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“Yep. Just me, Mom, and Dad. And Pumpkin now, of course.” She makes as if to walk further down the hall, but then stops suddenly and looks back at me. “Do you have siblings?”
I should’ve known the question would be returned. I debate telling her only about the person in my family I’m proud to be associated with. But she already knows about my criminal history. What’s the point in hiding my family’s?
“I have a sister and a brother. Twins, older than me. My sister lives in Nashville. My brother got sent upstate the same time I did, but his sentence is longer than mine so he’s still there.”
Not for much longer though.
“Sorry to hear that.”
I shrug. “You shouldn’t be. He deserved it. So did I.”
Paige frowns at her family photo, but I don’t think the image is what’s got her upset.
“It’s okay, Paige. No reason to worry about things you can’t change.” I step in the direction she was leading me. “Now, what did you want to show me?”
She sighs, then passes by me to stop in front of a door at the end of the hall. Only then do I notice the key code attached to the wall. Paige types in a combination too quickly for me to follow, then pushes the door open.
“Thought you might like a Halloween treat.” Paige grins over her shoulder before flipping on a switch.
Chapter Eighteen
Dash
I approach the doorway, stumbling to a stop when Paige moves to the side, revealing the contents of the room.
We’ve entered what looks to be a fully functional mechanic’s shop. The open space is large enough to accommodate at least six cars, with four currently parked inside. They’re in a range of states, from shoddy and rusted to shiny enough to be straight off the production line.
Paige faces me as she backs into the room, a satisfied smile playing at the edges of her lips. I can’t decide if she’s an angel leading me into heaven or a demon enticing me towards hell.
This room is my addiction personified.
I ache to climb behind the wheels of these cars, all classic Chevy’s, I now realize.
Paige solidifies my guess. “This is my mom’s workshop.” She wanders over to a royal blue muscle car, likely a Camaro, and trails her hand across the gorgeous body.
I don’t know if I’m more jealous of Paige or the car.
“Come here. She’s almost done with the ’63 Corvette.”
Like a drunk, I stumble farther into the garage on shaky legs.
Paige moves to the other side of the blue, where a golden Corvette sits prettily.
“Do you know much about classic cars?”
I shake my head. “Only what I’ve read. Never got to work with any.” Uncle Mike had clear ideas about who handled what, and he did not take it well when people deviated from his rules.
“Well, living with my mom, it’s hard not to pick up on random facts. See here…” Paige glances over at me and rolls her eyes when she notices how far away I’m standing from the beautiful pieces of machinery. “They’re not going to bite, Dash. Come here.” She strolls up to me, grabs my hand, and drags me right up beside the golden Corvette. “Fun fact, the designers of the ’63 had some debate over body style. There’s this ridge here”—she reaches to the middle of the low roof, where there is a ridge smoothly rising like the car has a spine—“and one of the designers demanded that it run the entire length of the car. Which means”—she traces her finger along the ridge toward the back of the car, and when she reaches the rear window, I realize the peculiarity—“the back window is split right down the middle.”
Paige lets her hand drop, and steps away, running her eyes over the entire car.
“It’s beautiful,” I mutter my appreciation, barely able to get the words past the lustful fog in my brain after watching the stunning woman at my side stroke a car while reciting facts about it.
Has she been studying up on my wet dreams?
“Beautiful, yes. Practical? Not exactly. Here, sit in the driver’s seat.”
Oh fuck. When Paige moves to open the driver’s side door for me, it’s like being fondled through my jeans. I wonder if she has any idea how sweet a torture this is. From the innocent excitement in her eyes, my guess is no.
