Flirting With Disaster Read online

  Home. Yeah. Sounded damn good after eight hours of this shit. “You know I can't.”

  Brooke stuck the notepad into her back pocket. Instead of her usual uniform, she wore a tight black shirt and jeans. It was fucking torture to look at her soft, rounded curves and know he'd never get to touch them.

  “Why can't you go home?” she asked with genuine curiosity.

  He just stared at her for a moment until the question could sink in. Had had to get his head out of his pants. “Let's see. Naomi, who I'm starting to think is either the second coming or the devil in disguise, came into the coffee shop thirty minutes late, all smiles, and convinced us it was the best thing if we're seen as a team in public.”

  Brooke snorted. “She was wearing a blue dress.”

  “You're a Mosley fan?”

  “I had a phase.” She rolled her shoulders. “But back to my point. That meeting was a week ago. Since then, I’ve come up with two theories for why you keep coming with me.”

  Her brain moved a mile a minute, and most of the time so did her mouth when she talked shit to him. Curious, he asked, “And they are?”

  “You didn't think I could be polite.” She shook her head and lifted the hood of the car.

  “You have the tendency to tell people to fuck off in a nice way.” He picked off a piece of grass and twisted it in knots. “I wasn't worried about that.”

  “Only people who deserve it.”

  He tossed the blade, and stuffed his hands back into his pockets. “And since our first and very memorable meeting, what have I done to deserve it?”

  And then Brooke did the one thing that had put him on edge and turned his fairly affable mood into shit. Every single time. For all ten cars. She leaned against the frame and bent over into the car. The blood in his head whooshed out. He balled his hands, unable to look anywhere else but at that perfect and lush heart shape.

  At this point he could almost be philosophical about the conflicting need he felt when it came to her. He needed her to not speak—not another word, ever. And he needed her to bend over and make soft little sounds of approval, not just when she stood in front of a car.

  She glanced his way. “What you're doing now for instance is exactly what I'm talking about.”

  He tilted his head. “And that is?”

  “I bet you don't think there's anything wrong with it either.”

  “What?” He was starting to sound as annoyed as he felt.

  She wrenched something from under the hood, inspected the long piece of rusted metal and tossed it to the ground. “You think I'm pretty, don't you?”

  He knew there had to be some trap at the end of the question that would bite him in the ass later. “You're not ugly.”

  She shook her head and laughed. “You've been checking out my ass. I think I'm a step above not ugly.”

  Shit. She'd noticed.

  He shrugged, but his shoulders felt tight. “Your point?”

  “Stop acting like you're not looking.” She straightened, pulled out her pad, and made some notes. When she was done, she met his gaze. “Because that's what annoyed me about you in the beginning, and it's what continues to grate on my nerves. You could have just said, yes, I wasn't expecting a woman. Or yes, I had doubts you were able to fix my car. I can take that. I can't tolerate being lied to. Feels too much like I'm being patted on my head and told I shouldn't worry myself.”

  A small warning bell went off in his head. Someone in her past had patted her on her head. And Dane reminded her of that person. That much he knew because she did the same to him. “Huh.”

  Her brows rose. “What does that mean?”

  “It means we won't ever see eye-to-eye. Not because I'd lie to you or pat you on your head. You think I would or have.” He gestured behind her. “What's with the car?”

  She hesitated as though considering to fight with him or not about his statement. “Under the hood it needs the least amount of work out of all the ones we've seen today.”

  He glanced at the car and couldn't believe her. He knew enough about his classic to figure out what had stranded him on the roadside, but not enough to fix it. He damn sure wouldn't be able to rebuild it from the ground up. “I'm the noob here and you're the expert.”

  Her gaze narrowed on him as though she was trying to read more into what he said, and he let her. The day had been long enough, and if he had patience, he'd lost it around car five. For the last week they'd emailed back and forth detailing their needs for this project and their main focus had been on finding the cars.

  After an hour of arguing, they'd agreed to take whatever people donated. Then she sent him a photo of a car that was pretty much tires and frame. It had taken another two days to come up with criteria and realize they needed to do field work. Lots of it.

  So, his morning had started with not enough coffee. Then he'd been stuck in her tow truck that was hot and smelled like her. Even that hadn't been a true break from standing out in the searing spring sun. They'd spent hours alone with each other. He had plenty of reasons for being on edge.

  Brooke pushed out a breath. “That leaves us with six definites, not including your car since I haven't looked at it yet.”

  “I sent out some emails last night and got two more solid yeses on donations.”

  She made a face. “That leaves us with at least eight more to go. I'll call my...contact.”

  His brows rose at the shifty phrase. “That's the second time you've said it like that. Who is it?”

  She looked away. “A contact.”

  He scoffed. “No wonder you're honest. You can't lie for shit.”

  “I just want to keep his identity a secret.” She lifted her chin.

  His, she’d said.

  Dane rocked on his heels and tried to imagine the type of man she'd go for. She might hold a blue-collar job, but something told him she hadn't grown up in a blue-collar environment. Though she fought for her business, there wasn't a desperation to it, as though she had to succeed because this was her only livelihood, her only back up plan. It felt more like a thing of pride, which was enough to make her stubborn about the whole process. Lastly, if she were truly broke, she wouldn't have been able to pick up the tab for the repairs.

  “A him,” he said. “Huh.”

  “Not a him,” she corrected. “Just a him.”

  Because he couldn't let her win every round, he said, “Now are you telling me this so I'm aware you aren't taken? Or just for general information?”

  Her lips thinned. “When I start to think 'I can like this guy,' you go and be a bickering dick.” She put up her hand. “Yes, I know, technically dicks can't bicker, but you're insufferable.”

  Since that's exactly what he’d planned to say next, he laughed. “Admit it, you're having fun.”

  Her gaze told him the truth before her mouth formed the lie. “No.”

  “No you aren't having fun or no you won't admit it?”

  She smiled at him. “Yes.”

  He'd asked for that. “I'm not the only one being insufferable.” Her silky laugh washed over him and made his stomach go tight from need. “Are we done for the day?”

  She shook her head. “There's still another five cars on the list.”

  Hell. He scrubbed a hand over his face, and said from behind his palm, “What list?”

  “The one I remembered and didn't tell you about. I wanted to see how long you'd last.”

  He tilted his head, dropping his hands to his side, and glanced at her tight shirt. Her nipples were hard again. She was enjoying this. Not for the first time he worried their arguments and bickering were a form a foreplay, and they'd been at it for a year.

  Well, he could always test that theory. “This isn't how you find out about my stamina,” he said.

  Her mouth dropped open. “Dane, that is not part of the rules.”

  For a woman who was forthright about pretty much everything, she sounded scandalized. He fought the smile. “We have rules?”

  “I
figure out various ways to call you a douchebag, and you figure out ways to call me a shrew.”

  And this was another reason why he hadn't bailed. He liked her twisted sense of humor. “But we just agreed I like the way your ass looks, so now we have to add sexual innuendo to our exchanges. Or didn't you pick up that subtle cue?”

  She shifted and looked flustered. “No.”

  His brows rose. He'd never seen her like this. The Brooke who gave him nothing but shit would have never let him catch her stammering. Oh, she was still giving him a run for his money, but this side of her was interesting. He pushed, “We didn't agree or you're unsure that I like the look of you bending over?”

  He saw the corner of her mouth twitch, but she held the full smile back. “Now you're objectifying me.”

  He shrugged. “I'm very aware you're smart, and also that you wouldn't piss on me if I were on fire. I also can't help but quietly write odes to the way your denims hug your ass. Trust me, I'm more bothered by that than you.”

  Something warm and fluid filled her gaze at his words. “What a way to give a girl a compliment.”

  “One?” he said in a mock offended tone. “I said two nice things about you.”

  “Right.” She bit her bottom lip for a second, and he could tell she was doing her best to hide a smile. “It’s true that I wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire.”

  Dane snorted. He suspected they could do this for twenty-four hours straight and not miss a step. He had a moment's worry about how appealing that idea was. He wanted to know if she'd keep up, never straying into a dismal and unforgiving insult. It was a line neither had crossed and he doubted they would. Some words couldn't be taken back. He and his ex had slung plenty at each other before their relationship imploded. Reminded of that, Dane did his best to beat back the attraction, because no matter how appealing she was, Brooke reminded him too much of his ex.

  He motioned to the gate between the front yard and the back. “Come on, she-devil. Let's get through the rest of the list.”

  “Now you're using terms of endearment. I am sure you think I'm pretty.”

  Of course he thought her sharp chin and milk-chocolate brown eyes were beautiful, especially when her grin turned mischievous. It usually did when she told him to fuck off in the nicest way possible. That was the problem. Dane found her unbearably attractive.

  If he scraped away their history, he'd have wanted to place kisses on her neck, collarbone and then lower. And lower. Until he suckled her and then he could hear her voice turn husky as she moaned. In moments like this, he knew she wanted him to do the same.

  But what were Brooke's reminders to keep her hands to herself? He knew she hadn't grown up here. In the past year no family had visited her. And he'd seen her with her friends. She was warm, kind and fiercely loyal to them. Today he'd seen glimpses of that woman, and he wanted to know more.

  Fuck. So instead of denying the obvious—he'd found her more than pretty—Dane motioned for her to go first through the gate.

  Brooke seemed to put a little bit extra in the switch in her hips when she walked. The motion drew his gaze down to her ass and nowhere else. About halfway to the front, she glanced over her shoulder with a grin, proving his suspicion.

  Yeah. She wanted him to look at her ass, and that was different and new for them.

  Dane knew he should have felt wary or cautious, but her smile was more alluring than her ass. He was doomed.

  *****

  Brooke couldn't say no when Peyton asked her to lend an extra hand at The Grog Monster. Later that night, practically everyone in Tanner Creek was there. That didn't count the travelers and truck drivers stopping for the night.

  The hardwood floors complimented the leather booths accentuated with silver buttons. Chalkboards covered the walls, listing the drinks, and some had funny sayings. Small town bar or not, it was rustic and elegant. Being so close to the weekend, there was no wonder they were busy. The bar was loud, but in spite of the distractions, Brooke finished fulfilling one last order of beer before facing Peyton.

  Her friend's brunette strands were tucked away in a ponytail. Peyton’s cheeks had a rosy glow. Her brown eyes were filled with mischief. She looked undeniably happy, and that was part of the reason Brooke hadn’t been able to say no. Her friend was in love with Tate Briggs, the local handyman, and being around Peyton left Brooke happy, too.

  But there were more important things for them to talk about tonight than love and happiness.

  “I am denouncing my friendship to Naomi,” Brooke said.

  Peyton scoffed and wiped down her section of the bar's counter as she moved closer. “She told me. I'm so proud of her.”

  She kind of expected that answer and bit back the smile. “Really? You didn't hear what I just said. I'm defriending her.”

  “But you can't. It's not the Internet, and you're not really that mad.”

  “She's being meddlesome, which makes her a hypocrite. Every night she likely goes to bed sexually frustrated. She's sworn off men after her divorce. I've sworn off Dane, but like most things, what is good for the gander is not good for the goose.”

  Peyton blinked. “When did you first feel the need to swear him off?”

  Dammit. She didn't want to talk about Dane. She'd spent the day with him and had a surprisingly good time. Oh, yeah, he found buttons to press as did she, but in between that they laughed more than they fought. The circumstance was exactly as she feared: She liked him.

  Brooke waved her hand. “Let's skip that part.”

  Her friend leaned against the bar. Even as packed as the Grog was, it was a slow night for drink orders. Brooke couldn't count how many times she had to refill the peanut bowl. Sooner or later they had to get thirsty.

  Peyton sighed, the sound filled with exasperation. “And this is where you lose me. You're attracted to him and he's attracted to you. I think you're more mad about that than anything he's said or done.”

  Brooke put a hand on her hip, hating the fact her friend was a little right. “Wouldn't you be pissed if you wanted to sleep with an asshole?”

  “Not that mad. For the record, I think Dane's nice. He gives you shit because you give the same to him, which leads me to believe you make sure he's mean to you.”

  Brooke looked at her friend as though the woman had lost her mind. “So I have to be nice first? Why?”

  Peyton laughed and shook her head. “Don't get started on your I'm-woman-and-hear-me-roar bit. If you noticed someone only snapped at you because you did it first, would you stop? Would you take a moment and reassess?”

  “I hate my friends,” Brooke muttered, but bumped Peyton playfully with her shoulder, because she could see her point “They always want me to be reasonable. And he's so condescending.”

  “You're abrasive.”

  “He thinks he knows everything.”

  “So do you.”

  Brooke huffed out a chuckle. “I'll go through my list and you'll counter everything, won't you?”

  Her friend tugged at her ponytail and grinned. “Yup.”

  Brooke sighed, unsure of what to say next. “So how's being the town's slut going for you?”

  Recently, her friend had told a crowd of the biggest gossips in their small town she was having sex six ways to Sunday with Tate. Peyton's purpose had been to squash a much uglier rumor. Didn't matter, she became somewhat of a sideshow. Two years ago, her friend would have gone into hiding over it. Now, because she was in love, her friend didn't mind the attention too much.

  Peyton pointed to the crowd. “Damn good. Should have told everyone I was having lots of sex a long time ago.” This time her friend bumped her shoulder. “What's really bothering you about Dane?”

  Of course straying from the subject wouldn't be that easy. “What I always worry about with men like him.”

  Peyton's gaze swept over the crowd. “That he'll want to change you.”

  That she'd change herself to please him. She'd done that before and never wanted t
o be that woman again. “Exactly. He's attracted to me now but a year down the line and I'm still not soft and cuddly...”

  “But you'll never know, because you make sure there's nothing likeable about you. It's a preemptive strike.”

  They'd been friends long enough Brooke didn't doubt Peyton saw the pattern. “I'm just saying, he's the kind of man who'd walk in the door five minutes after I get home and ask what's for dinner. Like it's my job. He won't understand why I'm annoyed because he’ll think it's a woman's work.”

  Peyton shrugged. “And I'm saying I've talked to Dane. If you say to him 'are your hands broken?' he'll see the light. Hell, he might even make dinner to apologize for being insensitive.”

  Her heart squeezed. “I shouldn't have to point it out.”

  Peyton only shook her head, probably seeing the argument as a lost cause. “How's the calendar going?”

  Brooke accepted the change in subject because talking about Dane made her stomach flutter and her skin tight. “I'm going to have to call my brother. He always has a few junkers he's fixing in his spare time.”

  “How many do you need?”

  “Looking like six. I might be able to squeeze four out of him.”

  “And he'll likely know someone else who can help you.”

  Brooke rubbed her face. “Yeah. I'm not troubled by that. I'm troubled by what he's going to ask for in return.”

  Peyton winced. “A visit home?”

  “Yeah.”

  She wasn't against going home, but being in the same room as her mother. First, the subtle questions would come. The kind of questions that would uncover simple facts that would lead to whether or not she was seeing someone. Then, there would be the inquiries about when she would get married as though that was Brooke's only purpose in life. Her mother was stuck in an era where that kind of existence wasn't only okay, but the only acceptable existence.

  There was a time when she would have happily lived that Donna Reed dream, would have been hopeful right along with her mother. Those days were gone. Revisiting them just put a sour taste in her mouth.

  Brooke shrugged. “I see you were trying to distract me. How's Tate?”

  Peyton blushed. “Fine.”