Revved To The Maxx

“Thank you.”

I nodded. “Sure.”

“Can I—” She cleared her throat. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Not needed.”

“Please.”

I couldn’t say no to her pleading eyes, and frankly, I really didn’t want to. She had yet to remove her hand from my arm, and I had to admit, I liked how it felt when she touched me. I sat beside her, and Vanessa came over, sliding a beer my way.

“On the house. Thanks for taking out the garbage.”

I picked up my glass. “He took himself out.”

Vanessa placed a glass of wine in front of the girl. “On the house for you too. I like your style.”

The girl picked up her wine with a shaking hand. “That’s the second time in as many days I’ve had to rely on my self-defense class. I’ve never used it until now…” She trailed off.

I lifted my glass in a toast. “Always a first time.”

She was quiet, seemingly in thought.

I sensed a story there. I assumed she’d been hassled already this week, but I stayed quiet.

She turned to me, holding out her hand. “Thank you, Reynolds, for coming over. I appreciate it.”

I looked at her hand, then had to tease her. “Is that safe?”

She laughed, the sound light. “Yes.”

I shook her hand. “You’re welcome.” Then I furrowed my brow. “I think Vanessa said your name was Lynn?”

She shrugged and muttered something about it being close enough. Then she grinned, making two deep dimples in her face appear. They were right by the corners of her full lips, making her expression mischievous. “You asked her my name?”

“You remembered mine,” I responded drolly.

She chuckled. “Vanessa missed part of my name. It’s Charlynn.”

“Pretty.”

She shrugged. “A mouthful.”

“Maybe I’ll stick to Red. It’s easier.”

She didn’t say anything or object. We studied each other, our gazes locked in silence. Up close, she was even prettier than I’d thought. Her wide eyes were intelligent and warm. Her lips full and pink. Kissable. She was dressed casually, but her green T-shirt set off her hair and eyes. It pulled tight across her high breasts, dipping low in the front to show her cleavage. The freckles on her face were more than a small smattering, extending down her neck and arms, little trails of cinnamon over her ivory skin. She was extremely sexy, and I felt an odd draw to her. I had to admit, I had felt it the moment she ran into me.

And now, she was flirting with me.

“You gonna give me my hand back?” she asked.

I looked down, shocked to realize I was still holding it.

“You gonna tell me why these hands need to be registered as a lethal weapon this week?” I responded, then mentally kicked myself.

Why did I want to know that? And why was I flirting back?

She looked down at our hands, slowly pulling hers away. She sighed, taking a drink of wine. “It’s been a bad week.”

“Sorry, I wasn’t getting personal.”

She glanced to the side, her eyes dancing. “No, I don’t mind telling you. I’m just not sure how you’re going to take it.”

I leaned one elbow on the bar, facing her. “Try me.”

Ten minutes later, I was laughing so hard, I could barely sit on my stool. Her story about her asshole of a landlord and how she handled him was brilliant. When she got to the part about the beer, then the mouse, I lost it. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed that hard. She didn’t tell me what led up to the altercation, and I knew she wasn’t giving me the entire story, but what she had shared was priceless. I had a feeling this was a girl who would keep a man on his toes.

I wiped my eyes. “So, now what?”

She shrugged. “I have a new job. A new beginning, far away from Toronto and that creep.”

I sipped my beer, still chuckling. “Good plan. Anything interesting?”

Her eyes danced. “I’m going to take care of an elderly gentleman. He needs a lot of help.” She leaned close, her voice dropping, those dimples deepening as she beamed. “He’s a bit grumpy, a curmudgeon, I think, but I can handle him. Easy peasy.”

“I bet you can.” I paused. “You like older men, Red?”

“You mean like you?” she responded, teasing. “What are you—thirty-five?”

“Close. Thirty-seven.”

She shrugged. “Age is a number. That doesn’t bother me.”

I had no idea why that news pleased me.

“I’m twenty-five,” she offered. “I feel older most days. Like I said, just a number.”

I asked her some questions about Toronto, and she responded with witty comments, making me chuckle more. She asked about the area, and I told her what I knew. I resisted asking her if she would be returning.

I wasn’t looking to start anything. I pushed aside the fact that I found her pretty, intelligent, and funny. I liked the way she spoke, meeting my eyes directly, using her hands to emphasize something. On occasion, I would catch a whiff of her perfume when she moved her head or pushed back her hair. It was light and citrusy—not overpowering or heavy. Her eyes fascinated me; the odd shade of green seemed to deepen to almost gray at times, depending on her emotion. I had never seen eyes like that.