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I scowl at the ground and kick an innocent stone.
Fine. I like her.
Soft, hesitant until she forgets that, smart, and all levels of intrigue just waiting to be uncovered.
Well, I decide, pushing that to one side and starting the generator, one good thing with my brother and Dakota wanting to stick their nose in things; Mrs. Burns-Downs—which is endlessly amusing to me, putting her last names like that—brought a whole host of food. I know it was her. Lawson would have made do with boxed mac and cheese—which he finds funny because he’s an idiot—canned soup, and whiskey.
With that, I head in and decide against betting myself if I can keep my hands to myself.
I’ve got a feeling I’m losing that bet.
* * *
After dinner, I stretch out on the floor, Sidney next to me. She has wine she found and damn if it isn’t good. It definitely goes great with the food from Dakota, and I have whiskey. I take her in.
She’s wearing yoga pants in black with a T-shirt that says Vicious on it, which she’s anything but. She wiggles her bare toes.
“Thanks for dinner.”
I hide my smile behind the glass of whiskey I have. “I didn’t want you to starve. Heard rumors about New York.”
“You spend a lot of time listening to rumors and gossip.” She tilts her head, a thick lock of her burnished gold hair slipping over her shoulder as she does so.
“Small towns do that to you. I meant how people don’t cook there.”
She laughs a little. “They do. There’s a lot of take-out and delivery options, and apartment kitchens are often small.”
“See. You might have starved.”
I turn to face her, and I could spend a whole lot of fucking time looking at her.
She takes another sip of wine. “And thank you for letting me stay here, you know, until the part for my car comes.”
I hide the little twinge of guilt. I’m doing this for her own good, keeping her safe. Because until I know the whole story, I don’t know when that will be.
“I’ll get us on the grid tomorrow.” I pause. “When I say us, I mean you.”
“Will the generator hold?” she asks almost hesitantly.
“Yeah, it will. The thing crapping out is my fault. But . . . sometimes it can happen. I’ll show you what to do.”
Sidney doesn’t speak, like she’s mulling it all over. Like she has options. She doesn’t because I’m not giving her any. “I like it. Being off the grid. It’s nice. As long as I can hotspot or have the internet.”
“I have that here already, and we’ll still get the power up and running. Because I want you to stay as long as you like.”
Considering her, I roll the parts of her around in my head, and she continues to slide close to what I figured and completely not fit at all.
She surprises me, this woman, and I like that. I know if I told her she’s like a classy, vintage engine, like my Jag’s, she’d be insulted. But it’s a fucking compliment. The Jag is elegant, down to her last nut and gasket, and that sleek creature’s pure beauty, sexy and classy, and one that needs to be treated right. And one that can take the knocks like the toughest of trucks.
I wouldn’t. The Jag doesn’t deserve that. She deserves a deft and loving touch, a man who understands her but one who knows she has more surprises and depths. And I want to put in the time.
No, it’s more than that. I want to take the time.
I want to find out what makes her really purr. How to make her sing. I want her to respond to my touch, and give her all, just like I do for her. I’ll fucking work at it forever, fine-tuning, even when she’s ready to take me for rides, shining like the stunner she is.
I kind of feel that way about Sidney.
I do feel that way.
