by Tracy Ellen
He was dressed in a faded black T-shirt, paint-spackled jeans, and work boots. He didn’t have an ounce of fat on him anywhere that I could see in my peripheral version. He glowed with strength and vitality. I would try not to hold that against him. The not an ounce of fat part, that is. The vitality was hotter than hell.
I exercise most days and watch what I eat, but there’s no getting around the fact I’m more petite centerfold than runway model. From the tightly leashed energy emanating from his being, I bet my lean, broad shouldered, mystery man had to consume enormous amounts of calories to keep at a normal weight. Some people are born under a lucky star. I would eat my weight in chocolate éclairs every day if I had such a metabolism. Well, truthfully, it would be a split--fifty two pounds each--between chocolate éclairs and frosted sugar cookies.
He was bronzed a dark tan everywhere I could see in a way men seem to get when they spend a lot of time outdoors with their shirts off. His silky, thick hair was cut short to his head and mussed on top. It was deep black and shined brilliantly even in the leaf-filtered sunlight. He was lean cheeked with a high bridged, distinctively bold nose reminiscent of a swarthy Greek or Italian somewhere in his gene pool. Contributing to the badass look was black stubble covering the lower half of his face and strong, square chin. Dressed in work clothes and needing to shave, he still portrayed an aura of the sharp professional dressed down for the weekend, not a biker dude.
With his flexed arm holding his mug, I saw he had impressive pipes. Since we are objectifying here, I have to confess muscular arms absolutely do it for me. A tattoo or three could possibly send me over the edge.
This wasn’t a man I’d call cute or handsome or a hottie. Fierce suited him with his air of coiled intensity and his dramatic, dark coloring. His likeness could be depicted in a mythology book when illustrating Mars, the Roman war-god.
Practice makes perfect. I am expert at keeping a poker face as these incredibly detailed impressions of the man streamed across my third eye mind. Inside, I was recoiling in disgust at my helpless fascination with everything about him.
I serenely continued admiring the most gorgeous of all trucks before finally breaking the hormonally charged silence and answering.
“Yes, it’s very, very pretty. The paint job really rocks, and man, those are some sweet rims. I mean, what’s not to love about a 6.2 liter V8?” I flashed him my change-my-light-bulb-pretty-please smile. “I know it’s none of my business, but would you please tell me what you paid for it; down to the last penny?”
His green-eyed gaze was amused, if also warmly appraising. “Wow, impressive. So, you’re a woman who knows her trucks. I think the wheels are particularly awesome, too.” Pausing, he looked me in the eye. “And you’re also right; it’s none of your business what I paid for it.”
His immediate, wide grin took the sting out of his blunt words. I flashed a sunny, sympathetic smile back in acknowledgement of his temporary rights to deny me.
‘Ah, the dumb guy probably paid the dealer’s “bottom price” anyway, and was too embarrassed to admit it.’
He took his time and blew across his hot coffee, did a test sip, and winced dramatically. He then focused on me, and again I felt the power of his stare hit me over the head.
‘Whoa! Okay, this was some serious, force field level magnetism going on here.’
I had to practically physically brace myself not to be pulled into the tractor beam of his charisma. I wanted to beg him to go steady, or be my valentine, or take me to a homecoming dance somewhere—I was crushing like an innocent schoolgirl that hard, that fast. It was nauseating, confusing, mesmerizing, and not to be tolerated.
His black-lashed eyes were not only beautiful, but shined with a lively intelligence and, dare I pray, humor? I hoped this was true. Poor war-god, from the way I was reacting he’d need a very healthy sense of humor in his immediate future, and the smarts to understand what hit him.
After his studied pause—the pause I felt not the slightest need to rush to fill—he smiled slowly and continued, “But the pretty comment was about you.”
I smiled a little sideways at him, but otherwise ignored his flirting for a moment. I sighed gustily. I put my whole body into it. I’m not too shabby at drama myself.
“Well, if that isn’t a blasted shame.”
War-god’s eyes glinted, but didn’t stray from my face during my full body sigh. “Oh yeah, what’s a shame?”
“This is the exact truck I wanted to buy. I have been scoping it for the last two weeks. Now, you have it.”
I gave the truck one last, covetous glance, and then resignedly shrugged. I got a firm grip on the heavy basket handle and walked past him to the front porch stairs. He came after me and motioned to take the basket from my arm. He looked confused at my comment, but game.
“Here, wait a sec, let me carry that for you. I’m Luke Drake, by the way. Pardon me if I’m slow, but why is it a blasted shame if I have this truck?”
I was on the stair above him when I relinquished the basket with a smile at his good manners. I guesstimated he was about five-ten or eleven. My wedge heels and the extra stair height put us at eye level.
“Hi, I’m Anabel Axelrod.” I automatically put out my right hand for a friendly shake, but Luke’s were presently both occupied with the mug of coffee and the basket. “Oh, I’m a little bummed right now. I’ll never know what price I could have talked them down to at the dealership for this truck.”
“Oh yeah, why’s that?” Luke asked, somewhat distractedly. He was transferring the awkward basket over to his left arm, preparing to politely shake my hand in return.
“Isn’t it kind of creepy to go buy the same exact truck of a man I want to date?” I rushed on hopefully, “But maybe you don’t think that would be too cutesy if we drove twin trucks?”
I saw when the meaning of my words hit home.
His eyes shot up to stare at me.
I smiled shyly and blinked.
My badass wolf burst out laughing.
My smile went huge.
I really love it when my instincts are spot on. I had hit the seldom seen, nearly extinct trifecta of manly muscles, intelligence, and humor.
Luke started to answer, but then the front screen door banged sharply. We both turned to look as my brother came out onto the porch.
Walking towards us, Reggie called, “Hey, if it isn’t the most favorite of all my sisters! I thought I heard your Jeep.” Eyeing the food, he rubbed his hands together. “So, what have you brought me?”
Reg gave me an affectionate, one-armed squeeze around the waist while checking out the basket on Luke’s arm. He grabbed and opened the Northfield Bakery pink bag holding the chocolate chip cookies.
He took a deep whiff. “Either these smell almost edible or I’m hungrier than I thought.”
I hadn’t actually baked the cookies myself but based on general principle, I casually rubbed my cheek with my middle finger. It was a private gesture of affection for my brother. Luke glanced up from the basket just in time to catch me being sisterly.
Reggie chuckled at my blush. “Luke, meet my sister.” He relieved Luke of the basket. “Junior, meet Luke Drake. Luke’s my new neighbor down the road. He’s inherited Ben Drake’s farm.” Reggie noticed my blank expression. “You know, Junior, the farm that has the toy John Deere combine mounted on the mailbox. Old Ben was your uncle, right Luke?”
“Great uncle.” Luke absently answered my brother.
I wasn’t listening much to Reggie, either. I ignored the questioning gleam in my brother’s blue eyes as he looked from me to Luke. I also ignored his brief, knowing smirk shot my way before he waved to the screen door. “Let’s head inside and go to the deck.”
I went up the steps, feeling the searing intensity of Luke’s gaze on my back with every step. “Thanks for the intro, but Luke and I have met.” I flashed a mischievous glance at Luke over my shoulder. “He knows I want his…truck.”
I didn’t wait for the men, b
ut walked ahead into the house to get supplies from the kitchen. I could hear the low rumble of Reggie’s voice behind me on the porch stairs saying something that caused Luke to laugh out loud.
I rolled my eyes. He was probably being a traitor to the blood and warning Luke not to let me near his truck. I have a slight problem with curbs. One of the few side effects I live with as a result of poor vision in my left eye. That’s my story and I am sticking to it.
I used the Omnipotent Sister trick and called back to him through the screen. “I heard that, Reg. Good thing you have three other ‘most favorite’ sisters who get their tushes out of bed and bake for you.”
I snickered when the immediate response was, “Oh, peace out, Junior! You’re so sensitive.” I heard a low voiced, “Shit, she’s got the hearing of a bat.”
I passed through the sizeable living room set up with four sawhorses instead of furniture. The flooring was still at the plywood subfloor stage, but I observed it was screwed down in place since the last time I had stopped by.
There were two, ancient six panel doors laid across the sawhorses in the process of being stripped of their multi-layers of old paint. I wrinkled my nose at the noxious odor. That job I did not want to do. Thankfully, the doors and windows were wide open to let the breeze in and the toxic fumes out, but it was still a brain tumor waiting to happen.
In the spacious but outdated kitchen, I reached on pointed toes for a few of Reggie’s endless supply of paper plates located up in an old cabinet. When that didn’t work, I jumped up and down, boosting off the cracked Formica countertop to get leverage to reach far back into the overhead shelf.
I expertly bounced, jumped, boosted and stretched in one fluid motion. I almost managed to grip the plates.
Before my next attempt, I called out, “I’ll get the napkins and plates, and then meet you guys on the deck. Do you need anything else out there, Reg?”
“He sent me to remind you to bring paper cups for the juice.” Luke’s quiet voice was right behind me. I whirled around in surprise. I could feel the counter’s metal edge cool against the exposed, bare skin of my lower back.
He smiled slightly, his glance briefly lingering on my hands covering my racing heart over the V neckline of my halter top, sundress.
He leaned towards me.
I caught myself from puckering up just in time. Luke was only reaching beyond me into the cupboard. He placed a stack of paper plates onto the counter, and then politely stepped back. His expression remained blandly neutral, but I had seen the flare of momentary reaction passing over his face when I’d whirled around at his voice. I also saw the amusement that now glowed in his eyes.
Flustered, I automatically smiled my thanks back without a thought. I was too busy trying to figure out if I had been flashing him when expertly boosting since my sun dress was short and sassy. I usually only do that sort of thing by accident on purpose. He was definitely silent and tricky.
I wouldn’t even let my mind dwell for a microsecond that I had been willing to kiss him without conscious thought. I breathed in deeply. I grabbed a firm hold of my usual sangfroid with both hands, exhaled, and settled into my normal cool.
Our smiles slowly faded. We stood a foot apart, unabashedly sizing each other up. I’ve never met a man before--that wasn’t also a gross pervert--who made absolutely no bones he was taking his sweet time looking me up one side, and down the other. Weirder yet, I stood still and let him. Speaking of bare bones, I’ve never before told a man I was planning on dating him, either. Both were oddly exciting notions, even as I wondered what in the hell was happening to me.
Luke spoke first. “You are one scary sister.”
I nodded. Not exactly what I expected to hear, but I’ll accept any compliment thrown my way. “Why, thank you.”
“I understand you hit curbs while driving.” He said it as a serious statement, arms crossed at the chest, eyes narrowed.
I ducked my head and scuffed my foot, and then peeked up quickly at my interrogator. “Yes, but only the curbs on the left side. A mere nothing, I assure you. Anyone could do so, if they only covered their left eye and tried.”
He kept a stoic face, but his eyes had that glint I was all ready coming to recognize. “Shooting the nail precisely into your brother’s thigh? That had to take a cold, calculated aim. I believe there was the added bonus of an infection. Is that correct?”
I airily waved him off. “Yes, that’s correct, but enough with the compliments. You’ll make me blush.”
He frowned severely down at me. “I’m to understand you bite, too?”
“Okay, that’s it. I can only take so much sucking-up flattery.” Laughing, I reached up and lightly shook his shoulder. “Please, snap out of it, I beg you!”
We grinned at each other for a couple of seconds.
I reluctantly remembered to drop my hand. The same hand that twitched to start smoothing across his broad shoulder.
Luke leaned forward and loosely bracketed me against the counter with an arm on either side. “Anabel, are you thinking what I am thinking?”
“It would be proof there is a god!” I answered fervently.
Faces inches apart, he quizzically cocked one black eyebrow at my happily enthusiastic answer.
‘Oh, that move is no fair! Totally below the belt.’
I was enslaved with that diabolically arching eyebrow. He was so hot while looking all cool, calm, and yes, in control. Also, I couldn’t cock just one eyebrow in question if my life depended on it. I had to settle for cocking my head to one side in question back at him.
A small smile hovering on his lips, Luke went on smoothly, “I’m thinking we need to go out on a date,” he paused infinitesimally, “tonight.”
“Oh.” A little bit of a letdown in the originality department, but he made up for it in the urgency department. “I was thinking I want to have your children, but if you want to start with a date,” I shrugged, “I’m up for that.”
Luke gave a shout of laughter, but started shaking his head emphatically in denial when I continued speaking. “I can’t accept for tonight, though.” I shrugged lightly, again. “Sorry, but I have previous plans.”
“Oh, no you don’t. You can’t do that to me. Now that we’ve established what we will be doing on our first date, I can’t wait for another night.” He stopped laughing and laser beamed me from those dark green eyes. “Seriously, cancel your plans and come out with me tonight.”
I opened my mouth, firmly intending to answer with a resounding, “Seriously, dream on, buddy-boy.”
Imagine my surprise when what came out instead was a breathless, “Okey-dokey.”
I looked around in shock to see if it was really me who had said that peculiar answer. Luke didn’t give confused me a chance to renege. He stood back and was all sharp teeth and smiles, radiating male satisfaction with closing the deal.
“Cool. Seven o’clock?”
After a pause, I grumpily replied, “I guess that’s okay.” I have a firm rule to never break existing plans with friends to be with a man, unless it was his funeral. I added a muttered, “Svengali.”
Luke looked taken aback for a second. Then he grinned while again shaking his dark head in amusement, or maybe bemusement, I couldn’t tell which. He probably couldn’t, either.
He placed a few paper cups on top of the plates sitting on the counter.
He brushed my cheek with a knuckle. “So you know, my future plans include a large family.” His glance traveled down and stopped on my hips. He nodded. “Good. Your short and a little on the oldish side, but those look like sturdy, childbearing hips.”
It was my turn to burst out laughing. “I’m so happy you like midgets and antiques. But, hmm, maybe I misjudged your brains. ‘Sturdy’ is a word no woman ever wants to hear in association with any of her body parts.”
I probably shouldn’t set a precedent of cracking-up when teasingly insulted, but Luke was too funny and I don’t have a PC bone in my body. After adding plastic
utensils and napkins to the pile; I nudged him out of the way with my healthy hips.
Giving me a sly grin that brought his dimple into play, he stood aside with a slight head bow to allow me to pass.
I sashayed my loaded plates through my brother’s dining area, working it with my swaying hips to get around the card table and chairs sprawled haphazardly in the path to the deck doors. I angled my left butt cheek up to open the lever door handle.
I looked to see if Luke was following. He wasn’t. He was leaning against the kitchen doorway. His arms were folded and he was seemingly engrossed watching my childbearing hips in motion.
Straightening up, Luke shook his head decisively. “I stand by my choice of sturdy. Your hips are workhorses.” I was smiling again as he started walking the opposite way; to the front door. He tossed back over his shoulder, “I’ll pick you up at seven tonight, Anabel Axelrod of Bel’s Books.”
It took me a second to realize he was leaving. He had probably been on his way out when I had arrived earlier. Then his words sunk in and cheered me right up. He recalled our almost meeting those months ago, as well.
When agreeing to go on a first date with a man, I always avoid being without a getaway car. I have gratefully escaped early from many brutally boring date nights with this sensible rule.
I thought of my day ahead and took a few steps back into the dining room. Luke was at the screen door in the living room, and had it opened.
“Let’s make it eight. Oh, and I prefer to meet you, Luke. I may want to have your children, but I don’t really know you, right? So where shall we meet?”
Luke gave another crack of laughter like I had said something hilarious. “Anabel, I’m picking you up. Eight is fine.” Across the room, he gave me that appraising look again while his fist tapped out a quick, staccato beat on the wooden door frame. Brow creased, he said, “Listen, I’d really like it if you wore a dress tonight.”
