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“Yeah,” Sean said. “That’s what Tom called it. A Willie G.” He shrugged.
“You’re lying.”
Sean laughed. “I’m really not.” It was clear at this point that Delaney knew far more about motorcycles than he did. “Why?”
“Harley only made about eight hundred of those,” she said. “If you really have one, you have a gem.”
“No shit?” And all this time Kim had called that bike junk.
“Does it run?”
“About as well as I do.”
“Ha.” She ran her hands through her hair, pushing back the dark waves that curled around her ears. It was a habit she had that Sean had noticed and grown fond of. “Which means the Willie needs work.”
“Ouch.” Sean walked over to the coffee table, retrieved his whiskey and threw it back. What the hell. Couldn’t let it go to waste. “We won’t know how much work until we run the 10K. I’m off tomorrow. You game?” He couldn’t believe he was actually bringing up the rematch; either Delaney had forgotten or had decided to let it go, and there went Sean, opening his big mouth. Even though he preferred middistance and had felt pretty sure of himself when they’d made the bet, his resolve was now faltering.
She stretched her arms over her head, looking sleepy. “I’m game, if we go early. And I’ll even sweeten the pot. You win, I’ll fix up your Willie, free of charge.”
“Um.” Sean couldn’t resist, his tongue loose on whiskey. “My willy is just fine, but if you’re offering...”
Delaney laughed so hard the gravel in her voice came out like an undercurrent. “The bike, Callahan. I’ll fix up your bike. The labor, that is. You have to buy the parts.”
“Seriously? Then let’s postpone the race. Give me time to train.”
“Nope.” Delaney cocked her head to the side. “One-time offer. Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll definitely take it.”
“What do I get when I win?” She pushed her chin out.
“Whenyou win?”
Delaney grinned. This might’ve been the first time Sean was treated to a full-on, unrestrained smile that lit up her whole face.
Leave it to facing an impossible footrace to realize you have so very little to give. The best Sean had to offer was his job. He’d hunt that motorcycle thief to the ends of the earth, both because Sean always got his man and because he wanted Delaney to have her dad’s bike back. His talents ended there, and because he was likely to lose this race, he had to be careful about what he offered. “I’ll make you dinner,” he heard himself say. As soon as the words left his mouth, the heat of the bourbon crept up the back of his neck. Not only were his culinary skills limited to sandwiches and boxed mac ’n’ cheese, he’d just reminded himself not to get too close, too fast. He wasn’t worried, though. There was no way in hell Delaney was going to agree.
Then she stuck out her hand. “Alright, Detective. Deal.”
