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“Not for me, apparently.”
“Brad—”
&n
bsp; “No, I get it. Furtive night fucks are one thing. Kisses in the morning another.” His tight smile as he turned away made her ache for him, and this time not just his body. “I’m on my way to work. Catch you later, babe.”
She frowned and stared at his retreating back. “Wait a second. I have to go into work today. Who’s going to stay with Kim?”
“I’m not a damn invalid!” Kim yelled, clomping up the stairs.
Sara rushed to help her. Brad had already slammed his bedroom door. So much for his being interested in helping his sister. He was probably poking the eyes out of the stuffed macaw Sara had bought him at the sanctuary gift shop a few weeks ago. Right then, she didn’t blame him.
As she helped her best friend shuffle to the bathroom, she heard Telly’s distinctive call from the bedroom. “Oooh, uhh, ooh!” Not again.
Kim’s eyebrows knitted. “What’s up with your bird?”
Sara’s face flamed. “He’s hungry. I forgot to bring up his food from downstairs.”
“Come in hard!”
She yanked on Kim’s arm. “Hurry.”
“Sounds like he’s horny, not hungry.” Kim elbowed her in the ribs. “Maybe he needs a woman. Aww, a pair of lovebirds. Wouldn’t that be cute?”
She nudged Kim up the hall. “No. The bird’s celibate.”
“Huh. Sounds like you lately.”
Sara licked her lips as Telly started chanting about coming again. A small smile curved her lips. “Yeah. Like me.”
Sara turned up the radio and tapped her hand on the wheel to Joan Jett as she drove home from work. It had been a four-aspirin kind of day. A potential patron had pulled out of the benefit at the last minute, leaving her with a hole to fill. The fundraising dinner was a big part of what kept the sanctuary going, and donors were hard to replace this close to the event. She’d spent way too long trying to come up with a solution, though she’d finally zeroed in on a potential target. Then she’d had a grant proposal to review. After two hours of fine-print fun, she’d gone with the two-fisted remedy of a raspberry latte and a chocolate bar. Even her usual stress buster of visiting the simulated rainforest hadn’t helped. Irritable birds and a cranky Sara apparently weren’t a good mix.
Now she’d have to spend the night sequestered in her room, listening to her bird recount the previous night’s lovemaking. Talk about creepy. And embarrassing. She would not succumb to lustful urges, even those provoked by her sex maniac conure. She’d wanted time to think, to mull, as it were, and she was taking it, calmly. There would be no drama in her love life or her household.
Ohmmm.
She cruised down the big hill that led to home, trying to concentrate on the breeze in her hair and the pleasant fact that her cold had receded to a mild tickle at the back of her throat. Everything was going well. Super, actually. As soon as she got home, she’d kick off these heels from Hades, shed the pencil skirt and dig out her fuzzy bunny slippers. She’d make a big green salad and—
Her damn car had stalled at the stop sign at the bottom of the hill.
Exhaling deeply, she turned off the car and turned it back on, fully expecting the engine of her sedan to roar to life. Veronica had never been anything but reliable, even on the long drive across the country. She didn’t believe for one moment that she would pick today of all days to break down.
She cranked the engine twice more and got nothing. Not even a stupid click.
“Goddammit.” She climbed out and gave Veronica a good kick in the tires. Now what? She was only a quarter mile from home, but what about her heels? She really did not relish walking any distance in them. And what about her car? Maybe Triple A could come check it out. If she had Triple A, which she no longer did since she’d been encouraged to drop it by her sexy, way-too-persuasive, entirely-too-good-with-his-hands roommate who insisted he’d be able to service her vehicle whenever she needed it.
Except right now, when she happened to be avoiding him like some adolescent girl with a crush.
“Suck it up, buttercup,” she muttered, her thumb hovering over the number Brad had programmed into her phone for his shop.
A screech of brakes made her look up to see Kim’s next door neighbor’s bright blue Mustang idling behind her poor car. Derek wasn’t a bad guy, he just happened to be the type she’d learned to steer clear of at all costs. He flashed a blinding, fake smile at disturbingly frequent intervals, had a bad comb over, and possessed the requisite grabby hands. Not to mention the hot car he drove that was supposed to magically erase twenty years and add approximately three inches of penis length.
But maybe he could take her to a service station that wasn’t Brad’s. If so, she might rethink her less than flattering assessment.
“Hey there, little lady,” Derek said in a booming voice as he slithered out of his car with a creak of arthritic knees. “Your spark plugs a little dusty or something?”
Or perhaps not.
