“Yeah, it was a high-level disaster,” Jessa says and then grins. “So…pizza?”
Franklin frowns. “I thought we were having soup?”
18
True to her word, Addison takes the entire week off. After my date with Vanessa, I’ve been edgy. I’ve waited for Addison to call and almost called her several times myself, but I chicken out every time.
Instead of dwelling on the radio silence, I throw myself into work to prove to Gary that I’m dedicated enough to work on Trevor McCallin’s roadster. The car is supposed to arrive in a few weeks, and I have a couple of odd jobs to finish up.
It’s Friday night, past eight, and I’m the last one in the shop. I skipped the cooking class after arguing with myself about it all day.
After another thirty minutes, I’m done for the night. I’m on my way out of the bathroom after washing up and changing out of my dirty coveralls when I spot the office light. Lydia must have accidentally left it on when she left for the evening.
I turn that way, planning to flip it off, and then come to a stop in the doorway.
Addison glances up from her desk, looking surprised to see me. Cocoa lies in the corner, dead to the world. His back leg twitches as he sleeps.
She watches me for a second, looking unsure of herself. Then she turns back to the computer screen. “You’re working late.”
“You too.”
“I was catching up on some invoices,” she says.
“Are you feeling better?” She appears to be pillow-free, so she must be.
“Yeah, I’m fine now.”
The air is heavy between us, charged.
After several long moments, she says, “Jessa said you went out with Pink Coupe Vanessa last Saturday. Did you have a good time?”
Her tone is clipped, and her posture is just a little too straight. She is not happy.
Is that why I haven’t heard from her? Jessa must have mentioned my date—come to think of it, my sister might be giving me the silent treatment too. I haven’t heard from her in days either.
“Did you reschedule with Gio?”
Slowly, she turns to face me. “No, we had a date. It was a train wreck, but at least it’s over and done.”
“I didn’t have a good time.”
She narrows her eyes. “Was your answer contingent on mine?”
“Well, yeah.” I lean against the door, trying not to smile. “I’m not going to admit my date sucked if you had an awesome one.”
Her grin is devastatingly bright, but it’s only there for a moment before she schools her expression. “You never told me what your meeting with my dad was about,” she says casually, looking back at her computer.
“Trevor McCallin asked us to restore a Ford roadster for his museum.”
Startled, she turns to face me. “Seriously? Why has no one thought to mention this to me?”
Her surprise is grounded. We deal with expensive vehicles every single day, but this is a celebrity car we’re talking about.
“Well, you were gone all week.” I huff out a breath and study the bulletin board. “Your dad is letting me lead the project.”
I can feel her staring at me, and I look back. It only takes a few seconds for recognition to dawn on her face. She turns to her computer. “That’s awesome, Carter. Congrats.”
“I’m thinking of turning it down,” I say, observing her carefully.
She whips around to face me again, looking at me like I’m an idiot. “What? How could you even say something like that?”
“You know what he’s doing.”
“Giving you the chance of a lifetime.”
“He’s buying me off—so I’ll stay away from you.”
Her eyes lock on mine, and she swallows. Her response lights a fire in my stomach, and I find myself crossing the room.
As if sitting in the office chair makes her vulnerable, she stands. She leans against her desk, watching me, her lips parting ever so slightly.
I stop in front of her, close enough she reaches back to brace herself on the scarred desktop.
“What would you do if I told you I like you?” I ask, catching her gaze and refusing to let it go.
She shifts her weight and rolls her eyes. “I would tell you that you’re full of it.”
I smile, enjoying the way she fidgets. “And if I told you I’ve liked you for a while?”
“I’d remind you about the plethora of women who have waltzed through your life—including Pink Coupe Vanessa.”
“Interesting. What would you say if I told you I can’t stop thinking about our kiss?”
The slight rise and fall of her chest quickens with each breath. “Carter, you know as well as I do this can’t work. Dad will be livid; you’ll lose your job. Worse, you’ll lose your chance to work on the roadster.”
I nod because I do know.
I’m just not sure I care at this moment. Maybe later tonight, maybe tomorrow. Maybe a week from now when I’m doing oil changes in striped coveralls that have my name appliqued on a chest patch.
But not right now.
19
Carter steps even closer, angling his head to the side as he studies me.
Goodness, I’ve missed him this last week. And now here he is, and we’re all alone. He’s pure temptation, and I’m fresh out of willpower.
“If you don’t want this,” he says, “then why have you been using the list on me?”
I suck in a breath and try to step away. Carter blocks my path, not about to let me flee.
“Using it on you?” I ask, playing stupid.
“I’ve seen it—I know every number by heart. The sweater, the living room clean up, the snacks, the cookies—they’re all there.”
I don’t know whether I’m mortified or…something else. Because Carter isn’t looking at me like this is a big joke to him. He’s looking at me like he’s going to kiss me.
But I can’t let him do that. It will ruin everything for him, and I care too much to let that happen. Somehow, I manage a shrug. “I was practicing.”
When I lick my lips, Carter’s eyes follow the movement. “Practicing?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“I see,” he says, his eyes smiling. “So you were just…using me?”
“I’m afraid so.” My voice is wobbly, but what can I do? “Sorry.”
“Are you?” Slowly, as if he’s testing me, he slides his hand to my waist. His palm is warm through my T-shirt, and it feels intimate though the move is chaste. Carter has touched me before, but this is different. More. There’s expectation behind it—wanting, longing, daring.
When I don’t move away, he tightens his hold on me, coaxing me closer. My stomach tightens with blissful expectation.
“Feel free to practice on me whenever you like,” he murmurs.
A sane part of my brain is still functioning, and it wants to know what I’m thinking. All the other parts want Carter.
Now.
Here.
Always.
“So…out of curiosity, how am I doing with the list?” I ask, stalling for time.
“Good,” he breathes. “If your Dad wouldn’t murder me, I’d definitely make a move.”
He says it like he’s joking, but there’s too much truth in the words for comfort. We’re playing with fire, and even though you better believe I like the heat now, I have no doubt we’re going to get burned.
“Carter…” I whisper, giving him one last chance to bail before we head down a slippery slope—one last chance for him to realize this is a terrible idea. Because I’m afraid if he doesn’t back off, I won’t either.
As if his name is an invitation instead of a warning, he moves in, cupping the back of my neck with his hand. “What would you do if I kissed you, Addison?”
“You have kissed me,” I feel the need to point out.
“That wasn’t a real kiss, and you know it.”
Carter’s breath tickles my lips, and I lean against the desk when my knees go soft. Once steady, I g
ive in to temptation and press my palms to his chest. It’s solid and strong—everything I imaged but more because this is actually happening. His eyes follow the movement, and when I fist my hand at the collar of his shirt, his muscles go rigid.
“Well?” I demand quietly. “Are you going to kiss me? Or are you all talk?”
He lets out a low rumbly laugh, amused by the dare. And then, before I realize how quickly Carter can shift gears, he slides his hand into my hair, tips my head back, and his lips meet mine.
I swear there are stars. Fireworks. A symphony.
All the everything.
Because Carter is kissing me, and I’m kissing him back, and his hands are on me, and my hands are on him, and it’s like I’ve been waiting for this moment my entire life.
I clutch him closer and push myself up so I’m sitting on the desk—so, so grateful I don’t need the pillow anymore. Obedient to my whims, Carter shifts closer. I let out a soft, involuntary sigh, and his hand tightens at my side. The kiss deepens, and I slide my fingers into his hair.
It isn’t a soft kiss—not slow, nor explorative. It’s a wildfire, full of years’-worth of pent up longing, and not just on my part.
“Addison,” Carter breathes, suddenly pulling back. His eyes search mine, and the emotion swirling in them mirrors my own. Confusion. Confirmation.
I’m not alone in this—I’m not the only one feeling. It’s easy to kiss and flirt, but there is more here.
We stare at each other for several heartbeats, and I have no doubt we’d come together once more if it weren’t for the insistent “Woof!” behind Carter.
Carter drops his hands, lowering them to my arms but not removing them completely, and turns to look at Cocoa.
The fluffball sits like a good boy, eyes bright after his nap, his tail wagging across the concrete floor. He gives us an entirely inappropriate “Hey, guys, what’s up!” look.
“He probably needs to go out,” I say softly.
My lips are still warm from Carter’s kiss; my waist is on fire where he touched me through my cotton shirt.
Slowly, Carter turns back to me. “Right.”
Half-embarrassed now that my senses are sparking back to life, I look at my lap.
“Hey,” he whispers, catching my chin and tilting my face up. “Don’t.”
It’s almost painful to look at him. “What are we doing?” I ask, feigning composure.
A crooked smile tugs at his lips, and he leans closer. “I know you haven’t dated much, but I didn’t think you were quite that—”
“Are you willing to give up your job for this?” I demand, needing him to listen.
He pauses, his jaw working as he tries to form an answer.
“It’s a rhetorical question, Carter. Of course you’re not—I wouldn’t want you to be.” I pull his hands away from me, though I immediately miss his touch when they’re gone. “This is your dream. You’ve wanted this forever.”
“Yes, but…”
I force a smile. “My dad will fire you if he finds out we’re messing around. He’s not a reasonable man.”
With his eyes on me, he steps back and shoves his hands in his front pockets. There’s a strange smile on his face—like he’s mildly frustrated with the whole situation, but he doesn’t know what to do about it any more than I do.
Nervous about having his undivided attention, I straighten my hair and try not to make direct eye contact.
Cocoa whines again, looking a little desperate.
“I should go,” I say, turning away from Carter with the excuse of finding my purse.
I expect him to try to stop me, but he only stands there, watching me gather my things so I can flee.
“Night, Addison,” he says when I make it to the door.
Unable to help myself, I glance back at him. He leans against my desk, all rugged handsome, with a five o’clock shadow and molten eyes that make a girl doubt every decision she’s made in her life. My stomach flips, and I gulp, wondering if I’m a complete moron for walking away from him right now.
Probably.
“Night, Carter,” I say, and then I escape out the door.
* * *
Typically, after a girl gets the absolute best kiss of her life, she calls her best friend. But how are you supposed to do that when your best friend is the guy’s sister? I’m sure the last thing Jessa wants to hear about is how scrumptious her brother is and how kissing him is a life-changing experience.
Even thinking about it now makes my knees weak and my insides feel like mush. I mean, no wonder so many girls are in love with Carter.
Then I have to remind myself that he probably kisses like a champ because he’s had lots and lots and lots of practice.
And that just makes me kind of hate him.
How dare he do this to me? He could have any girl in the world—why make me fall for him? It’s like driving a donut truck in front of a weight loss convention. It’s just wrong.
As I sit here, adoring Carter one minute and loathing him the next, I try to focus on the supply order I’m working on. If I accidentally purchase metric bolts when Dad requested standard, he’s not going to be pleased.
Carter’s out there in the shop, just past the door, working on an ancient Buick. I’ve avoided him like the plague, but here in a minute, I’m going to have to go out there and ask Stan about a brand of masking tape he said he wanted to try the next time I placed orders. I’ve been putting it off for three hours.
It’s amazing how efficiently you can procrastinate if you’re determined.
I slowly roll my chair back and stretch my hands over my head. Then I drag myself up, dreading the walk into the shop. Before I go, I shuffle a few papers and decide it’s a good time to sort through my collection of paperclips.
“I haven’t seen you dawdle like this since you were five and didn’t want to get your hair cut,” Lydia says. “What are you doing?”
She and I have a weird relationship. She’s like a mom to me, but she and Dad only started dating a few years ago. They married last July, but we’re still working out this new dynamic.
I know she doesn’t want to overstep, but I wish she wouldn’t worry so much. Growing up, she made my Halloween costumes, braided my hair, and took me back-to-school shopping. She even did my makeup for all the elementary recitals I danced in back when Dad figured I was a girl and girls should take ballet.
Growing up, I wished she was my mother. And now that she sort of is, I wish she’d stand up to my father a little more where I’m concerned. I know he means well—I know it was hard on him raising me all by himself, but sometimes his concern is a bit smothering.
“Nothing,” I say immediately, tossing the paperclips back into their container and heading for the door.
“While you’re out there, ask Carter how much longer he thinks the Buick will take. The customer is breathing down my neck.”
“Carter?”
She looks over at me and frowns. “You know him—Jessa’s brother. Tall, brown hair, toned abs—”
“Stepmother,” I say, purposely making her grimace. She told me once the title made her sound like an evil character from a fairy tale.
Grinning, she shoos me out of the office. The second I walk into the shop, I can feel Carter’s eyes on me. Obviously, I don’t actually know that he’s looking this way because I refuse to look at him, but if I were a betting girl, I’d say he is. What else would cause my skin to tingle like it is?
“Stan,” I say, glad to catch the paint technician just before he disappears into the booth. “What was that tape you wanted again?”
I nod as he tells me, trying to commit the brand to memory when one hundred percent of my attention is on the man leaning against the workbench in the corner. He should not look that good covered in vehicle grime. It’s so wrong. And yet…
“Okay,” I say to Stan. “I got it.”
I turn to leave, and when I’m halfway back to the office, I casually call, “How much longer on the Buic
k, Carter?”
He doesn’t answer, which means I have to stop walking and turn around to face him.
“Carter,” I say, exasperated, finally meeting his eyes.
A small smirk toys at his lips. “I’m thinking.”
I cross my arms, waiting for his answer—and then I let them drop because it looks like I’m trying to be casual. Instead, I shift my weight to the side and nonchalantly set my hand on my hip.
That doesn’t work either.
Carter’s eyes are slightly narrowed, and as I fidget, his smile grows more crooked. Even though we’re thirty feet apart, the air sparks between us. With as much flammable product as we store in here, I have no idea how the whole place doesn’t go up in smoke.
Isaac glances at us, watching us too intently. A few of the other guys look over as well, curious about the exchange.
This is ridiculous. Five days ago, I would have walked across the room and had a normal conversation with the man. If I keep acting like this, the whole shop—including my father—will figure out something is up.
Gritting my teeth, forcing a smile, I walk to Carter’s station. “A rough estimate will be fine,” I say, lowering my voice now that we’re standing right across from each other.
He holds up a finger, asking me to wait a moment, and turns toward the bench. He shuffles a few papers. I assume he’s looking for something technical, but he ends up flipping one over and choosing a stub of a pencil from an assorted pile of junk. He writes something, and then taps it, silently telling me to read it.
Unfortunately, I have to stand right next to him to do as he asks. Flashing him a warning look, I take those three dangerous steps.
A gentleman would move, give me space. Carter isn’t a gentleman.
I glance at him one last time before lowering my eyes to the hastily scratched note.
I can’t get you out of my head.
Heat blooms in my chest and then races through my body, making my limbs all liquid and hot. Carter’s eyes are on me, and he carefully watches the way his words affect me.
My mouth is dry, but I swallow and face him, boldly meeting his gaze. There are still eyes on us—people watching us too closely. Isaac, in particular, pretends to be busy, but he looks our way every few seconds.
27 Ways to Find a Boyfriend Page 12
