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Bou flipped the caps off two longnecks and handed me one. “Doc says that I’m not to let you have a beer while you are on the pain pills. But I figure that, because he told me that while you two were drinking beer, he’s not going to police you on it.”
“What can’t kill me, right?” I toasted and took a swig.
She passed me a heaped serving of cheesy pasta, placed the plate of salad and garlic bread, then slid between the chairs to sit next to me at the island. Her thigh skimmed mine as she moved into the counter-height chair. Intentional? She had plenty of space on the other side of the chair, but she chose the route closer to me.
I picked up the fork and stared down at the cheesy yumminess. Coincidence. It had to be. I was reading way too much into the situation. We ate in silence—either a tribute to how good the food was or us being awkward together. I couldn’t fucking say. Although, when she stood up, clearing the plates, and matter-of-factly announced that she was going to bed, I felt a twinge of disappointment. I’d been a fool if I thought she’d just invite me to join her, but I’d be a fucking idiot if I didn’t try and invite myself.
I gripped the edge of the counter and pulled myself into a standing position.
“Let me help you to the air mattress,” she said, tucking her shoulder under my right arm.
Holy shit, she felt so good there.
But she continued with the hospitable host talk. “I’ll bring you an extra blanket and pillow.”
Opening my mouth to say something, I realized my brain was too numb to put meaningful words together. “Fuck,” I muttered instead.
“You good?” Bou asked as she guided me into the living room in her tiny apartment off the other side of the shop.
I hummed an answer. Nothing that could be read one way or the other.
“Sure you’ll be okay on that thing?” She pointed to the blow-up mattress.
There was my answer before I could ask my question. She didn’t want me in her bedroom anymore. My gut suddenly felt like I’d taken a left hook. Disappointment seared through me, more than I’d expected it to, but I wasn’t going to force myself on her. She had enough to deal with, with me being there in the first place.
“How about you bring the blanket,” I said.
She gave me that look again, as though she didn’t quite know how to respond, and I got it. Words—they’re fucking hard.
Bou’s eyebrows furrowed almost imperceptibly before she gave me a small smile. “Thank you.” Then she disappeared into her bedroom.
Leaving the sweats in place, I swiped my T-shirt over my head and cautiously lowered myself to the air mattress. It’s a damn good thing I worked out like a fiend back at Diablo, because fuzzy-headed, one-legged squats are tough. Once seated, it surprised me that the frame held my weight. Maybe sleeping on this thing would work, but the night would have been so much better if I could have wrapped myself around that little spitfire. I sighed and reclined, one arm tucked behind my head. My feet hung off the end, so I cocked my right knee to one side to keep the cast supported on the bed.
I was already drifting when Bou marched through the door, straightening the blanket she had in her hands.
She stopped on a dime and gasped when she looked up at me. “I—ah—” Her gaze hungrily scanned my body. Then, she tore her eyes from me. “Uhm, here’s an extra pillow and blankets.” She twitched, almost threw the pile of linens at me, and turned back toward the door.
Damn my oxy-muddled brain. “Bou?” I managed.
With one hand on the doorjamb, she looked back, an entirely open expression on her face. Her lips parted slightly, making me want to bite that pouty bottom one. The moment had passed though. I’d remain there for the night, but I lifted one corner of my mouth in a half-smile. “G’night, Bou.”
15
Bou
I woke before dawn, for no reason out of the ordinary. I loved the sunrise over the desert, and I felt more alive and connected with myself than at any other time of the day or night. Before leaving, I checked on Wilde. He was sleeping soundly on the blow-up bed, the blanket half draped on him. My back thanked him almost as much as I did.
We had played the attraction dance, alternating who pushed the other away—me, when I remembered that he was on the run from the AX3, him, for who knew what reasons. I’d tried, and failed, to convince myself I really didn’t care. But then there was last night. We’d had an amazing evening and had connected on so many levels, then at the last second, I’d hurried to take myself to bed. He’d seemed disappointed when I left him in my living room to sprawl onto the undersized air mattress, but could I really invite him into my bed? Did I want to? Although, I almost lost my will when I brought him back the pillows and blanket. My mouth, among other parts of my body, had watered at seeing him shirtless and so relaxed. Thank the fates he was near asleep then and didn’t press the issue.
I made us both a breakfast of eggs and sausage, but when I went back to the living area, Wilde was sleeping so peacefully I didn’t want to wake him. He’d slept plenty since arriving here, but he needed it to heal and I knew if I woke him up, he’d be running full throttle again, despite his injuries. He tried not to let it show on his face, but I’d seen the twitches of pain when he thought I wasn’t looking and the way he favored his right arm instead of his left even though he was obviously left handed. His shoulder wound hurt him more than he admitted to. I let out a smile as I placed his breakfast on the small table next to him. Let the smell of it wake him.
I put my own egg and sausage between two sides of a breakfast muffin and headed out to the shop. That way I could multitask and work while I ate.
There wasn’t much paid work sitting around the shop now that I’d finished up with Luke’s bike. My eyes drifted over to Betty. She still needed plenty of work, but I got the feeling Wilde would prefer to work on her himself, so I began one of the long-term jobs I’d had in the shop for a while. It was an ancient bike, barely worth bothering with, but one of the old guys in town had brought it in a couple of months ago and asked me to do whatever I could with it. His budget was almost non-existent and the whole thing needed a full rebuild, but he hadn’t asked me so he could ride again. The old guy was plagued with arthritis and could barely walk, let alone ride, but I understood the assignment. He wanted her to look like she used to. He wanted to hear the purr of her engine. So, in my spare time I’d been collecting old parts from other bikes and Frankensteining something together for him. It would never be the bike he remembered, but it would look and sound like it.
Half an hour later, Wilde entered the shop with a cold sausage in his hand. “A classic if ever I saw one.”
I scoffed. “It’s a heap of shit, but it’s sentimental shit, so I’m doing what I can with it. It’s a race to see if I can get the thing working again before it’s owner croaks.”
