Muffin Top

Lucy pivoted in her seat. “I take it this happens a lot.”

“I’m a big guy. My foot weighs a lot.”

One side of her ruby red lips curled upward. She was wearing big black sunglasses that covered her eyes completely, but he still knew there was a lot of sass in them. The woman had it in spades.

So far on the drive, she’d schooled him on Ice Knights hockey trivia, tried to win an argument on the best action movie of all time—it was the Steve McQueen classic Bullitt, no matter how much she argued for Die Hard—and had told him stories about her unnamed clients, which had him sharing stories about the people at his firehouse. When he’d told her about the prank with a snapping turtle a rookie had found in his locker after coming back from the shower, she’d almost spit out her Mountain Dew.

They’d been in the car for five hours and most of it had been spent talking. Now, he was a talker so that wasn’t weird, but he usually didn’t spend that much time talking to women he wasn’t related to, so that put this in new territory. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Sure, he’d still taken a few sly peeks at the bountiful cleavage shown off by the modest V-neck of her T-shirt—hello, he was just a dude—but he’d kept his hands to himself. That didn’t mean he hadn’t thought about what she’d look like without that shirt during the lulls in their conversation. It was hard not to. That asshole at the bar had been wrong about a lot of things, but he hadn’t been wrong about the fact that Lucy had gorgeous tits. Somehow without him meaning to, his gaze had slid back over to her, taking in the full curvy package.

That was exactly the last thing he needed to be doing. His dick was not in charge. Shannon’s words about him only being a good-time guy echoed in his head. Fucking A. He clenched his eyes shut and sucked in a deep breath. What in the hell was wrong with him? Could dudes be nymphomaniacs?

Of course, that’s when the unmistakable crunch of cop shoes on gravel sounded, forcing him to open his eyes and bring his attention back to his window. Never had he been so glad to see one of the boys in blue—or in this case tan and brown.

“So here’s your license and registration back,” the cop said, handing him that along with an all-too-familiar piece of paper. “And your ticket. There’s information on the back about how to pay or dispute it.”

“Got it.” He nodded. “Thanks.”

“Just be sure to slow down,” the officer said with the tip of his wide-brimmed hat.

He watched the officer walk back through the rearview mirror. Sure, he was delaying the inevitable shit-talking smackdown that the woman in the passenger seat was about to deliver, but he did have an ego and he was about to be out three bills.

“Eighteen hours,” Lucy said, teasing him like only his family did. “I should’ve made you bet dinner on it.”

“Miss Scarlett isn’t done showing off yet,” he said as he turned the key in the ignition.

Then he turned it again.

And again.

Miss Scarlett turned over, but the engine didn’t roar to life. He counted to ten and tried again. The engine turned but nothing happened after that.

“Please tell me you’re just giving me shit,” Lucy said, lowering her sunglasses and showing off her mossy green hazel eyes.

He sure wished he was. “Nope.”

Holding his breath as if that would help, he tried again. Nothing. Miss Scarlett was officially not speaking to him. What was it with the women in his life lately? Grudgingly, he admitted defeat and took the keys out of the ignition. There was only one thing to do.

“I’ll be right back,” he said before getting out of the car and walking back to the cruiser still parked behind them.

An hour later, he and Lucy were sitting shoulder to shoulder in the front cab of a tow truck, pulling into the Black and Gold Garage that was decorated with window clings of the ice-skating penguin mascot of one of the Ice Knights’ most hated hockey rivals.

“That’s not a good sign.” Lucy jerked her chin toward the penguin.

It wasn’t. Thirty minutes later, after finding out that Billy, the shop’s one mechanic, was home with a sick kid and wouldn’t be back to look at Miss Scarlett until the morning, he and Lucy were on the front steps of Katy K’s Bed and Breakfast. Everything screamed delicate and cute, from the intricate wooden scrollwork on the wraparound porch to the baby pink bistro table and chairs set in the middle of a garden bordered by shrubbery shaped and trimmed to look like Alice in Wonderland characters. It gave him the heebie-jeebies. Still, it was their best shot at overnight accommodations, according to the woman behind the repair shop’s counter.