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She couldn’t help her smile, so she ducked her gaze to his shoes to hide it. That felt like a big admission for a man like him. She had a strong instinct on these things.
He’d given her something big. Felt like a gift. Like a little peek into the real man.
“Did Hallie give you my number?” she asked.
“She did. I memorized it and saved it into my phone, and I started a text to you a dozen times. Just couldn’t seem to send them.”
“You were overthinking,” she told him. “I would’ve texted back.”
“It wasn’t that. It’s irresponsible of me to encourage you to build an interest in me. It’s dangerous. I was trying to be a good man by deleting the messages before I sent them. You should know, there was effort.”
“You showed up here today.”
“I told you I wastryingto be a good man. Didn’t say Iwasa good man.”
God, he was so hot. He was a walking red flag, but red was her favorite color. Her career as a therapist was supposed to teach her to go after emotionally stable, available, upfront men with no secrets, but Wreck was exciting, and challenging, and mysterious. He was like a book she hadn’t read the blurb to, and she was just on this random adventure with no preparation.
She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him, or the soothing sensation of his green flames lapping at her skin.
“You’re looking at me like you think you can fix me,” he gritted out.
“I mean, it would be pretty fun to try.”
“Woman, you would break yourself on me. Get in the truck.”
“Yes, sir,” she said in a giddy voice as she did this silly-looking, high-kneed trot toward the passenger’s side of his truck.
“You’re ridiculous,” he said, but the smile was back in his voice—thank goodness.
“Thank you-oh-ewoooh!” she sang badly, then plugged one ear, closed her eyes, and did some pretty horrific pitch-changes. When she was done, she opened her eyes and grinned at him over the trailer hitch of his truck. “I’m working on my siren song.”
Wreck snorted, and she was pretty sure he muttered the Lord’s name in vain, but his truck engine was loud, so she could’ve been mistaken.
By the time he’d finished doing a final check on the trailer tie-downs, she had plugged the aux cord into her phone and queued up a playlist of her favorite women-power artists’ dance jams.
“Just make yourself at home,” he said as he settled behind the wheel.
“Do we need coffee on the way? I’ll pay.”
“You need a venti sleepaccino with a double-shot of NyQuil,” he teased.
“Don’t be jealous. I’m high on life,” she said, scrolling through her music to find the perfect song to serenade him with. “Yes!” She reached forward, turned up the volume, and started doing the snake dance, with a clap in between each direction change.
He wasn’t hiding his smile very well, and he kept looking over at her just to watch with dancing eyes.
“You know this song. You want to sing it. You sing, I’ll dance.” Timber bent her arms and did this flapping-bird move in rhythm with the drums. Head bobs were involved.
Now Wreck wore a grin, and as he pulled up to a stoplight, he watched her dance moves the entire red light.
She pointed to him. “Control your boner. We are just best friends.”
“Oh, we’re best friends now?”
“Best friends forever.” She did the wave and shook her chest as she leaned forward, then settled back into the seat. She was the worst dancer on planet Earth, but that had never stopped her from having fun—with the right people, of course.
“I can’t even believe you’re still single,” he joked.
She rolled her fists in fast rhythm, pulling a face of concentration. “My ex is still around.”
