I shake my head, examining my dirty hands and remembering Lil Bit’s clean ones. “Nah, not like that. It was just confusing, you know? I’m a no-filter, what-you-see-is-what-you-get guy. I was trying to make sense of it, for science.”
“For science?” Sophie snorts. “Let’s start here, Mr. Psychoanalyst . . . you are the furthest thing from a was-ee-wig guy and you know it. Hell, you play it up when the mood suits you.” She looks over, waving her hand over me like I did to her. “This says redneck cowboy. Rough, tough, stoic, and quiet. You have literally growled at strangers at the grocery store, and people are scared of you because you have a reputation as a brooding asshole.”
“Thanks.”
She backhands my shoulder. They weren’t compliments. “On the flip side, you’re trying to figure this woman out. You’re aware, watchful, and observant like Brutal is. And not that you’d let anyone know it, but you’re smart as a whip. What was the last book you read, Brody?”
Shit. She’s right. That’s not exactly something I go around advertising. It’s not that I want people to think I’m stupid, but it’s not my job to avail them of their own preconceived stereotypes about ranchers. “Midnight in Chernobyl. It’s about the nuclear disaster there.”
Her brows knit together even as her eyes widen. “What the . . . see? Nobody’s going to think some ranch riding cowboy like you is devouring stuff like that as light bedtime reading with a Jack Daniels nightcap. You’re this hard exterior, but there’s more to you, Brody. So much more.”
We’re both silent for a moment, her words floating through the cab of the truck. I’m wishing I hadn’t started this conversation. I meant to figure out Lil Bit, not have Sophie figuring out all my pieces and parts. But I guess in a way, she did help me figure out something about Lil Bit, about how she can go from one extreme to another.
“So you going to ask her out when we get to the garage? When do we meet her? She’ll have to pass the family test, and it’s damn near impossible to get our approval.” I wish I could say she was lying, but we are a persnickety and prickly bunch.
Though I could probably roll in with just about anyone and they’d throw a parade in celebration. I don’t exactly go around advertising my one-night stands, so they are under the mistaken impression that I’m lonely.
“Nah, it ain’t like that. Just for science, like I said.” I smirk, knowing Sophie’s well aware that I’m full of shit. I’m not exactly interested in Lil Bit, or at least not anymore, but I am still a bit confused how one version of her could have me rock hard and thirsty and the other could leave me so cold and uninterested.
Sophie hums, not convinced in the least. “Science? Yeah, biology and chemistry. Bow-chicka-bow-wow.” She wiggles in her seat again.
I return the shoulder backhand, though decidedly gentler than her smack.
Chapter 4
Erica
“Rix, whatcha want me to do with the Toyota?” Reed yells across the garage even though the music is barely loud enough to hear. “It’s all done and ready to roll.”
I don’t move from my perch beneath the truck I’m working on. Sighing, I bite out sarcastically, “Gee, I don’t know, Reed. If it’s all done, why don’t we just scoot it over to the side and use it as a place to take mid-afternoon naps?”
“Okay then . . . guess I’ll go call the owner?” Reed is still asking, like there’s any other reasonable option.
I hum agreement, never stopping work. But that’s nothing new. I’m always working. Twenty-four seven, three-hundred and sixty-five since the day I turned fourteen and Dad let me start working with him in the garage.
Back then, I played tool bitch, fetching this and that only to return it to its proper place when Dad was done. And I watched, and I learned, and I fell in love . . . hard. With engines. Tinkering and tweaking and making them purr.
I use the simmering frustration at Reed to crank the wrench a little harder, and it gives like I knew it would. The door to the break area opens and Manuel comes out, wiping his hands on a rag. “Where you want me, Boss?”
That’s what I like to hear. Manuel’s ready to work, and once I set him on a course, he’s solid until the job’s done. Phone call to the customer and all.
“Hit the blue truck next. Needs brake pads and rotors,” I call over my shoulder, keeping a mental tally of what we need to accomplish today.
“On it.” Manuel’s voice is already disappearing from behind me, and a moment later, I hear the truck start up, pull into bay three, and then he gets to work.