More than once.
“What I don’t get,” I say, moving toward Grayson, “is why men only react—overtly react—to thongs and red lips and … and … and long, dark hair that has more body than my actual body? I mean, my lips are kind of thin, but they’re good. And I don’t wear a thong, mostly because the three times I’ve tried it, the little slip of fabric gets wedged in the crack of my ass, and then I walk around the bar like I have a wedgie—because I do. And I don’t have great hair,” I say, pausing for a micro-second to get a half-breath of air, “but I have my grandma’s hair, and I like it. But men … don’t.”
Grayson sits back in his chair and has the audacity to look smug.
“Why am I asking you this?” I say, irritated—mostly at myself. “I need to learn to shut up.”
“Why are you asking me?” he asks, a thick brow arched to the ceiling.
“Because you’re sitting there.”
His smirk eases just enough for me to notice. I wonder why—what made the corner of his lips slip, but my curiosity feels like just one more thing to think about.
“I’m just … frustrated,” I say, leaning against the ice dispenser. The cool metal bites into my back.
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
I give him a look but stay focused. “I’ve been working on this chapter in the book I’m writing—chapter one, actually, but it sounds like a hobby when I put it like that, and I’m determined to make it my career someday. Anyway, I can’t capture the hero the way I want him because all the language I use is …”
“Unrealistic?”
I narrow my eyes. “I want him to use language like an Ed Sheeran song—romantic and beautiful and altogether lovely.”
Grayson grins. “So, I was right. Unrealistic.”
“I’m sure that somewhere out there”—I motion toward the door and beyond it—“there’s a man who wants more and is capable of more than a Sisqó song, dammit.”
Either he misses the seriousness in my tone or he doesn’t care.
Probably the latter.
His grin deepens as he crosses his arms over his chest.
I blow out a breath and go back to my bar wiping. “How am I supposed to find a real man and create a fictional one when I don’t know anything about men? And how do I not know anything about men, anyway? I’ve been surrounded by them all of my life.”
Grayson leans forward. His thick, heavily roped forearms rest against the counter. The movement causes his cologne to float my way, and I brace myself. This time of day, the spiciness of the scent is mixed with the sharpness of gasoline and the allure of testosterone, and it makes my knees weak. Every. Single. Day.
“Your problem,” he says, “is that you’re overcomplicating men.”
I flinch wildly as though I’ve been hit upside the head with a skillet.
“You okay?” Garret Blake, one of Grayson’s two brothers, slides onto a stool beside him. “Looks like you were having a seizure.”
Grayson almost smiles. Almost.
“I’m fine,” I say with a sigh. “Just—”
“She’s driving me up the fuckin’ wall, is what she’s doin’,” Grayson says, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. There’s a near-smirk on his lips that tells me he’s kidding.
I grab a beer out of the cooler. “I am not. We were having a conversation, and you were even taking part. Slightly, I’ll admit, but a touch of back and forth was happening, and that constitutes a conversation.”
Garret takes the bottle. “I’m glad you’re up for a convo because you darted outta the shop before we could talk.”
“By design.” Grayson takes a long swig of his beer, his attention back to the television. “Look, I don’t know how to branch out into Syn City. I know their shop is closing next week, but I don’t know how to bring them over here to Cherry Falls. I got nothin’.”
I lean against the bar and listen to the two men discuss their auto repair shop.
The three Blake brothers—Grant being the youngest—are the epitome of opposites. While Grayson is broody and mostly a jackass, Grant is as gentle-hearted as they come. Garret is the brains of the bunch and repairs more spreadsheets and sales figures than he does cars. Together, they run a respected enterprise in Cherry Falls that seems to need a shot of new blood.
I shift my weight as I watch them talk.
Garret is worried they’re becoming stagnant. He thinks if they don’t expand now, they’ll miss their opportunity. I feel that deep in my bones.
If I don’t figure out how to understand men, I’m going to end up single with a house full of cats and a barely started novel. I have hopes and dreams too—of a family of my own. A job that doesn’t require a name tag. The affection of a man who can kiss me sweetly and then scoop me up and take me to bed to ravage me.