Dirty Distractions (14 page)

He’d made it down three steps when her voice stopped him. “Thank you for my car. I started it and she’s running like a dream. Are you sure you don’t want me to pay you?”

He continued down the steps. Looking at her was too damn painful. “No. You’ve already done enough.”

Normally she would’ve avoided Brad until their disagreement faded with the passage of time. Except she happened to have real, strong feelings for him, ones that had made themselves painfully known the instant he’d told her it was over. Plus there were the logistical issues of living with the man who’d broken up with her. Her best friend was acting odd too, which Sara suspected had more to do with
her
strange behavior outside Brad’s bedroom that morning than Kim’s new boyfriend’s supposed “performance issues”. From what she and Brad had heard last night, he’d performed just fine.

Basically, everything was fucked up, and since she was responsible for some of—most of—the mess, she’d have to figure out how to make things right. Talking wouldn’t do it. Empty promises that disappeared when her innate desire to cling to the status quo overrode everything else definitely wouldn’t. She needed to act.

She started with lunch.

At noon, she dropped off five sacks of sandwiches, chips and sodas at O’Halloran’s. When she walked in the door, all conversation stopped like last time. The guys looked up from under the hoods of the cars they were working on and away from their clipboards. And stared.

“Brought some stuff for you all to eat, if anyone’s hungry.” She maintained her mega-watt grin as she dumped her sacks on the counter.

No one moved. Or spoke.

Finally the tech she remembered as Kevin ambled over from the classic Chevelle he had on a lift, scratching his stomach through his misbuttoned work shirt. “Are you looking for Brad? He’s out back talking to a customer.” He aimed a wink over his shoulder at one of the other guys. “Real pretty one too.”

She nearly groaned aloud. Pretty? Already? God, she couldn’t catch a break.

Even so, she wouldn’t lose sight of her objective in coming here. Being with Brad had helped show her that she still lived in a lot of boxes, and the time had come to break free.

She’d visited the shop a few times before yesterday, and his men had always treated her as if she were a possibly hostile visitor from another planet. Always polite, yes, but also wary. Before she’d accepted that as the way things were. Now? It seemed imperative that she make friends with these men. Or at least try.

Still smiling, she reached over the counter to turn up the radio one of the other mechanics had lowered upon her entrance. “I’m looking for all of you, actually. And please, don’t turn off the music on my account. I loved Brad’s show last night.”

Kevin returned her smile. “Yeah, he has this thing about singing near closing time. It started as a joke—now he does it whenever the shop’s empty. Me and the guys join him sometimes. ‘Course only Woody has a decent voice. The rest of us sound like a bunch of warbling cats.”

“Cats in heat,” one of the other guys put in.

Sara laughed. “I don’t believe that. Why don’t you sing something for me?”

“You expect us to sing for our supper, huh?” He leaned in close and added, “Is this payment for that super rush job the boss did for you?”

Was it her imagination or were Kevin’s eyebrows wiggling? “Nope. Just thought some hardworking men needed a good lunch. And maybe I was hoping for a free concert.”

“This ain’t no barbershop quartet, lady.”

Since she could tell Kevin was teasing, she cocked her head and batted her lashes. “Come on, don’t be shy. I’ll sing with you.” The words were out before she could stop herself, then she shrugged. What the hell?

“Oh really? What are you going to sing?”

She flipped the dial on the old-fashioned radio until she came to Aretha Franklin’s “Respect
”
. She lifted a brow. “How ‘bout it, boys?”

“You heard the lady. Hit it,” Kevin said before starting to sing in a high falsetto that made her laugh again.

A couple of the other guys picked up the song, clearly trying to outdo each other while they worked. True to her word, she sang with them. She even swayed her hips a bit at Kevin’s impatient gesture for her to dance.

By the end of the song they were all laughing, the tension broken. Everyone crowded around to grab a sandwich and she grinned, happy she’d made inroads. It was a start.

“Sara. What are you doing here?”

She braced at Brad’s crushed gravel voice and looked over her shoulder. He stood in the open garage door at the back of the row of car bays, arms crossed over his broad chest. Waiting.

Whether he wanted an explanation or for her to leave, she didn’t know. She walked toward him, determined not to flee like the coward she’d become recently.

Not anymore.

“Hey.” A sudden blast of wind tossed back her hair, and she twisted it into a quick, makeshift bun. It gave her something to do other than stare at the partial handprint on his previously pristine white shirt. Though logically she knew his “pretty” customer hadn’t dipped her hand in motor oil and tried to feel him up, she couldn’t help imagining the worst. How could any woman seeing that incredible body in tight, faded jeans and a snug T-shirt not want to get dirty with him? “Your guys are nice.”

“Since when?”

Since his impassive face never changed, she wasn’t sure if that was a rhetorical question or a joke. Or a slight. Probably a slight. “I wanted to get to know them a little. We sang together.” She shrugged. “It was fun.”

“Are you slumming on your lunch break or is there a problem with the car?”

“You’re convinced I think less of you no matter what I say.”

He jerked his shoulder. “Can you blame me?”

“Yes, I can blame you.” In fact, had she not been an advocate for non-violence, she might’ve been tempted to sock him in one of his ridiculously muscled biceps. “You’ve done very well for yourself, and any woman would be proud to be on your arm.”

“Any woman but you,” he said, clenching his jaw.

“Don’t put words in my mouth. You’re doing a hell of an impression of a guy who doesn’t know his own worth right now, and that’s not the Brad O’Halloran I know.”

“I’m not ashamed of what I do. I’m great at it, and I make a decent living. So do my men.”

“So don’t put that between us too. We have enough there already.”

He gave her a long, searching look, the kind that made her want to do something utterly foolish and female. Like throwing herself into his arms. “Sure there isn’t something wrong with the car?”

She shook her head. “No, I told you she’s running like a beaut. Whatever you did made her purr.” She looked at the fists he’d tucked into the crooks of his elbows. “Magic hands, like you said.”

He moved past her to the long, wraparound counter against the wall and wiped his hands on one of the rags that seemed to be everywhere. “Yeah, well, they’ve lost their touch recently.”

Though it cost her, she didn’t approach him. “Says who?”

His head rose and his glittering, blue-gray eyes sheared her straight to the bone. “I’ll ask you once more. Why are you here?”

“I brought lunch.” Pathetic save. But dammit, his expression didn’t just make her quiver from anxiety. It was hot and intense, filled with a range of blazing emotions that ached inside her too. She’d screwed all of this up so badly, and all she wanted was a chance to make it up to him. To show him they were still friends, that she still cared.

So much.

He went back to the pile of papers spread across the countertop. “Thanks, not hungry.” He got the rag up to his nose as he sneezed. Then twice more for good measure.

“Here.” She rushed over to give him a tissue from her purse, not wanting him to inhale oil or antifreeze or God knows what else from that filthy thing. “Use this instead.”

“Thanks. I’m good.” He tucked her floral-scented, lotion-infused tissue back in her designer bag with a lip curl that would’ve been a smile yesterday. Today she was reasonably certain it was a sneer.

Prissy doctor with her fancy tissue. As if she’d ever fit in here.

Except he was wrong.
She
’d been wrong. These were decent guys, no different than the ones she worked with. In fact she’d bet they wouldn’t try to cop a feel under the guise of being a “good Samaritan” like Derek had tried yesterday. They seemed more honest and sincere than that.

She leaned in to touch his forehead. A light flush rode his cheekbones, the beginnings of a fever. “You’re burning up. Let me get you some soup.”

“Why do you keep trying to take care of me? I told you last night I don’t need it.”

“Maybe I want to,” she murmured, hating that she’d reared back as if he’d slapped her. Her once sturdy backbone had gone soft if she couldn’t handle a little deserved backlash from the man she’d so callously hurt. She was still working out why she’d done it, beyond the obvious reasons.

That she was just beginning to learn the man he truly was, rather than the one she’d sketched in her mind. That of the two of them, he’d proven himself to be more mature.

That he scared her to death.

It had taken him putting the brakes on their relationship for her to understand what was truly at risk. They’d stopped being merely friends the moment he’d offered her his apple. There was no going back to the way things had been. Not when she knew how much more they could be. She needed to regain his trust—and show him she wanted him exactly as he was.

He gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles white. “You don’t need to feel guilty. I was the one who pushed you into this, and I told you I’d deal with it if it ended.”

She stepped closer and lifted her hand to his jaw, leaving it there even when his body tensed. “What if I can’t? What if I made a mistake?”

“People can see us, Sara.”

She knew that very well and was already fighting to stop imagining what his buddies would say about them together. They both had chips on their shoulders, and it was past time to knock them off. “So?”

Shaking his head, he looked at her for so long that she had to fight the urge to break his stare. Then he set his hands on her arms and nudged her back, gently but firmly. “I have to call a customer. We’ll talk later.”

Her first instinct was to nod and step away. This was his workplace, and she’d helped create this situation. Forget “helped”. It was all on her. The right thing would be to leave him be.

But when she met his gaze again, the startling color of his eyes reminded her of a fresh bruise, put there by her hands. She couldn’t stand it.

She stretched up to grab a fistful of his silky, messy hair and dragged him down for a hard, brief kiss. As their lips crushed together, she tasted his groan. Felt it echo through her body. She’d barely touched his tongue with her own when he started pulling back.

It didn’t matter. The sizzle that erupted between them the instant their mouths clashed told her everything she needed to know.

Feelings like this didn’t come along every day. She’d be damned if she gave them up—gave
him
up—without a fight. If they imploded, and he and Kim tossed her out on her ear, at least she could say she’d had the best time of her life instead of wondering
what if
.

What ifs
fucking sucked.

She touched his forearm before setting a couple of her girly tissues on the counter. “They’ll hurt your nose less. Trust me.” He didn’t reply, so she gave up and left.

From snot to hot kisses and back again. Such was the nature of their relationship thus far.

She strolled past his men, her smile never wavering. Being open and free had to get easier with practice, right? “Enjoy your lunch, guys.”

Unable to help herself, she glanced back as she pulled the glass door shut behind her. The men stared back. One thing was for sure. They weren’t gazing at her as if they didn’t get why Brad would kiss her. More like they wished they could’ve taken his place.

She grinned and tossed her keys from one hand to the other with a bravado she absolutely did not feel. Now she just had to convince Brad to give them another shot, while simultaneously convincing herself the sky wouldn’t fall if she dared to believe she had a chance at happiness.

And oh, confess to her best friend that she was pretty sure she’d fallen in love with her brother.

All in a day’s work.

Chapter Ten

Brad walked in the door at nine-thirty that night, exhausted, cranky and sore. At least he thought it was nine-thirty. He’d checked his watch a while ago, and the numbers had blurred so much that he’d guessed at the time. Thank God it was Labor Day weekend. If he’d ever needed three days off more, he didn’t remember it.

One more thing he could thank Sara for. She’d infected him with her damn super bug. Forget bug. It was more like a dinosaur, stomping him with ferocious glee.

Even though his stomach had been growling for the last hour, he bypassed the kitchen in favor of dragging himself upstairs. His room. If he could get to his room, he could die in peace.

He’d just managed to strip—minus the one sock that refused to slip off his suddenly unflexible foot—and crawl into his blissfully cool sheets when a knock came at the door.

Fuck, no.

“Leaf me be.” He moaned it into the pillow, as feebly as a drunk. The knocking continued until the door creaked open.

“Brad? It’s me.”

He didn’t know who “me” was, nor could he open his eyes to check. Someone had glued them shut and sealed his lips for good measure. He grunted some combination of words, intent on making “me” go away.

A soft, damp cloth brushed his cheek and he relaxed into the sheets. Nice. If they could spray the rest of him down with about six gallons of ice-cold water, maybe he wouldn’t roast to death in his own bed.

Sleep closed around him, a familiar old friend. One he could count on. One who wouldn’t stiletto his heart into chunks and eat them for breakfast.

His roaring stomach woke him up. He groaned and tried to rise, but gentle hands on his bare chest pushed him back down. “Not yet. You need more rest.”