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“That’s okay, Lex. Not everyone has to be a hobag like Payton here and sleep with the guy on the first night,” Jaime chimes in.
“Don’t get me started, hussy,” Payton retorts goodheartedly.
My sisters continue talking about sex, but my attention falls on the end cap I stopped in front of. I didn’t even realize I was looking at the display until this moment. A wide smile crosses my face as I grab two of everything here and throw it in the cart. Jaime glances my way, giving me a questioning look, and I just shrug.
Two little heathens are going to love this stuff.
* * *
It’s Christmas Eve when my phone rings. I took the afternoon off so I could get ready for dinner at Dad’s house tonight. Most of my clients are getting ready for their own Christmas gatherings anyway.
I’m stunned silent as I listen to my attorney share his news, a weird sense of relief washing over me. I don’t even remember writing down the information and dates he provides, but after I hang up my cell phone, I look down and find the notes I took. Gazing down at the details, I let out a squeal and hug that piece of paper to my chest.
Grabbing my purse and making sure that I have my keys, I fly out the door, heading towards the door of a big source of comfort and companionship. A sudden pang of sadness fills my gut when I realize that I’m not standing in front of my twin’s door. Instead, I’m about to knock on Linkin’s apartment, eager to share my good news with the man who is quickly becoming a great friend.
More than a friend.
Is this what Abby felt when she went all-in with Levi? A weird sense of happiness mixed with sadness? I’m excited for this budding new relationship I have (even if it’s still in the non-sexual stage), but also a little dejected that my twin sister isn’t my go-to person.
In the last week, we’ve spent every spare minute together. Well, as much as we can in between his two jobs, my job, him helping his mom with his brothers, and pre-holiday gatherings around town, which really isn’t that much time. But we’ve talked on the phone, texted throughout the day, and had a couple of late dinners while he was watching Jeff and Jack.
My knock goes unanswered, and sadness sweeps in. Should I go across the hall? I know Abby is there and would be tickled to hear my news. Hell, she’d probably start pouring the margaritas, ensuring we were heading full-steam ahead into sloshed before Christmas Eve appetizers.
But this is something I want to share with Linkin first.
So with my keys in hand, I head down towards my car. I know he’s off tonight from Lucky’s, which means he can only be at one place. With my purse thrown onto the passenger seat, I start my car and head out of the parking lot, my foot a little heavy on the gas.
The closed sign is showing as I pull into the parking lot for Stapleton Auto. Disappointment starts to settle into my stomach as I steer my car to the side lot to turn around. But as I round the building, I see his old Blazer parked by a door marked for employees. Without allowing myself any time to reconsider, I park next to his truck and turn off the engine.
The late afternoon air has a salty chill as it blows off the Bay and it has me pulling my sweater a little tighter around my neck. When I reach the door, I contemplate knocking, but decide on just trying the handle, since he could be working on something that’s loud. Of course, startling him if he’s distracted probably isn’t the way to go either.
I opt to try the handle first, deciding to knock if the door is locked. A smile graces my lips when I realize the door is unlocked. As I pull it open, classic rock music filters through the open door, instantly reminding me of the night he stripped to the old Warrant song.
“Hello?” I holler as I step inside, the heavy door slamming shut angrily behind me.
The shop is large with car parts and tools of all sizes scattered around. There’s a newer Mustang stripped down to primer in one bay and a Honda Accord with damage to the front end in another. What pulls my attention now is the sleek, sexy, and oh so dangerous Plymouth Hemi Cuda in the center of the room.
I think I’m in love.
“Can I help you?” I hear over the music just before a creeper rolls out from beneath the Cuda.
I’m struck speechless at the sight of him. He looks utterly edible in his tight t-shirt streaked with dirt and grease, well-worn jeans with grimy handprints on the thighs, and a pair of heavy black work boots that look like they’ve seen better days. But what holds my attention now is that little sliver of stomach that’s teasing me, enticing me, with its taut, tanned skin and dark little happy trail.
Oh, that delicious little happy trail.
“Hey,” he says, humor laced in his greeting.
“Oh. Hey.” I lift my gaze to land on his smiling face, a streak of grease swept across his cheek, just above his beard. Linkin wipes his hands on a red shop towel, that cocky smile ever present. My sights return to the car behind him, my fingers twitch to touch its powerful lines and sexy curves. “She’s gorgeous,” I say, unable to stop myself as I run my fingers along the hood.
“That she is.” Linkin stands up and stretches his arms above his head. I’m rewarded with another mouthwatering and panty-melting view of his stomach. This time, I catch a glimpse of that delectable V that starts at his hips and stretches downward towards his groin.
Oh, how I’d love to get an up-close, maybe even hands-on, view of that V.
“What brings you here on Christmas Eve?” he asks, grabbing a bottle of water from the counter and drinking almost half of it in one long pull. The way his throat muscles work and his Adam’s apple bobs lulls me into some sex-crazed frenzy that makes me want to hump his leg like a dog and pant like I’m in heat.
It’s embarrassing.
“Lexi?” he asks, his eyebrows shooting skyward, the corner of his lip curving upward.
