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Ryan tried to smile back, but he didn't think it was very successful because she frowned.
"Talking about it bothers you, doesn't it?" Erin whispered.
He tried to open his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. His whole body shook.
Erin stood, and before Ryan could move, she stepped up to him, plastered herself against his side and wrapped her arms around him, tight. Wow. He should pull away, but his body had other ideas, better ideas. He pulled her in tight, burying his face against her shoulder. She was in great shape but soft in all the right places. He held on and shook, waiting for the terror to pass.
Ryan wasn't sure how long he’d been holding her, but after a while, he wasn't thinking about death and destruction. Her hands ran up and down his back. He was pretty sure Erin was trying to soothe him, but all he could think about was how much he wished those hands were on his bare skin. Erin's scent was enticing; a mix of engine oil, orange cleaner, coffee, and something sweet and spicy. Ryan gritted his teeth and released her. The hug was amazing, but he could never have what he wanted. She wouldn’t want him.
Erin stepped away, the corners of her mouth barely turned up. "Better?"
Ryan had to clear his throat. "Yeah. Sorry about that."
"No problem. Hugs among friends are good things. Anytime you need one, I'm here." She sat down.
Friends—she said "friends," and he'd better remember and be grateful for that. Swallowing heavily, Ryan tried to think about other things, like baseball and drill sergeants. The Sarge. That sure did it. All he could think about was the Sarge saying, "And this one is mine. Get your own!" He sighed. That wasn't likely, not with the arm. Besides, he wanted her.
The Sarge's girl. Ryan sighed again.
"Shall we talk about salary?"
He nodded, not trusting himself to say anything. He listened as she outlined what she could pay him, and how many hours she wanted him to trade for the apartment, but he really didn't care about the details. Nope, he just wanted to be with her. He was such an idiot. No way she'd want him for more than a friend. Then his name caught his attention.
"...Ryan?"
"Sorry, drifted for a minute there." He forced his shoulders down.
"Sure." Erin huffed a chuckle. "I was saying I could help you find a car to restore, and you can keep it here. You might have to keep it outside most of the time, or maybe in the garage at my house, but I'll trade you hours working on your car straight across for hours you help me on my project cars. We can trade off weeks or months or something. How does that sound?"
She was too generous, but it wasn't an offer he'd pass up, either. "That would be awesome. I've always wanted a classic. How about a Superbird?"
She chortled. "Sure, if you've got a couple hundred K socked away."
"How much?" he squeaked. That sounded mature.
"A Superbird goes for over two hundred thousand. But we might find a plain Road Runner, or a GTO, or something like that."
"Sure. That would be cool. I'm pretty open on make and model." Ryan snorted. "I definitely don't have a couple hundred K hiding anywhere."
"Didn't think so; you wouldn't be trading making coffee for my little apartment if you did."
He needed clarification on something she'd said earlier. "Um, if it's none of my business, tell me, but you said your garage, like it was separate from this building. Where do you live?"
"I have a small place on the far end of this property, a little three-bedroom house with an oversized three-car garage." She grinned. "You're always welcome to drop by for a beer or something after work."
"Thanks." That was tempting, but she was just being friendly, nothing more. Unless she was lonely, living way out here by herself.
"Do we have a deal?" Erin tilted her head with a tentatively hopeful look. The hope seemed a little brighter, and he wanted, needed, to make it shine.
"Yeah, we've got a deal." She rewarded Ryan with a big, bright, cheerful grin. He held out his hand to seal their deal. Erin took it in hers and shook firmly. Some calluses and a strong, firm grip, but she was a mechanic, so no duh.
She's the boss now, and way, way out of your league. But he couldn't help dreaming as he followed her gently swaying backside out the door and down the stairs.
Chapter 8
Mistakes and Misinterpretations
Rats. No one told her Ryan lost an arm. Or got a TBI. Poor kid. And "kid" was the right idea to keep in mind, especially now—she was his boss.
