Dirty Distractions (Afternoon Delight 1)

By the end of the song they were all laughing, the tension broken. Everyone crowded around to grab a sandwich and she grinned, happy she’d made inroads. It was a start.

“Sara. What are you doing here?”

She braced at Brad’s crushed gravel voice and looked over her shoulder. He stood in the open garage door at the back of the row of car bays, arms crossed over his broad chest. Waiting.

Whether he wanted an explanation or for her to leave, she didn’t know. She walked toward him, determined not to flee like the coward she’d become recently.

Not anymore.

“Hey.” A sudden blast of wind tossed back her hair, and she twisted it into a quick, makeshift bun. It gave her something to do other than stare at the partial handprint on his previously pristine white shirt. Though logically she knew his “pretty” customer hadn’t dipped her hand in motor oil and tried to feel him up, she couldn’t help imagining the worst. How could any woman seeing that incredible body in tight, faded jeans and a snug T-shirt not want to get dirty with him? “Your guys are nice.”

“Since when?”

Since his impassive face never changed, she wasn’t sure if that was a rhetorical question or a joke. Or a slight. Probably a slight. “I wanted to get to know them a little. We sang together.” She shrugged. “It was fun.”

“Are you slumming on your lunch break or is there a problem with the car?”

“You’re convinced I think less of you no matter what I say.”

He jerked his shoulder. “Can you blame me?”

“Yes, I can blame you.” In fact, had she not been an advocate for non-violence, she might’ve been tempted to sock him in one of his ridiculously muscled biceps. “You’ve done very well for yourself, and any woman would be proud to be on your arm.”

“Any woman but you,” he said, clenching his jaw.

“Don’t put words in my mouth. You’re doing a hell of an impression of a guy who doesn’t know his own worth right now, and that’s not the Brad O’Halloran I know.”

“I’m not ashamed of what I do. I’m great at it, and I make a decent living. So do my men.”

“So don’t put that between us too. We have enough there already.”

He gave her a long, searching look, the kind that made her want to do something utterly foolish and female. Like throwing herself into his arms. “Sure there isn’t something wrong with the car?”

She shook her head. “No, I told you she’s running like a beaut. Whatever you did made her purr.” She looked at the fists he’d tucked into the crooks of his elbows. “Magic hands, like you said.”

He moved past her to the long, wraparound counter against the wall and wiped his hands on one of the rags that seemed to be everywhere. “Yeah, well, they’ve lost their touch recently.”

Though it cost her, she didn’t approach him. “Says who?”

His head rose and his glittering, blue-gray eyes sheared her straight to the bone. “I’ll ask you once more. Why are you here?”

“I brought lunch.” Pathetic save. But dammit, his expression didn’t just make her quiver from anxiety. It was hot and intense, filled with a range of blazing emotions that ached inside her too. She’d screwed all of this up so badly, and all she wanted was a chance to make it up to him. To show him they were still friends, that she still cared.

So much.

He went back to the pile of papers spread across the countertop. “Thanks, not hungry.” He got the rag up to his nose as he sneezed. Then twice more for good measure.

“Here.” She rushed over to give him a tissue from her purse, not wanting him to inhale oil or antifreeze or God knows what else from that filthy thing. “Use this instead.”

“Thanks. I’m good.” He tucked her floral-scented, lotion-infused tissue back in her designer bag with a lip curl that would’ve been a smile yesterday. Today she was reasonably certain it was a sneer.

Prissy doctor with her fancy tissue. As if she’d ever fit in here.

Except he was wrong. She’d been wrong. These were decent guys, no different than the ones she worked with. In fact she’d bet they wouldn’t try to cop a feel under the guise of being a “good Samaritan” like Dustin had tried yesterday. They seemed more honest and sincere than that.

She leaned in to touch his forehead. A light flush rode his cheekbones, the beginnings of a fever. “You’re burning up. Let me get you some soup.”

“Why do you keep trying to take care of me? I told you last night I don’t need it.”