His jaw tightened. "Of course not."
Bam. Direct hit. The quick way he'd answered in the negative was a solid smack to her ego—and picked the Drew-sized scab on her heart.
"It just wouldn't do for the sheriff to flirt with the big bad pot store owner in combat boots, now would it?" Their time together had only lasted for the summer after graduate school and had been totally covert, but it had been hot, intense and the marker by which she judged all affairs. Obviously, it hadn't had the same effect on perfect Drew Jackson, first-born son to one of the most powerful families in town and older brother to the bitchy queen bee of Catfish Creek High School who'd been Leah's best friend and, later, total nemesis. Well, fuck him and his better-than-you attitude.
"Still playing by the rules and doing what Mommy and Daddy tell you, Drew?"
He slammed the Aston Martin's trunk down and glowered at her—all heat and danger and dominance as he stalked toward her, his tall, muscular frame moving with a predatory grace that made her pulse spike and her core clench. She knew that look. Even more, she knew what happened after that look. It usually involved ties, orgasms, and promises that would never be kept. For most of her life, her body and her brain had battled it out over Drew Jackson and today was no different. But unlike that summer, her brain won this time and she scurried into the car, shutting the door behind her and locking it for good measure.
The cocky bastard strolled right up to her door and rapped a knuckle on the window. While there was nothing she'd like better at the moment than to drive off, that wasn't going to happen thanks to the tree blocking her in from the front and Drew's truck cutting her escape off from behind. Surrendering to the moment, she rolled down the window.
He rested an arm on the roof of the car and leaned casually against it, his lazy grin not fooling her for a single, solitary second. "I know it'll be hard, Sweets, but try to stay out of trouble while you're in Catfish Creek."
Sweets.
He thought he had the upper hand.
Not today, buddy.
"Whatever you say, Sheriff." With her hands on the wheel, she squeezed her upper arms closer to her body—a move that brought her boobs closer together as it lifted them. It wasn't subtle. It wasn't meant to be. In her experience, subtle went right over most men's heads and she wanted—needed—Drew to remember that he'd been much more than a passive partner that summer. Hey, girls had egos to maintain too. "I'd hate for you to have to handcuff me...again."
Drew's eyes went dark with lust and his nostrils flared before her sanity returned and she rolled up her window, then turned the key in the ignition. He got the hint, stalking off to his truck. Her sideview mirror provided the perfect shot of his smackable ass as he did so and she wasn't woman enough to look away. Half a minute later he yanked the police light off the roof of his truck and pulled out onto the street. She made a three-point turn and headed in the opposite direction toward the service station, wondering how in the world she'd ever thought such an insufferable prick like Drew Jackson could be her one and only.
2
Leah
Vasquez's Auto Care was right on Main Street, a short drive off the highway and two blocks down from grease heaven, also known as The Hamburger Shack. Leah had caused a total work stoppage when she'd parked the Aston Martin inside their service bay. With the way Jorge Vasquez and the rest of the mechanics were looking at the car, she kinda felt like a pimp.
Seriously, it was getting a little awkward. The guys were whispering to it for the love of Pete.
"I just need a new tire," she called out to the group of men enthralled with the Aston Martin.
Jorge Vasquez looked up at her, made a tsk-tsk sound and shook his head. "Can't do that."
And she thought only her best friend Grayson Cleary was this weird about cars. "Why not?"
"It would be a sin to put a non-manufacturer-endorsed tire on this beauty." He crossed himself and kissed his thumb.
This was Catfish Creek. Population: Lotsa Crazy. There was no way she'd hear the answer she wanted but she had to ask anyway. "Do you have one of those?"
"Nope."
"Jorge, you're killing me," she said with a groan. "I'm only in town for a few days for the reunion, I don't have time for you to baby a rental car."
"Shhhhhh," Jorge said, looking at the Aston Martin. "Don't listen to her, mi tesoro, she doesn't understand you."
Despite her rising frustration, no doubt helped on by her run in with Drew, she couldn't help but laugh at the scandalized expression on the mechanic's face.
>
Jorge smoothed his hand across the Aston Martin's gleaming hood. "I've already reached out to the rental place listed on the registration to get pre-approval to work on the car and find out who their parts supplier in Fort Worth is. I'll have the tire tomorrow morning, plus, that will give me time to make sure you didn't damage the wheel driving around on a flat like that."
Okay, not the best news in the world, but not the worst either. "Good thing I can walk to the hotel."
He tipped his head back toward where her bag was sitting on a stool near the garage door. "We took your bag out of the trunk and popped everything from the interior into here." He handed her a manilla envelope, his gaze still locked on the Aston Martin.
"You know I'm coming back for the car," she said.