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“Nice to meet you, Joslyn. Now I have a question before we get better acquainted. Is there any reason you shouldn’t be talking to me alone in a bar?” I lean in, wanting,needing,to be closer to her. And hoping like hell she doesn’t have a man waiting for her somewhere.
“Nope. But who said we needed to be better acquainted?” Mischief lights those brown eyes and her tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip. Fuck me, I want to be the one licking that lip.
“I’m a nice guy. You seem like a nice girl. I think us getting acquainted sounds like a damn good idea.” I wink at her, and a pink blush starts at her chest and creeps up her neck to her cheeks. “What do you say? Wanna come join us over here?” Her eyes dart to my rowdy party behind us and her lips twist. I stand up and lean in close to her ear. “Don’t worry, none of them will lay a hand on you. You have my word.” Joslyn stands up, her head barely coming up to my shoulder, and looks up at me.
“I wasn’t worried about it. Lead the way.” Her fake bravado is fucking adorable. I take her hand in mine and lead her over to the table. There’s only six of us, but we make a lot of fucking noise. Everett hits Paul on the back, raucous laughter coming from all around. I feel Joslyn hesitate, but grip her hand firmly and pull her along after me. I get to my chair and drop down into it before hooking a hand around her waist and pulling her down into my lap. Joslyn stiffens and starts to stand. I put a firm hand on her hip and give it a squeeze.
“Relax, I don’t bite unless you ask me nicely.” I let my mouth brush her ear and she shudders. Everett catches my eye and raises his glass. I return the gesture, then introduce Joslyn to everyone, starting with Liam on my right. Liam is the only man here not on Everett’s crew. He’s a chef and my former roommate. Paul and the rest are on the crew, and everyone raises a glass when I point them out. A couple of them groan, watching the TV, and a cheer comes from the other end of the bar.
“What do you do?” Joslyn has to lean into me to reach my ear and I let my hand slip up to her ribcage, steadying her in my lap. I can’t help but let my mind wonder what it’d be like to have my hands on both her hips, the soft skin giving under my calloused fingers.
“Construction.” It’s not true anymore, but the rest of the men still do it, so it’s my answer. It’s been my answer for so long that I forget to say anything else. I bring my beer up to my mouth and she snatches it, taking a sip before handing it back to me. The devilish little smirk on her lips, her body pressed against mine, and my hand on her waist is a bad combination. I stare into her eyes a little too long and my thoughts wander away. I have to sit up straighter to adjust my cock in these jeans and slide her closer.
The bartender brings her another beer, but she doesn’t touch it. Her focus seems to only be on me. The place is loud, so every question requires her to press against me and I’m loving every second. For every answer, I let my lips brush her ear and watch the goosebumps spread across her neck. The bar starts thinning out and she adjusts to slide her phone out of her pocket. Her brows furrow when she looks at the screen, then her eyes dart to me.
Joslyn pulls a twenty from her pocket, tossing it on the table. I pick it up and put it back in her pocket, cupping her ass in the process. “I need to get home.” She puts both of her small hands on my chest when she leans in to tell me goodbye and my cock is at attention again. I swear this girl is going to kill me. My phone is in the truck, so I can’t get her number. I wave at Morgan and make a pen gesture. She holds up a finger, rummages through her purse, and produces a pen. It comes flying at me and I snatch it from the air before picking up a napkin and handing it to Joslyn. She adjusts in my lap, ass right over my crotch, and turns to write it down. Her shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of skin on her lower back, and I almost growl at the sight. It’s been a long time since a woman has done this to me.
“Need me to walk you out?” I ask when Joslyn turns and tucks the folded napkin in the front pocket of my jeans.
She not so discreetly glances at the bulge in my jeans, one hand on my pocket, the other on my arm. “You may wanna stay put awhile. I’ll be fine.”
Before she can pull her hand from my pocket, I grab her forearm, easing her closer to my face. “I’m gonna call you.”
Her lips are a breath from mine. “I hope you do.” I can smell her skin, make out the freckles on her cheeks, and hear the purr of her voice. If we hadn’t just met, I'd have her in the bed of my truck on her back making her scream my name. Without another word, I close the space between us and kiss her hard. She gasps and her nails dig into my arm. My hand goes to the back of her head to keep her lips on mine. When I let her go, her lips are red and swollen.
Good, now she’ll remember me.
I wink at her shocked expression. “Have a good night, Joslyn.”
“See ya around, Dax.” My name on her lips goes straight to my cock. And she knows it. With a sexy smirk, she turns, blond hair swaying, and walks out the door. I pick up the beer she didn’t touch and take a long drink. Everett catches my eyes and shakes his head, smiling like an asshole. I flip him off and finish my beer.
Chapter Three
Joslyn
Iglance back when the door closes to make sure he didn’t follow and make my way to the truck. I’m not sure if I want him to follow me out or not, if I’m honest. Dax is the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in real life. I never do things as bold as I did tonight. I also don’t drink, or go to bars, but the beer made me warm and fuzzy. Then Dax made me warm and fuzzy in other ways. I lean back against the truck and take a deep breath. It’s really a shame that I’ll never see him again. I almost put my number on the napkin, but at the last second just wrote ‘I’m sorry’ and tucked it in his pocket. I’d absolutely love to have him call me and see him again, but after the news I got today, I really can’t be focused on anything except finding a job and an apartment. I put my keys in the ignition, hesitate to think about what an amazing distraction Dax would be, and start the truck. I don’t need a distraction. I need a job and housing. That’s all. Not a big, sexy man.
I back out, trying not to think of him being mad when he reads the napkin, and pull out on the road. I glance back at O’Malley’s and see the double doors fly open, Dax looking both ways in the dim light. I press the gas harder, speeding off out of sight. A heaviness settles in my stomach and my chest tightens. We had such amazing chemistry, but so what? I was vulnerable, and he was hot. Dear god he was hot. I make it home in twenty minutes, stopping for gas and grabbing a bag of chips to soak up the rest of the alcohol on the way. Outside Wilson’s Deli, I look the place over and tears prick my eyes. Then the regret hits. I bet Dax would’ve come home with me and used that heat he was packing to make me forget everything except his name. Damn, I shouldn’t have left him like that. I unlock the front door, set the alarm, and head up to bed.
I’m staring at the darkness, decidedly not sleeping, when my phone vibrates under my pillow. I pull it out, blinking at the too bright screen and tap the email notification. The other job I applied for got back to me. I check the time and try to rationalize a job email coming through at midnight. I read the email and decide I don’t care what time it is because they want to interview me tomorrow! I email back confirming the interview at noon and tuck my phone back under my pillow. With that weight off my shoulders, I fall asleep almost instantly.
“Well?” I hold my arms out and spin in front of Mrs. Wilson. I went with a pink button up, black dress pants, and black flats. I did my makeup light and left my hair down in thick curls. I even printed off a resume to give them.
“Very nice.” Mrs. Wilson takes my hand and spins me around. “Oh, you’re definitely getting that job.” I spent the morning helping them pack things up and put discount stickers on items they need to clear out. Now I have thirty minutes to find the actual location of my interview. I wave goodbye to Mrs. Wilson and jump in the truck. I twist the key and nothing. I twist again and get a little sputter. On the third twist, I pump the gas and it roars to life. The knot in my chest loosens and I let out the breath I was holding. I check my GPS on my phone, set it for the address, and pull out. Honestly, I don’t even know what kind of business I’ve applied to work for and don’t care. A job is a job and I know I can handle administrative work. At the deli, I even wrote my own checks. The map takes me a little closer to town, has me turn off the highway, and directs me past a couple of strip malls.
By the time I get to the turn in for Thompson’s Auto Repair I’m a nervous mess. My hands are sweaty, my heart is thundering, and my stomach is flip-flopping. I try to calm my breathing and turn into the driveway. A few yards in, it forks. The sign for the garage directs me to the left, so I turn and the drive opens up to a large lot with a metal garage. There are four doors for cars and a line of cars at the first door. I find a parking place out of the way and check the time. I have seven minutes, so I study the building. It's massive and a pleasing yellow with Thompson’s Garage in bold lettering on the front with a phone number. To the far right of the bays is a small door, and I decide to start there and get out of the truck. I don’t see any people, so I walk past the row of classic cars to the door, stopping to inspect a few on the way. They’re all so pretty with hard edges and sparkling chrome. I run my hand over the top of a Thunderbird and sigh. Maybe someday I’ll have a car this amazing.
The sign on the door declares it open so I turn the knob and go in. There are chairs for customers, a desk with a laptop, a few file cabinets, and some potted plants. A window behind the desk shows cars lined in the bays and a few men in coveralls doing their job. Since everyone in the garage looks busy, I take a seat in the first chair and study my surroundings. A few certificates hang on the wall across from me and I start getting curious about the names. Nosiness wins out and I go check them out. I start at the top and my heart jumps into my throat.
Dax Thompson
Dax. Is Dax from last night Thompson? How many guys named Dax live in Forever, Tennessee? Thompson’s Auto Repair. Oh shit. The super hot guy that I blew off last night owns this garage. He said he was in construction. Right? I swear that’s what I remember him saying. I asked what he does, and he said construction. Of all the places to offer me an interview, it has to be where big, sexy Dax works. Not works. Owns. Double shit. Blood roars in my ears and I clutch the folder holding my resume to my chest. My mind races for a solution and it really only comes down to one option: I need to leave. I spin, eyes on the floor, and make it four steps before the door opens and I run into a wall. Time slows down. My resume gets crushed against my chest and I close my eyes. The familiar scent of sandalwood, sweat, and grease finds me. I know that smell, I know those boots, and when I look up, I’ll know that face. I stare at the gray jumpsuit stretched tight across his broad shoulders and drage my gaze down to his thick thighs. How is he so sexy? Damn it.
“Whoa!” A hand steadies me and the world comes rushing back to normal speed. “I’m sorry. You okay?”
“Yeah, sorry.” I keep my eyes down, but step so his hand falls from my arm. “I was just going.” I try to walk around him, but he blocks my path.
“You’re not my noon interview? Sorry I’m a little late. You know how it is when you start working and lose track of time. Have a seat at the desk and we’ll get started.” He moves to the other side and walks around to sit at the laptop. I turn on my heel to watch him stretch those long legs under the desk. He gestures again and I move to sit across from him, still not meeting his eyes. There’s a beat of silence before Dax opens a drawer, pulls out a paper, and slides it to me, tapping it before moving his hand so I can study it. It’s the napkin from last night. My loopy handwriting in the center of a heart stating, ‘I’m sorry.’
