Keith stood there with his jaw hanging open and dick flapping in the breeze as he watched her run to her car. She’d stunned him to immobility.
The woman apologized for being too aggressive with him?
That’s not me anymore.
What the hell had she meant by that? Was that part of the reason she’d moved to Vermont alone? Had she slept with someone she shouldn’t have? Had she cheated or been party to someone else cheating? The more snippets of Michaela Hudson he glimpsed, the more he wanted to know. She was a mystery he wanted to solve.
The woman had burned in his arms. When was the last time he’d let loose like that? Had he ever? For Christ’s sake, he fucked her where anyone could have driven by and caught them going at it. It’d been wild and reckless, yes, but hot as fuck.
“Shit,” he grumbled as he tossed the condom in the waiting area’s trash can. As he did, he made a mental note to take it to the dumpster before he shocked and drove off his customers.
He and Mickie were consenting adults. More than consenting, they’d both been starving for it.
He was single, she was single, and they’d used a condom.
There wasn’t anything wrong with what they’d done.
And there wasn’t anything wrong with enjoying the fuck outta it.
So why did she think there was?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MICHAELA PICKED UP her phone and snorted out a laugh at Ralph’s most recent text.
IF YOU DON’T CALL ME IN THE NEXT 5 MINUTES, I’M SENDING THE FBI.
All caps. The man meant business. Dramatic as ever but reaching the end of his patience. And she was a terrible friend. For the past two days, she’d ignored all calls and texts while moping around the house, berating herself for her stupidity. Apparently, Ralph had had enough, and if she didn’t want the local SWAT team showing up on her doorstep, she’d better give the man a call.
With a sigh, she picked up her phone and hit the first contact on her favorites list.
“Well, well, well,” came his pissy voice. “If it isn’t the elusive Michaela Hudson. You better have a damn good reason for ignoring me the past two days. Like day-um good. Like, I’ll only let it slide if you were locked away in a remote cabin for a sex-fest with the muscly mechanic god. That is literally the only way I’ll forgive you for falling off the face of the earth and scaring the shit out of me.”
Michaela winced. Whether it was his statement hitting too close to the mark or the guilt of stressing him out, she deserved the lecture even if it was off the charts melodramatic. “Shit, I’m sorry, Ralphie. I didn’t think you’d worry so much.”
He harumphed. “Didn’t think I’d worry about my bestie who recently got out of rehab, moved across the country, and is all alone in a small town? Wow, you think so highly of my friendship skills.”
Ouch.
Another bullseye.
“God, Ralph, you know how to lay a good guilt trip. I’m the one with the shitty friendship skills. Something happened the other night, and I’ve been sort of…processing it.”
His tone turned serious. “Mickie, are you okay?”
She could imagine him straightening and clutching the phone tight to his ear with one hand while a Twizzler dangled from the other.
“Yes, yes.” She waved her hand even though he couldn’t see her. “Seriously, it’s nothing like you’re thinking. I promise I haven’t even been tempted to…fall off the wagon. I promise.”
He blew out a breath. “Look, sweetie, I trust you. I don’t want you to think I don’t. I just, well, I love you and worry about you out there without me. I was seconds away from hopping on a plane, and I’m not sure I have good snowy Vermont attire. It would have been a whole thing.”
Oh, the guilt. She truly hadn’t considered he’d be imagining her stoned out of her mind and rocking in the corner. “Oh, Ralph, I’m really sorry. I promise no more radio silence.”
“Cross your heart?”
She smiled. “Yes.”
“Do it for real.”
Rolling her eyes, she drew an X over the left side of her chest. “It’s done. And by the way, it’s September, so not snowing yet.”
“Whatever. Now tell Dr. Ralph what you needed a whole forty-eight hours to process. And please let it be hot sex with the even hotter mechanic,” he teased.
Staring at the ceiling, Michaela bit her lower lip.
“Sweetie?” he said when she didn’t respond. Then he gasped, and she could have sworn she heard him clapping. “Oh my God, you did sleep with him! You little hussy, you. So, what are you processing? Was it bad? Oh, please don’t let it have been bad. Did he have a tiny dick? Because that would be God’s cruel joke. Oooh, was he into something really weird like fucking with his socks on?”