Slow Ride (Fast Track #5)(46)
Author: Erin McCarthy

Nothing like pity to kill an erection. Fighting the urge to wince, he said, “Pretty, huh?”

The wreck had shattered his kneecap. The part he had now was plastic, and he’d been fighting the resulting scar tissue around it. So he’d had both an initial surgery and two subsequent ones, leaving him a network of red, angry scars, and a significant dip in one spot where the tissue had been removed.

Tuesday seemed to recover from her initial shock and tempered her expression. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It just looks . . . angry.”

That was a very accurate description of it. “I imagine it is a little pissed about being crushed. I’ve apologized to it, but it still seems inclined to be annoyed.”

“Want me to tell it to calm down?” She looked ready to beat the crap out of his knee. Considering she was standing there in just a pair of panties and there was nothing she could do about his injury, her indignation was funny as hell.

Diesel laughed. “Uh, sweetheart, no offense, but I don’t think you’re the best person to calm anyone or anything down.”

“Should I be insulted?”

“No. But what you should be doing is forgetting about my knee and putting a freaking shirt on before I bite your nipple.” Really, how much was he expected to resist? Her back was bad enough, but her br**sts, ni**les jutting out at him, was really damn challenging.

“You don’t want to do that.”

Hah. “Oh, yes, I do.”

With a speed that defied her hangover she moved away from him, a bra dangling in her hand. “You can bite me later.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

“As long as you buy me some coffee in the next ten minutes, you can do whatever you want.”

Diesel grinned. “Oh, yeah? Anything?”

“Within reason,” she amended, hooking her bra.

“That’s subject to interpretation.” Something he was going to have a lot of fun with later. But he let her off the hook for now and got dressed. “Alright, let’s roll, sexy.”

She was wearing shorts and a tank top. Whereas most women would have been content to leave it at that, Tuesday took the time to add bracelets and a necklace, then find matching sandals. There was something very finished and polished about her all the time, even when she was coming off a night of sucking down wine. He wondered if it was a little bit like armor, like her way of showing she was in control.

Or hell, maybe she just liked jewelry.

Diesel did a mental eye roll. He needed to lay off the talk shows.

She caught him off guard when she was ready to leave the bedroom and she turned to him and said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

He stared at her blankly, distracted by thoughts of wanting to kiss the back of her long, smooth neck. “Talk about what?”

“Your accident. Your injuries. I know I can be the queen of snark, but I am actually a really good listener.” Her expression was full of compassion.

He appreciated it at the same time he resented it. “Thank you, but no, I don’t want to talk about it.” He had no intention of laying all out his failures and weaknesses in front of her. She already knew he was a gimp, he didn’t need to talk about it.

She said, “Okay, I understand. But I’m here if you want a friend.”

On impulse, Diesel reached out and took her hand as they walked through her apartment.

It felt good, damn good.

They went through the drive-thru and ordered Tuesday a giant coffee and a six-pack of doughnuts. “You really going to eat all those?” he asked her with a dubious glance at the box sitting in her lap after they pulled away.

“Not at one time. But yes, I’m going to eat all of them. And if you have a problem with that, you can suck it.”

He laughed. That was his girl.

His girl?

The thought should have made him freeze in terror, his nuts drawing up into his body in shock and horror.

But instead, he thought he kinda liked the sound of it.

Him and Tuesday.

Who’d have thought?

“I don’t have a problem with it. I was just debating how badly you’d hurt me if I stole one.”

“I told you to pick one for yourself.”

“You did. I didn’t think I’d want one.”

Tuesday had opened the box and was plunging her tongue into the hole on the side of a jelly-filled doughnut. Holy crap, did she have any idea how hot she was?

“But suddenly I want one.”

She retracted her tongue and dragged it across her bottom lip. “Oh, yeah? Maybe I’ll let you have a bite.”

No doubt about it. She knew exactly how sexy she was.

“That’s two bites you’ve offered me now today and I haven’t actually gotten to enjoy either.”

Her response was to shove her doughnut in his face. Diesel kept an eye on the road while he took an enormous bite, powdered sugar floating up his nose. “Mm. Thanks, babe.”

“You ate half of it in one bite,” she complained.

Idling at a red light, he turned and gave her a smile. “Don’t be bitter. You have five left.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Am I?” He was stupidly pleased to hear her say that.

Was he kidding? Diesel was so cute Tuesday wanted to eat him with a spoon. After she squeezed him and licked him from head to toe. He owned cute.

Which was why it was damn near impossible to feel like anything other than a teenage girl around him. She had a crush. For the first time in a decade she had a bona fide giggle-inducing, dot-your-I’s-with-a-heart crush. It was embarrassing.

So she rolled her eyes and told him, “Not really. I just said that to make you feel better about yourself.”

“Liar.”

“It’s called sarcasm.”

“It’s called we’re here.” He pulled into his garage. “Close your doughnut box before we open the door or Wilma will have you on the ground.”

Tuesday wandered in behind Diesel, greeting Wilma after he did. The dog bounded around and jumped on her leg, obviously glad to have some company. Diesel whistled for the dog and she ran past him to the back door. Setting the doughnut box on his kitchen counter, Tuesday followed him. His backyard was beautiful in the daylight, a mass expanse of green ending in a bucolic pond that shimmered in the summer sunlight.

It suited him. It was relaxed, laid-back.

Tuesday settled into a deck chair and watched as he stood in the grass and tossed a tennis ball to Wilma. They weren’t wimpy throws, he was hurling the ball fifty feet and Wilma was tearing after it each time, bringing it back faster than Tuesday would have thought possible.