Speed King (Men of Action 1)

“Can you go to lunch?”

“I should be able to. Let me go grab my purse.” She tries to slide away, and I twist us back toward the door.

“You don’t need your purse.”

“My wallet, my phone,” she objects.

“I have both things.”

“What if someone needs me?”

“I can cover for you. Anything urgent I can text Ace,” Ginger offers eagerly.

I flash her an appreciative grin and rattle off my number, then guide Harley out the door.

“I’m not sure I like this pattern with you,” she huffs on the way to my truck.

“And what pattern is that?”

“Showing up unannounced, taking charge, not giving me a say.”

I chew the side of my lip to keep from smiling outright. “I asked you to go to lunch.”

“Yes, but you rushed me out, and I may need my purse and my phone.”

We get to my truck, I open her door, pick her up, and place her on the seat before planting myself in front of her. “You really irked about not having your purse?”

She glances over my shoulder, seeming to think about her answer, holding something back.

“Harley?”

“You have no clue about how this works, do you?”

“How what works?”

“Fine!” She throws her hands in the air in exasperation and looks to the sky then back to me. “I can’t believe I’m doing this, but here’s how it goes. You show up, looking like you do, totally catching me off guard, and all thoughts of my shitty morning vanish. You ask me to lunch. The proper thing would be to let me run to my office and grab my things. I’d have time to freshen up, fluff my hair, and apply some lip gloss to feel a tinge better about my appearance. That’s how women work, Achilles. We like to be prepared.”

This time, I don’t hold back my grin and step further into her space, wrapping my arms around her waist and nudging my hips between her thighs. “First off, your appearance is perfect. I thought it couldn’t get much better than swimsuits and sundresses, but fuck me if the professional Harley doesn’t rock me to my core. You’re gorgeous, and fluffing the hair and freshening up isn’t necessary. As for knowing how this works, no, I don’t know how it works. I’ve never given a shit about how women think, except for you. When I left the gym this morning, I decided I wasn’t waiting until Wednesday night.”

Her expression softens, the attitude disappearing. “Is this going to become a pattern?”

“Me coming to take you to lunch? Probably, at least until my schedule transfers to days.”

“That’s good to know, but I’m referring to you storming in, taking charge, and then saying something so incredibly sweet that squashes my irritation? This is the third time in less than a week.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“So you keep saying.”

I tag her closer for a quick kiss before releasing her. She scoots out of my hold, and I go to the driver’s side.

“Is Ginger one of the women you mentioned all these years ago?”

“Yes, we started at the company the same day and clicked immediately. She’s my age, but flitted around a few years after high school trying to find direction. Then she decided to get her degree. This is her last year. We’re actually pretty close. She’s the one who introduced me to Pilates and yoga. We brought Jewls one time, but she couldn’t hack it.”

“Couldn’t hack yoga?” I side-eye her. “Seems like an impossible activity to flunk out of.”

“Let me rephrase; Jewls is more of the kickboxing while the rock music is blaring type of exercise gal.”

“That makes total sense.”

“So, Ginger and I try to meet weekly and Zen out. Usually rewarding ourselves with margaritas afterward.”

“Tell me where to go.” I indicate which direction to turn.

“There’s a terrific bistro about two blocks away. You can’t miss the blue and white umbrellas. We actually could have walked, but I’m too exhausted.”

“The exhaustion goes along with the shitty Monday?”

“The day hasn’t been bad, but my patience is thin and the normal first-of-the-week urgency is more annoying than usual. It’s partially my fault, though. I was up way too late.”

“Did Jewls stay over late?” When I left her at her apartment yesterday, Jewls was pulling into the parking lot, no doubt to grill Harley over our days together.

“Not exactly, we got called into work.”

“At Tom’s?”

“We had to work the floor because two servers are sick. With the game, it was insane. I didn’t get home until after three a.m.”

“You went to work last night—alone?” I grind out.

“I go to work every night alone.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“You were working. I didn’t want to bother you. Besides, why does it matter?”

Wrong thing to say. “It matters because there was no one there to watch you! What if something happened?”

She whips her head my way with fire building in her eyes. “Watch me? So, it is true? You send the guys to watch my shifts? Is that why Tom saves a seat at the bar every night I work?”