Miss Mechanic

“It wasn’t really a date. Just…dinner.”

“That’s a date.”

“All right, fine, it was a date.” I put the boxes on the coffee table and sat down next to her. “And you’re drunk.”

Sighing again, she rolled her eyes. “I’m not drunk. I’m just…happy.”

“Happy.”

“Yes, happy.” She nodded her head a bit too vigorously. “See, I got home, then I realized what we did today and that we were going to have dinner together and then I panicked and raided my mom’s wine stash, because can you believe there’s none in my house?”

She looked at me so earnestly that I couldn’t help but smile at her. Jesus, drunk Jamie was adorable…

“Shocking,” I said.

She nodded in agreement. “Terrible. Anyway. I went to get a glass of wine because I was kinda nervous and next thing I know…the bottle is empty. Gone. Poof.” She held out her hands. “I don’t know what happened to it.”

“I’m gonna say you drank it, darlin’.”

She opened her mouth and then, “Yeah, yeah I did. Oops. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry.” My lips twitched. “I kinda like you when you’re drunk. Your cheeks go all pink and you get real cute.”

“Great. Not long ago you were screwing me against a toolbox, and now you think I’m cute.” She gave a suffering sigh and opened a pizza box. “Way to drop me down the totem pole.”

I laughed and opened the second box. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re real cute anyway.”

She glanced at me and giggled again.

Shit, that was the best giggle I’d ever heard, and I’d spent years babysitting Charley.

Nothing was cuter than a baby giggle. Except Jamie’s tiny, drunken ones.

What the hell was I thinking? Her giggles were cute?

If Roxy had jinxed me by telling me I liked her, I was going to kill her. Slowly, painfully, and torturously.

“Okay, but really, I am sorry.” She bit her lip and picked at some cheese. “I was nervous.”

“Of what?” I said around a mouthful of pizza. “I’m not exactly a stranger. In fact, we’re more than familiar with each other at this point.”

She blushed. “I know, but we barely spoke to each other after. I knew it would be awkward. I only wanted some Dutch courage but instead I got…”

“Hammered. You got hammered.”

“I got nailed earlier, so eh.”

I tried not to laugh. Fuck, I tried, but I couldn’t help it. She said it so flippantly that I knew for sure she was way more drunk than she was letting on.

That was not the Jamie I knew.

Then again, today had shown me a whole other side of the woman I thought I knew. And hell, she was sexy as fuck.

Adorable. Cute. Sexy.

Fuck. My sister was right.

I liked her.

I liked her a whole damn lot.

Motherfucker.

Jamie shoved some pizza in her mouth and reached over for the remote control. I only just managed to save the box from sliding onto the floor off her lap, laughing through my own mouthful of food.

When she worked, she was scarily coordinated.

When she was drunk, she was a hot mess.

I didn’t know which one I liked more. The put-together, controlled woman who let the mask slip every now and then, or the one who just didn’t care.

I didn’t want to pick.

“Whoops.” She giggled and put the box on the table. It was probably for the best. “Now,” she said, pizza in one hand and remote in the other. “Do you want to watch Friends, Friends, or Friends?”

I hesitated. “God, darlin’, I don’t know. I can’t pick between all those choices.”

“Oh dear, I guess I’ll pick. Friends it is!” She hit the button and squinted. “The One Where Ross Finds Out. Ooooh, yes! This is my favorite!”

I studied her for a moment. Even when she dropped the remote on the floor and nestled back with her pizza. I decided not to reveal to her my knowledge of Friends yet.

Hey. I had a sister. I’d lost too many bets and been forced to watch this as a teenager.

Shit, I’d lost one just last month, and that’d been an entire series bet.

I picked up a slice of my pizza and leaned back, watching the TV. I couldn’t help the way my eyes flicked to Jamie every few minutes. Her hair was a frizzy, crazy mess, like she’d stepped right out of the shower and just left it to poof out.

I half expected her to pull out some neon leg warmers and announce she was headed to an Eighties birthday party or something.

She sat in silence, nibbling her way through the pizza at a steady pace. I was going to call bullshit on her claim that she’d only had one bottle of wine.

And if it were true, she’d had something else to drink.

Still, I stayed quiet. I’d tease her about this tomorrow when she showed up to work—if she wasn’t too fucking hungover to do so.