Miss Mechanic

“You still owe me a dinner date, by the way.” He walked back out with a bottle of water in his hand. “And you agreed to it.”

I finished the tire and got up to walk to him. “You really can’t hold me to anything I said given that I can’t remember it. And that includes the penis compliment.” I took the bottle from his hand and unscrewed it.

“Says you. As far as I’m concerned, I’m believed you when you said I had a wonderful penis.”

This was going from bad to worse.

“I’m slightly biased,” he continued, “but I do happen to agree.” Then, he patted it lightly.

“I still think you’re lying.”

“I crossed my heart. If you do that and you’re lying, you die.”

“Yeah, if you’re six.” I rolled my eyes. “This is ridiculous. Face it. We never should have tried to have dinner together, because we’re almost incapable of having an adult conversation.”

“You were pretty X-rated last night.”

I glared at him. “You know what I mean. Having dinner last night, especially after what happened, was a bad idea. Admit it.”

He folded his arms, and just as he opened his mouth, the phone rang.

“I got it.” I darted across the garage before he could move. I answered the phone and booked in the requested M.O.T for next week before going back in.

“I don’t think it was a bad idea,” he said almost immediately. “Think about it. I got to see you drunk and adorable. Given that you’re never that adorable sober, I saw another side of you.”

“It’s not my most endearing side.”

“I disagree. It’s the most endearing one I’ve seen.”

I stared at him flatly. “You’re beginning to piss me off.”

He rubbed his mouth, but his hand couldn’t hide his grin. He stepped down into the workshop and walked over to me. Stopping just inches in front of me, he hooked a finger under my chin and tilted my head back so our gazes locked.

“You still owe me dinner,” he said in a low voice.

“Um.” I bit the inside of my cheek. “I do?”

“Mhmm. You agreed last night, so I’m cashing in tonight.”

“Right, but you also owe me for your aunt’s party, so…I think this balances out.”

Dex pursed his lips. “It doesn’t.”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t.”

“If you want to go on a date with me, just ask.”

“I did, and you got drunk.”

“You didn’t specify that I couldn’t. Besides, I was wearing the world’s grossest panties and I needed to get rid of that memory.” I paused. “You should be more specific next time you ask me out.”

He raised his eyebrows. Slowly, he ran his fingertips up the curve of my jaw and pushed my hair behind my ear.

“Why do you always do that?” The words escaped me before I could think about it.

“Do what?” His fingers fell through the tips of my hair, and the strands fluttered back against my shoulder.

I lifted my hand to touch my hair. “My hair. You always tuck it behind my ear.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because it’s so tender and that’s the total opposite of everything I know about you.”

He momentarily dipped his head with a smile, before lifting his gaze to meet mine again. “Because,” he said softly, running his fingertips along the path they’d just taken… Along the side of my temple, curving behind my ear, down my neck. “Your hair is so crazy and… It hides your face. And I like seeing your face.”

Oh.

“Oh,” I squeaked. “Well, okay.”

“Have dinner with me tonight. Sober dinner. Somewhere that isn’t your house so it isn’t awkward.” He cupped my chin. “Please?”

I looked at him. Really looked at him. At his deep blue eyes that held mine so firmly, at his full lips and stubbled jaw…

“Okay.” It came out a little more than whisper. I cleared my throat and said, “But only because I owe you.”

His mouth twitched. “Only ‘cause you owe me.”

***

I stared at the menu a little too hard. My gaze lingered on the salmon before I ultimately landed on the burger and stared a hole through the page.

This was weird. This wasn’t pizza at my place, this was dinner. I was in heels. Jeans and a pretty shirt, but still heels. This made this more than dinner.

Heels made this a date.

Ugh, heels…

I was definitely a flats girl. Sneakers, flat boots, flip flops… Give me those over back-breaking stilettos any day.

“You look like you’re trying to shoot a laser through the menu with your eyes,” Dex remarked.

I put the menu down. The next clue this was a date? He was wearing a shirt. No tie or jacket, but a shirt. White. Sleeves rolled to his elbows. Top two buttons open. Fitted enough that I could perv on his biceps every time he bent his arms.

What? I was shameless. That much had already been established.

“Do you not think this is awkward?” I asked him, touching my fingers to the base of my wine glass.