Motor Mouth (Alex Barnaby 2)

Beans looked around the tiny room and settled onto the floor with a sigh. It was way past his bedtime.

“I like it,” Hooker said. “It’s homey.”

“That’s not why you like it,” I said. “You like it because there’s only a twin bed in here, and I’m going to have to sleep on top of you.”

“Yeah,” Hooker said. “Life is good.”

I unlaced my sneakers. “You make a move on me and life as you know it will be nonexistent.”

“Boy, that really hurts. Have I ever forced myself on you?”

“I’m talking about wandering hands.”

“Jeez,” Hooker said. “You’re a real spoilsport.” He unzipped his jeans and had them halfway off his ass.

“What are you doing?” I whisper-shouted.

“I’m getting undressed.”

“No way!”

Hooker was down to his T-shirt and Calvins. “Darlin’, I’ve had a long day. I lost a race, I stole a truck, and I left Oscar Huevo DOA in an Avalanche. I’m going to bed. And I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I’ve had just about all the excitement I could handle in one day.”

He was right. What was I thinking? I wriggled out of my jeans and cleverly removed my bra without removing my T-shirt. I carefully stepped over Beans, crawled in next to Hooker, and tried to find a place in the bed. He was against the wall on his side, and I was plastered against him spoon fashion, my back to his front, wrapped in his arms, his hand cupping my breast.

“Damn it, Hooker,” I said. “You’ve got your hand on my breast.”

“Just holding on to you so you don’t fall out of bed.”

“And I’d better be wrong about the thing poking me in my back.”

“Turns out I have a little energy left for some more excitement.”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Did you ask the man in the boat?”

“Do not even think about the man in the boat. The man in the boat isn’t interested. And you’re going to be sleeping on the floor with the dog if you don’t get a grip on yourself.”

I opened my eyes to sunlight pouring in through the pretty mint green curtains. I was partially on top of Hooker, his arm draped around me. And I hate to admit it, but he felt nice. He was still asleep. His eyes were closed, and a fringe of blond lash lay against his suntanned, stubbled face. His mouth was soft, and his body was warm and snuggly. It would be easy to forget he was a jerk.

Barney, Barney, Barney! Pull yourself together, the sensible inner Barney yelled. The guy slept with a salesclerk.

Yes, but it wasn’t as if we were married, or even engaged. We weren’t even living together, Barney the slut answered.

You were dating…regularly. You were sleeping together…a lot!

I blew out a sigh and eased off Hooker. I slipped out from under the quilt, stood, and stepped over Beans and into my jeans.

Hooker half-opened his eyes. “Hey,” he said, his voice soft and still husky from sleep. “Where are you going?”

“Time to get up and go to work.”

“It doesn’t feel like time to go to work. It feels like time to be asleep.” He looked around the room. “Where are we?”

“Felicia’s house.”

Hooker flopped over onto his back and put his hands over his face. “Omigod, did we really steal a hauler?”