Her eyes finally reach my face, so I decide to repeat my earlier question. “Everything okay?”
Her brows draw together, and she nods, her nude lips still parted with a dazed expression on her face.
“Are you hurt?” I ask, trying to make sure she didn’t sustain a head injury in our collision because she’s acting super fucking weird.
She shakes her head, so I offer her my hand to help her up. My hot, rough hand grips her cold, soft fingers as I pull her to a standing position. She’s a good eight inches shorter than I am, but at six-foot-four, all girls are small beside me.
She clears her throat. “You…you…work here?” She closes her eyes like she’s mentally chastising herself.
I cross my arms and can’t help but notice her eyes watching my biceps flatten on top of my hands with interest. “I do. I’m a mechanic. Were you getting a service?”
She giggles. She giggles so hard that it turns into a laugh, and then she’s slapping her hand over her mouth to muffle it. Mumbling against her palm, she replies, “Yes.”
I frown and ask, “Then what brings you back here to the alley? Completed cars are parked out front. These back doors are employee entrances.”
Her eyes flash back to the door, and she begins gnawing on her lip. “Right. I, erm…was just…” She eyes the spare strand of licorice I have tucked behind my ear. “Coming out for a smoke!”
My brows lift. Smokers come in all shapes and sizes, but something tells me this luminous, ginger bombshell does not smoke.
“Great, can I bum one?” I ask, calling her bluff.
“Weren’t you just fake smoking with licorice?” she asks, pointing to the half-eaten piece that fell to the ground during the course of our collision.
My face heats. “You saw that?”
She laughs softly. “Before my triumphant fall, yes, I saw something that looked like a puff of make-believe cherry smoke floating all around you.”
I roll my eyes and jam a hand through my short, black hair. “It’s a thing I started doing when I quit smoking three months ago.”
“Does it help?”
I shrug. “Doesn’t hurt.”
“Maybe hurts the ego.” A dimple flashes in her right cheek as she fails to conceal a smirk. “How macho is it to fake smoke candy?”
Is she flirting with me? Or teasing me? I can’t tell, but I can definitely retaliate, and I must admit that her dimple is adorable. I lift my hand to grab the licorice behind my ear and flex and relax so my bicep tightens impressively. “My ego is never in danger, babe.” I pull down the candy and bite a piece off while shooting her a wink.
This makes her genuinely laugh. It’s a rich, full-bodied sound that projects all the way from her toes. “With book boyfriend arms like that, it’s no wonder.”
“Book boyfriend?” I ask curiously.
“Book boyfriend,” she repeats. “The leading male in a romance novel that readers claim ownership of because he doesn’t likely exist in the real world. Basically, the ideal man.”
“I’ve never heard this term before,” I admit, leaning back against the wall and eyeing her curiously. “I take it you’re into books or something?”
“Or something.” She smiles and runs her hand through her wild red waves. They have to be natural because no girl would touch hair that beautiful if it had been styled. “And it doesn’t surprise me you’ve never heard of it.” She leans in and whispers loudly, “You’re not my demo.”
I frown curiously, and with a parting wiggle of her eyebrows, she turns and resumes her walk down the alley toward wherever she was going. After staring at the globes of her ass for far longer than is appropriate, it dawns on me that I didn’t even get her name.
Cupping my hand to my mouth, I yell after her, “What if you’re my demo?”
She twirls on her heel to gaze at me, looking a hell of a lot more graceful than she did earlier. “We won’t know that until The End!”
“Fess up. Where have you been?” My neighbor and best friend since college, Lynsey’s voice snaps, nearly making me fall into my front door and drop my keys in surprise.
“Jesus!” I exclaim, turning toward my tiny brunette compadre who’s the scariest short person I know. “You’re like one of those annoying bouncing min pins that leap up into the air just to be eye level with humans.”
“Ha-ha, short joke, what a shocker coming from you. I’m serious, tell me where you’ve been.”
“The library! I told you in my text,” I reply, turning my back on her to resume my goal. Pushing the door of my townhouse open, I drop my mail, laptop bag, and keys on the entry table by the stairs right inside the door.
“Bullshit,” Lynsey barks, following me in like a little puppy. She reaches out to fist the hem of my shirt. She pulls it to her face and inhales deeply. “You smell like coffee and rubber.”
“Also known as freedom.” I sigh wistfully and yearn to be back there. I would have stayed longer if I could survive on coffee and cookies all day. But curses, I need some protein or I might die.
“You actually went back to Tire Depot?” Lynsey seethes. “Kate! They are going to call the cops on you.”
“For what?” I protest over my shoulder as I make my way through my living room and into the kitchen to grab a water bottle out of the fridge. “Stealing complimentary coffee and cookies? Come on. That’s not a thing.”
“But loitering is.”
My face freezes around the mouth of my water bottle. “You think they’d really do that?”
Lynsey looks slightly unsure. “I don’t know, but do you want the awkwardness of finding out?”
“I don’t care, Lynsey!” I exclaim with a huff. “I’ve found my words at the TD, and I’m not letting go until I’m done.”
“TD?” she repeats dubiously.
“Tire Depot is such a mouthful.”
“You know what’s a mouthful? Prison.” I roll my eyes, but she continues with her lecture. “This is a crutch, Kate. You have to see that.”
“It’s not a crutch.”
“You think you need it, but you don’t.”
“I do need it!” I snap, making my way back to the entry table and grabbing my mail. “I couldn’t write a thing before I went there. And writing is what keeps me in this posh townhouse on the outskirts of beautiful Boulder. If I want to continue being this stunning creature, living the high life in the foothills, I have to follow the vibe. And the vibe is strong at Tire Depot.”
I move into my sitting area and drop into an overstuffed leather armchair to begin sifting through the envelopes in my hand.
Lynsey perches on the edge of my coffee table in front of me. “Can we stop dancing around what’s really going on here?”
“Watch your hiney, Lyns, that’s luxury reclaimed barnwood that Mercedes Lee Loveletter afforded me.”
“Stop changing the subject. This is about your ex who happens to still live with you.” She points up the stairs to the master suite I shared with Dryston Roberts for the better part of the past two years before everything went to shit.