Hard and Fast (Fast Track #2)(13)
Author: Erin McCarthy

She opened her mouth, but Ty leaned over and gave her a soft kiss to stave off any protests. “So I’m going to get out of the car now, and I will call you tomorrow and hope like hell that you’ll agree to go to dinner with me.”

“You’re going in and I’m supposed to go home?” she asked. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yep. I don’t want to screw this up, Emma Jean. So I think we need to call it a night right here and pick up where we left off another day.” He saw things going nowhere but south if he tried to get her naked. As nervous and agitated as she looked, she just wasn’t going to enjoy herself.

“I see.”

Ty waited for her to expound on that statement, since Imogen seemed fond of using seventeen words to his one, but she didn’t. She just got out of the passenger side and walked around to his side. The rain had stopped and the glow from his garage lights turned her face a pale pearl white.

“Good night,” she said with a smile that was anything but genuine.

Shit. He knew that look and it wasn’t a good one. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said.

“Fine.”

That was it? Ty sat in the car and stared up at her, trying to read her expression. She looked irritated. Maybe even veering toward angry. Determined not to leave it on that note, Ty reached over and pulled out the first book in her bag he could get a grip on. “Can I borrow this?” he asked.

She gave him a funny look.

Ty wondered what the book was, given the incredulous expression on her face. All he could tell was that it was the one with a couple on the front of it, but he couldn’t read the title. Great, it was probably a romance novel. But he had been thinking he would take it, have his assistant order it on audio, then he could discuss the book with her. Show Imogen he could participate at her level, have a decent conversation.

So he just brazened through. “I’ve been wanting to read this,” he drawled.

“Really?” Her voice dripped with doubt.

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay. Enjoy.”

She actually opened the door then, so he had no choice but to climb out of the car. Ty brushed his legs against hers when he stood up, but she moved backward out of the way. He handed her the car keys and kissed her forehead. “I’ll give it back to you in a couple of days.”

“Sure.”

“Good night.” He gave her a smile, hoping for one in return, but she just blinked up at him behind her glasses.

Ty turned and started up his driveway, envisioning a night spent in the shower with a glob of conditioner and his hand to ease some of the tension he was feeling. It was a poor substitute for Imogen in his bed, but sending her home was the right thing to do. Painful, but necessary. Like a root canal. Definitely the right thing to do.

Her voice came calm and even behind him. “You do realize that in us attempting to avoid post-sex awkwardness all we have achieved is pre-sex awkwardness?”

Or not. Wincing, he stopped and turned, but Imogen was already in the car and slamming the door shut. In another ten seconds she was peeling out of his driveway like a circuit pro, and he was feeling a little deflated in more ways than one.

CHAPTER FIVE

“OH, my God, I’m sweating like a pig eating soup,” Suzanne said to Imogen as she did a near jog on the treadmill.

Despite her doubts that pigs actually ingested soup, Imogen sympathized. She was sporting wet circles under the armpits of her T-shirt, and she was having serious trouble breathing as she tried to keep up with the pace of her own machine. “I . . . am . . . really out of shape,” she told Suzanne, sucking in air to her oxygen-deprived lungs. “I used to walk all the time living in New York and now I just sit at my desk or in my car.”

“I’ve never been in shape,” Suzanne said. “I’ve just always had naturally good genes so I looked decent even if my lung capacity sucked. But since I turned thirty, it’s all starting to head south, and I don’t mean Florida, honey.”

“I don’t think anything is shifting on me, per se, but I suspect there are small children with greater muscle strength than me.” Imogen tried to ignore the burning in the backs of her legs as she walked. Jogging was completely out of the question. “You know it’s sad to say, but I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for the book. It says in order to be date ready for the man of your dreams, you have to exercise, drink water, and have a balanced diet.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually going to follow those steps. It all sounds silly to me.”

“Yeah, well, that is the point. To determine if it’s possible to follow guidelines in order to meet and marry a driver, or if it is simply left to the vagaries of human beings. Are there truly dos and don’ts in relationships? Or can anyone fall in love and marry for any reason at any time, essentially breaking the rules?” Imogen wheezed and tried to slow down her walking pace. That had been too many words to manage while her body was under severe strain.

“Well, I think there are definitely nos to dating. I mean, you can’t pick your nose when you meet a man and expect that he’ll fall head over heels for you.”

“True.”

“But as for a more rigid set of rules, I don’t know. I’m going to have to read this book—which needs a nickname, by the way. I can’t keep calling it How to Marry a Race Car Driver in Six Easy Steps. I think we should just call it the Man Manual. Or Six Steps.” Suzanne wiped her dewy forehead. “Let me borrow it so I can help you with your thesis. I know a ton of drivers. I can introduce you.”

Imogen sighed. “I can’t let you borrow it. Ty borrowed it from me last night.”

“What?” Suzanne squawked. “Why the hell would he borrow a manual on snagging a man?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I think he was doing it to be funny, but I’m not really sure. This was after, uh, he decided we shouldn’t have sex, and I think he was trying to lighten the mood.”

Imogen had lain in bed for two hours staring at her ceiling trying to figure out exactly why Ty had come on so strong, then changed his mind. Had he really been telling the truth that he didn’t want her to feel awkward, or had he lost interest in the face of her prying questions and blanket statements about sex? Either way, it was just mortifying, and despite her best efforts to feel otherwise, she felt rejected. Intellectually, she knew it didn’t matter, that it had been for the best, frankly, because she had been something of a wreck just anticipating how she might disappoint him. She could only imagine how disastrous it would have been if they had actually gotten to the point of removing clothing, but she still couldn’t help but feel, well, rejected.