Page 16 of Dealing Dirty
“Well, I don’t know about—”
“That way we can have some girl time and some wine, and you won’t have to worry about driving home.” To me, she says, “You don’t mind, do you?”
What are you up to, she-devil?
I spare a glance at the woman who’s been avoiding me for the past three months, and her wide eyes practically beg me to say no.
It’s sure to be an uncomfortable ride, and she’s bound to find fifty different reasons to avoid speaking to me, but I’m not so cruel as to make her miserable, right? I’m the one being mature, after all. I’ll just politely tell Cassidy that I’m busy every day of the week for the next ten years.
Juliana worries her lip between her teeth, patiently waiting.
On second thought…
I paste a syrupy-sweet smile on my face and look directly into those big brown eyes. “Sure. What are friends for?”
Chapter Four
Juliana
Damn you, Cassidy.
I pace the floor next to my living room window, picking at my unmanicured fingernails. “Any minute now, Derrick will roll up with his stupid truck and even stupider irresistible face.”
Oscar meows with a tilt of his head. His twitching tail matches my nervous steps. “What? I don’t want to date the guy, but that doesn’t make him any less attractive.”
By the look of his slanted green eyes, I’d say he’s onto my bullshit.
Sure enough, the deep rumble of Derrick’s solid black truck sounds from the parking lot. My neighbor’s dogs erupt into a barking frenzy, and I mutter an apology to poor Esther. Oscar makes a break for my bedroom as I grab my keys.
“Be a good boy!” I holler before locking the door and heading down the concrete steps.
Working with—well, mostly avoiding—Derrick has proven to be a bigger challenge than I anticipated. And as hard as I fight the temptation of watching him while he works, I catch myself doing it often.
The camaraderie and wit between Derrick and the other guys is sickeningly adorable. They work like a machine, fluidly tossing bottles back and forth, doing little tricks for our customers. Against my better judgement… I’ve grown fond of The Pound.
It’s been two weeks since my first shift, and I’m thankful he hasn’t tried to bring up our time in Vegas again. But the weight of it sits between us like a sexy elephant in the room.
Sexy elephant?I’m truly losing it.
My heart lurches straight into my throat once I get within a few feet of his truck. The driver’s-side door swings open, and his worn cowboy boots hit the pavement with athud. A rare treat, especially since he usually wears his Nikes at work.
Dios mio.Sometimes I forget he’s a country boy, but those boots and worn jeans paired with a loose-fitting T-shirt are doing wonders for my imagination. I’ll admit, I’m a sucker for that irresistible grin.
I envision him sliding out from under my Firebird, arms slick with oil and dirt after working on… something that cars need routine work on. He’d stand to dust himself off, and in my sultriest voice, I’d say, “Let me get that for you.” I’d reach for a rag to wipe him off, but he’d snatch up my hand, pulling me against his muscled chest and smothering my mouth with his until he became the only oxygen I needed.
“Jules?” he calls from the passenger side where he’s waiting beside the opened door.
Poof. I snap out of my daydream. I’ve really got to cool it with the romance novels.
“Don’t call me that,” I say, brushing past him and pulling myself up into the passenger seat.
The way he chuckles makes me nervous. I’m afraid that, for all my blustering, I’ve somehow managed to incite him.
“That’s what yourfriendscall you, isn’t it?”
I open my mouth to respond, but he doesn’t give me a chance to get a single word out before he closes the door and stomps around to the driver’s side.
Rotten bastard.
