Slow Ride (Fast Track #5)(17)
Author: Erin McCarthy

She stuck her tongue out at him. “What was I supposed to tell her? That we barely know each other but you took my drunk ass home last night? That would shock her and her Pomeranian.”

“I’m just giving you a hard time, you know.” Diesel thought she looked better. The color was back in her face and her shoulders weren’t quite so slumped. Before she’d looked like standing straight had hurt her brain.

“Are we really going for a walk?”

“Sure, why not? Fresh air will do you good.”

“Another mimosa would do me more good.”

Diesel couldn’t tell if she was serious or not. For the first time, he wondered if maybe Tuesday hadn’t just drunk too much at the wedding. Maybe she actually had a drinking problem. He might as well call her out on it and find out. “I think drinking before noon is a sign of a problem.”

“It’s already one. And everyone knows that the best way to recover from a hangover is to have a drink. Weird, but true. Don’t worry, I’m not a lush. Last night was an open-bar exception.”

He was actually relieved to hear that. He liked Tuesday. Liked her quick wit and her confidence. He found himself looking forward to their pseudo date and he’d hate to think that she had real problems. Dealing with grief was one thing; that was normal and temporary. But if it went deeper than that, Diesel wasn’t sure he was the right guy for her.

Not that he was the guy for her. In any way. Right or wrong. He didn’t think. It was just hanging out. Once.

“Alright.” He let go of her hand and opened the door for her. A blast of summer heat threatened to knock him over. Come to think of it, he could use a beer himself. “We’ll get you a drink as soon as we get back.”

“My hero.” She batted her eyes at him.

There was a bench in the shade a few feet away and she headed toward it. “Can they see us out the windows?”

Diesel checked the banquet room. “No. Why?”

She yanked the band out of her hair and sighed. “Aah. That thing was too tight.” Digging in her purse she pulled out a hairbrush. Flipping her head upside down so her hair cascaded forward, she brushed it.

He sat down next to her, feeling oddly comfortable with her. She had done more grooming in front of him than women he’d dated for months and yet she never seemed to think twice about it. He liked that about her; it was refreshing.

“It’s disgusting out here,” she said, from under her curtain of hair. “It’s so hot, it’s like being inside my microwave.”

“Don’t you mean like being inside your oven?” That seemed a more likely metaphor.

She flipped her hair back over her head and looked at him like he was insane. “No. I never use my oven, so why would it be hot in there?”

Diesel laughed. Why did that not surprise him? “So you don’t cook?”

“No. That’s what restaurants are for. Though I do bake from time to time.”

“You going to make me some cookies?” He wasn’t sure why he said that, except maybe curiosity as to what her response would be. Tuesday was hard to predict, but always entertaining.

“If you rub my shoulders right now, I’ll bake you cookies and let you eat the dough off my naked body.”

Yep. Hard to predict. He was torn between wanting to laugh and groan. The image of her with bits of batter in strategic places was hard to shake once it took hold. Diesel cleared his throat. “Well, now, what man would refuse that kind of offer?”

Her mouth opened to give a response.

Diesel stuck his hand up. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what she would say. “Never mind. Turn sideways, I’ll rub your shoulders. And I won’t even hold you to the naked part.”

She sighed in pleasure the minute his hands touched her bare skin. He shoved the thin straps of her dress to the side and dug in to her flesh and the muscle beneath. She was knotted up and tense, probably a result of restless, alcohol-interrupted sleep.

“You’re a good man, Charlie Brown,” she told him, her sigh morphing into a moan as he worked out a knot.

At the moment, Diesel was feeling more bad than good. He was sorely tempted to follow his fingers with his lips and taste her soft skin. He wanted to push her dress straps off entirely, and take the rest of the dress with it. He wanted to peel her bra and panties off and have her straddle him.

Mrs. Crandall would not approve. The Pomeranian might though. There had been a twinkle in that dog’s eye in the pictures.

“Does my hair still look wet?” she asked.

It was cascading over her one shoulder, the dark strands damp in the sunlight. “Yes.”

“Damn.” She rolled her neck as he massaged her shoulders. “So what do you do with your time, Diesel? Now that you’re not driving.”

It was an expected and legitimate question, but one that always made him stiffen defensively. He wasn’t sure why—it was just idle curiosity, but it always bothered him. Probably because a lot of days since the accident he felt like once his career had been taken away, he’d lost his sense of purpose, and that was frustrating.

“I restore old stock cars. I have a client waiting list at the moment.” It gave him pleasure, he was financially independent, and he was alive. What more did he want, right? He was content.

“Oh, really? That’s cool. It’s great that you managed to stay involved in the sport.”

He wouldn’t say that, exactly. Diesel didn’t float in the same circles anymore. His turn as a superstar driver was over, passed to a new generation the day he’d hit that wall. “It’s a living,” he told her.

“Hold back there on the enthusiasm.”

“You want me to do a cartwheel? I can’t with my knee.” Okay, that sounded surly, but what was he supposed to say? He liked his job well enough. It satisfied him, kept his hands busy. But it wasn’t particularly exciting to talk about.

“Bitterness doesn’t really suit you.”

Diesel paused in rubbing her shoulders. “Who says I’m bitter?” He didn’t really think he was. There were days he was disappointed that he hadn’t had more drive time on the track, but for the most part, he had adjusted. It was what it was, and he was damn glad to be alive with all his limbs working, even if his knee sometimes gave him hell. “I am really fortunate that working at all is a choice for me, not a requirement. I’ve had a good life so far, no doubt about it.”

“Well, it’s all going to go downhill now that you’ve met me.” She smiled up at him over her shoulder, her eyes bright and glassy in the sunlight.