Page 16 of Crashed
Deacon slid his arm around her waist. “This is Alex.”
Jarrod took her hand, lifting it to his mouth. “Lovely to meet you, Alex.” He gave her a crooked grin, one she suspected got a lot of women to drop their panties, and pressed his lips to her skin. Yeah, he was a good-looking guy, but she suspected he knew it, too.
“You, too.” She pulled her hand free, and his grin upped in wattage.
They took their seats, and the guys started talking. Which was pretty much how it continued for the next hour.
All in all, the evening was going better than she’d thought it would. They mainly ignored her while they talked business. And since she had no clue what they were going on about, or why Deacon had bothered to bring her in the first place, she spent the time people watching and enjoying the free food and alcohol.
“So, what do you do, Alex?”
It took her a moment to realize Jarrod was talking to her. It seemed the business portion of dinner was over. This should be good. She plastered a smile on her face. “I’m a mechanic. Me and Deke’s sisters own a garage on Axle Alley.”
Deacon shifted beside her but said nothing, while Jarrod stared at her like he was waiting for the punch line. When she kept her trap shut and he realized there wasn’t one coming, he shook off his stupor and served up his panty-dropping smile again. “Wow. That’s an unusual occupation for a woman.”
She shrugged. “I guess.”
“What kind of work do you do?”
“Besides the run-of-the-mill, bread-and-butter stuff, we want to eventually specialize in classic car restoration. We’ve done a few already, and we’ve got several more big jobs lined up.”
Deacon turned to her. “Do you?”
“Yeah.”
Before he could ask any more questions, Jarrod cut in. “I actually have a car that needs work. Maybe I should bring it in, see what you can do?”
The conversation turned to cars, which she’d happily talk about all night, and by the time she’d finished telling Deacon’s business associate what they could do for him, another hour had passed. Deacon had barely said a word in all that time.
Was he pissed at her for hijacking his dinner?
When Jarrod asked her another question, Deke dropped a hand on her shoulder and cut in. “It’s getting late. I think we’ll call it a night.”
“Right. I hadn’t realized the time.” Jarrod turned back to her. “We should do this again sometime. You’re so passionate about what you do. I could listen to you talk about it all night.” He didn’t even glance at Deke when he said it. Oops.
“Um, yeah. Sure.”
Deacon grabbed her hand and stood abruptly. “Okay.
See you next Wednesday, Jarrod.” Then he strode through the restaurant, towing her behind him. Keeping up in four-inch heels was no easy task, not when she was used to wearing steel-toed boots.
She tugged on his hand. “Slow the hell down, or I’ll fall on my ass.”
He did as she asked but didn’t look back at her. When they hit the street, he called Martin, asked him to pick them up, then stared silently ahead, jaw like granite.
After a few minutes the silence became unbearable.
“What the hell’s your problem?” she said to his steely profile, though she thought she had a good idea.
He scowled down at her. “Are you serious?”
She gave him her best what-the-hell-crawled-up-your—ass expression and crossed her arms, needing space. “Yeah, I’m serious.”
He didn’t take the hint and stepped closer. “You really don’t know what my problem is?” His voice had gone all deep and growly.
And of course, as always when he got like this, her happy places got a whole lot happier. Which was insane and just plain wrong. She ignored her aching nipples and the pulse between her thighs and fired back, “No. But you’re acting like a dick.”
“I may as well not have been in the room, that’s what my problem is. You were all over fucking Jarrod Prescott like cheap perfume.”
