, you’re still driving it…”

She circles the car, lazily dragging her middle finger along the hood. I follow, my eyes glued to her backside, desire coursing through me as I watch her ass in her perfectly fitting jeans. Margeaux Finnegan might be the only woman I know who isn’t turned off by the fact that I just used ROI in everyday conversation, and that fact has me amped up even more.

“Because it’s still a cool car, Margeaux.”

She stops at the passenger side door, cocking her hip to the side. I take the hint, unlocking the door and opening it for her. “Yeah, if you’re Richard Hammond.”

My jaw goes slack as she lowers herself into the seat. Did she just…? No. I’m hearing things. Unless she’s even more impressive than I thought. Which is going to be hard to beat.

Holding the door open, I lean down until we’re eye level, her emerald irises flickering in the evening light.

“You know who Richard Hammond is?”

Her cheeks tinge pink and I see the realization hit her that she didn’t mean to admit that out loud. She’s so damn cute like this that I have to fight the urge to kiss her, and at the rate I’m going, I don’t know how much fight I have left in me.

“Were you going to drive me home?” she deflects.

Nice try…

“Not until you tell me how you so easily name-dropped a rather obscure English TV car show host,” I prod.

“I lived in Amsterdam, remember?”

Oh…yeah…

“And my little brother Louis is a huge Top Gear fan…” she mutters.

Slamming the door, I run around the front to my door, barely containing my desire to do my best Dukes of Hazzard impression and slide across the hood. For all the excitement buzzing through my veins right now, I still need to maintain some sense of decorum. Not to mention, Ken Noble, the town mechanic who has helped me keep the ’cuda up and running all these years, would have my balls if he ever caught me doing such a thing.

Firing up the engine, I listen as she purrs, the rumble coursing through the car, adding to the excitement of the evening. Time to take this beauty for a ride. Both the car and the amazing woman to my right.

“Well, here’s to Tom Petty-ing it.” Margeaux holds up her fist, knuckles out, waiting for me to reciprocate.

Holy shit. She really is perfect…

I bump my fist against hers, then put the ’cuda in drive and peel out of the lot. Margeaux squeals, grabbing my arm, and I already wish I hadn’t agreed to take her home. Maybe I can find the long way back to Hayes House. If there is such a thing.