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The contrast was clear. Lori was a tomboy playing dress up for the amusement of her neighbors. Quinn was a high society bachelor who dated models and hung out with Sting. That summed it up nicely.
Lori was no longer puzzled by Quinn’s easy suggestion that they not jump into sex. He’d been riding the wild silicone waves of women like Tessa Smith. Now he needed time to acclimate himself to Lori’s flat terrain. Regain his land legs.
Men who were interested in women like that were not interested in girls like Lori. And she’d felt so pretty during those forays into Aspen.
Shehadbeen pretty. Or maybe cute. But definitely not beautiful. Girlish, as opposed to womanly.
Lori looked down at the thick suede work gloves covering her hands, and wondered that she’d ever thought anything different. She was a pity fuck, pure and simple. How utterly humiliating.
“Miss Love?” a gravelly voice asked from the direction of the tiny garage office. She forced her heavy head up to look at Esteban. “I got the keys. I’ll be on call until six.”
“Got it,” she answered.
He turned to gather up the clipboard and paperwork he’d need, while Lori stared at his back. This was the type of man she should have set her eye on. Stocky and silent. Arms covered with tattoos. Hair shorn down to a brutal and practical buzz cut. No aspirations beyond owning a kick-ass muscle car as far as Lori could tell. Or maybe he was saving up to buy a tow truck and plow gear so he could work on his own terms. Regardless, he was one of her kind.
Though, hell, he probably liked giant fake boobs, too. They all did.
When Esteban straightened, he caught her watching and frowned. Lori frowned back.
“Lori?” Joe’s voice broke in. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“What’s going on with the chief? He sounded serious.”
“It’s nothing.”
He watched her carefully. “You’ve been acting odd. You want to talk? We could grab a beer at The Bar.”
“No, thanks.” She’d managed not to snap at the men throughout the day, or not more than normal. But she was entering the red zone of bitchiness now and just wanted to be alone. Beer, hell yes. Company, no.
She felt guilty when Joe’s brow creased with concern, but she managed to ignore it. He didn’t say anything more, just waved goodbye and crunched out onto the gravel. Esteban had vanished. She was alone.
Fitting the wrench back to the lug nut, Lori ignored the fact that the wheel blurred before her eyes and managed to get through the last five minutes of her task without letting any tears fall. Then she backed the pickup out of the bay, stowed the keys beneath the floor mat, and called the owner to come pick it up.
As soon as she’d locked up the garage, Lori hit the fridge.
“Oh, God no,” she groaned when she saw the contents. In her attempt to become a sexpot, she’d brought home a bottle of wine instead of a six-pack. The thought of walking across the street to the market made her even wearier than the thought of drinking wine instead of beer, so Lori grabbed the bottle, pried out the cork, and headed for the tub.
She felt deliciously melodramatic swigging straight from the bottle, and she needed all the delicious she could get tonight. The swigging worked. A half hour later, she was sprawled out on her old bed in the upstairs bedroom and staring blearily at the TV. Her favorite Travel Channel DVD carried her away to the canals of Venice, though she felt inexplicably grumpy as she floated along on the opaque water.
But the red wine tasted Italian enough, and the cool breeze from the open window felt like a river breeze caressing her naked arms. Then again, she probably wouldn’t be riding in a gondola wearing a wife-beater and her favorite panties.
Molly had given her a days-of-the-week set for Christmas, and though Lori hadn’t been able to find Thursday’s pair after her bath, the sparkly cursive “Saturday” still made her smile. If a bit weakly.
She was just floating toward the Grand Canal when a completely unacceptable sound rose up from the first floor. Lori turned up the volume on the TV and crossed her arms, but the knocking returned, followed quickly by the chime of the doorbell.
“Screw you,” she muttered. Quinn had probably psyched himself up and returned to take the plunge. Probably decided to just get it over with as quickly as possible. He was too nice. She never should have told him her plans. Of course he’d feel responsible for taking the task on himself, just to keep her from doing something stupid with a stranger. “Bastard.”
By the time the doorbell rang a second time, Lori was pissed again, the wine only making her anger more reasonable.
“He wants to see me? Fine.” Lori muted the TV, then took her bottle and stomped downstairs.
When she flung open the door and found Ben Lawson standing there, she didn’t miss a beat. Here was another man she was pissed at. Lori put her hands on her hips and glared. “What do you want?”
Ben’s eyes traveled quickly down her body, then back up, widening as each second passed. A pink tinge colored his cheeks as his gaze finally fixed on a spot high on her forehead. “I left you a couple of messages.”
“And?”
