by Roni Loren
Rebecca shook her head with a smile, charmed by how boyishly enthused he was. “You’ve got it bad, Wesley Garrett.”
He gave her a rueful smile. “That obvious?”
“Quite. It’s kind of adorable.”
He pointed to his chest in mock shock. “Me? Adorable? I feel like we’re making progress here, Lindt. From not your type to asshole to adorable.”
She rolled her eyes. “The scale can shift back and forth, so don’t get too cocky.” She walked over to eye the price, which was written in bright-green greasepaint on the side window. “Tell me what you’d do to her.”
He leaned against the side of the bus, and a slow smile lifted his lips. “Now that sounds dirty, lawyer girl.”
“Are you flirting with me in front of Adele?” she teased, not recognizing the playful lilt in her voice.
“Depends,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Is this a date or a further conversation?”
“I…” She gave him a tense smile. “Must we define it?”
“Okay, then how about this?” he said, his focused gaze not giving her any place to hide. “Did you kiss me because you were drunk?”
The left-field question wiped the smile from her lips, and her heart jumped into her throat. “What?”
He pushed off the bus and stepped closer, not touching her but not exactly keeping a friendly distance. His eyes held challenge and not an ounce of the earlier playfulness. “I’ve tried to pretend that it didn’t happen. I’ve tried to ignore it, but it’s not working. Not when we keep finding ourselves in close proximity to each other. And with you standing here under these lights, smiling at me like that and looking like you really do give a shit about what I’d do to remodel this hunk of metal, I can’t concentrate on anything else. So I need to know. That first night…did you kiss me because you were drunk?”
Her blood roared in her ears as he repeated his question, his broad body blocking out anything but her view of him. She was suddenly very aware of their aloneness, of the quiet intimacy of the situation. She forced a response past the tightness in her throat. “Why?”
“Answer the question, Rebecca.”
Answer the question. Answer the question. She wet her lips. “I wasn’t drunk.”
His jaw flexed, and she couldn’t tell if he was happy about her answer or pissed. “You knew who I was. You thought I was a liar and a cheat. You told me I wasn’t your type. Why did you kiss me?”
She swallowed hard. “I wish I had the answer to that.”
“Try.”
Her shoulders lowered in defeat. “I don’t know. I guess because I stopped thinking and just…wanted to know what it would be like.”
“To kiss me?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not what it would be like. That was me in shock.” He took another step, backing her into the side of a van parked next to the bus. He braced a hand beside her shoulder, and his face lowered close to hers, making her breath quicken. “So if you really want to know, I could show you exactly what it would be like. When I’m trying. When I know it’s okay to want you.”
Heat rushed up her neck. “Wes…”
“Tell me not to kiss you, Rebecca. To fuck off. Tell me that tonight isn’t a date and that you just wanted to give me money for the school. Or that you want a new friend. Tell me I’m not your type.”
She closed her eyes, a tremor working its way through her body and hot, liquid want blooming low. “You’re not my type.”
Wes hissed out a breath.
But before he could push away, she opened her eyes and grabbed his shirt. “That wasn’t a no.”
Heat and something dangerous flared in his eyes, some resistance breaking. His big hand slipped behind her to cup her head, and his mouth came down on hers in a rush. Every cell in her body came alive at the touch of his lips. And this time there was no hesitation, no confusion. He held her where he wanted, and the tip of his tongue teased the seam of her mouth, making sensual promises she had no doubt he could keep. She parted her lips, needing it all, and melted when his tongue stroked against hers. He tasted like the baklava they’d had for dessert, of honey and pistachios and sin. She wanted to gorge on him.
Some needy sound slipped out of her, one that showed all her cards, and his other hand slid to her hip. He pulled her against him and let her feel exactly what this was doing to him, the utter maleness of him growing hard and heavy against her.
Christ. Her sex clenched, ready to throw a ticker tape parade welcoming him to the neighborhood. She gripped his shirt hard, afraid her bad knee would give out beneath her. This was Wesley Garrett, the confident chef in those magazine photos, the man who took risks and worried about the consequences later, the man who could undo her with one hot kiss.
And she didn’t know who the hell she was right now. Because it certainly wasn’t Rebecca Lindt, responsible professional who would never make out with a sexy tattooed chef in a used car lot, who would have more self-control than to be imagining routes to the nearest hotel.
“The one I was telling you about is right over here. It’s… What in the world?”
The unfamiliar voice broke through the erotic fog in her mind, and Wes made a strangled sound. They quickly broke away from the kiss, both turning their heads toward the noise.
An older man with wrinkled brown skin—presumably Dev’s uncle based on the last name on his shirt—was scowling at them while the two men behind him were holding hands and grinning at them.
“Um, Mr. Madan, I… How are you?” Wes said, smoothing down the front of his shirt where Rebecca had left it a crinkled mess.
“Wesley, what is going on?”
Wes crooked a thumb toward Adele. “Just…shopping.”
The older man frowned, his thick, black brows lowering. “That is not what shopping looks like. This is not a place to…” He waved a hand. “Do these things.”
One of the guys behind Dev’s uncle, the hipster of the couple, laughed under his breath. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Wes cleared his throat. “Sorry, Mr. Madan. I thought you were closed. We were shopping, and then we were…overcome. Your place is, uh, very romantic.”
The man huffed. “Romantic. You are lucky you are Devin’s friend.” He pointed a bony finger at Wes. “But no more sneaking in. If you want to see something after hours, you make an appointment. This is my place of business, and I have customers who want to purchase this bus. Now, leave, please, so I can do my job.”
Wes’s face paled. “They want to buy Adele?”
One of the guys—the broader, more bearded one—smiled. “Mr. Madan has convinced us that a bus will be perfect for the gourmet barbecue truck we want to open. It will give us the space we need.”
“But…” Wes didn’t finish the sentence.
Rebecca stepped up next to Wes, putting a hand on his shoulder because he looked ready to pass out. Another lost opportunity. More freaking barbecue. “But Wes is interested in the bus.”
Mr. Madan leveled Wes with a look. “Wesley, if you are ready to purchase, you need to make me an offer.”
Wes inhaled a deep breath, a flat look descending over his features—a mask of hard indifference. “I can’t make an offer.” He glanced at the couple, his jaw tight. “Good luck with your new business.”
Hipster guy smiled. “Thanks, man.”
Wes glanced over at Rebecca. “Come on. Let’s get out of their way.”
He took a step to walk around them, shoulders hunched, but she grabbed the sleeve of his shirt. “Wait.”
He turned to face her, his look pleading. “Bec, come on.”
She ignored Wes and looked at Mr. Madan. “Sir, I’m really sorry about what you walked up on, but Wes brought me here because he wanted me to see the bus.” She took a deep breath. “I’m prepared to make an offer for a thousand over the asking price, which you
know is at least two thousand more than it’s worth. I can write you a check tonight, but you have to agree to it now. I don’t want a bidding war with these two.”
“What?” Wes said, his expression full of what-the-fuck.
But Mr. Madan grinned wide, flashing bright white teeth. “Fantastic, my dear. You have yourself a deal.”
“Wait, hold up,” the bearded guy said with a frown. “We should have a shot, too.”
Mr. Madan patted the guy on the shoulder. “I have other things to show you. Perfect things. Wes is family. He gets privilege.” Mr. Madan held his hand out to Rebecca to shake on it. “And I like a lady who knows what she wants and gets to the point.”
Wesley looked on, horrified. “Rebecca, what the hell? You can’t—”
“Thank you, Mr. Madan.” She shook his hand, shooting Wesley a nervous glance. This wasn’t exactly how she’d planned to do it. She’d planned to propose the idea to Wes, to give him the option. Not force things. But at the thought of the couple snatching the bus out from underneath Wes, her mouth had opened and out everything had come. Too late now. She’d deal with the consequences later. “Where do I sign the papers?”
Mr. Madan told her to head to his office on the other side of the lot and he’d meet her there after he showed the couple another option. Rebecca headed that way, Wesley in her wake. He caught up to her, her bad leg making it impossible to get too far ahead of him. “What the hell are you doing?”
She tipped up her chin. “Buying Adele.”
“Buying? No. This is insane. You can’t… You’re not buying me a bus. I told you I don’t even want to accept the ovens!”
“You’re taking the ovens. And I’m not buying the bus for you…at least not exactly.”
He stepped in front of her, blocking her way between two dinged-up Fords. “I’m not going to let you do this. Whatever you think you’re doing, it’s not going to happen.”
“It’s going to happen whether you want it to or not. This is why I had you bring me here tonight. I was going to talk to you about it, discuss options, but the plan just got a little…accelerated.”
“The plan?”
“Yes.” She crossed her arms. “And if you calm down for a second, you’ll see that it’s a good one.”
“I doubt that. Because whatever it is, you just bought a bus you don’t need and I don’t want.”
She ignored him. “I don’t throw together plans lightly. I’ve given this a lot of thought the last few days. I’m in charge of a charity fund at work, and it’s at my discretion what we use it on this year. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but after I spent time with your class the other day, it hit me. I could buy Adele for the program.”
He reared back. “What?”
“I know you don’t want a handout for yourself or them. I get it and respect the stance. This is not that. It’s a project. One with real-world application. The kids could help you refurbish the bus, set up a business plan, a menu, all the things that go along with opening a business. It could be a project that rolls into the summer and could teach them great skills, give them job experience.” She was talking fast now, trying to get it all out before Wesley blew another gasket.
“And then when you open it, a portion of the sales could go to the school to fund the program. The kids could even work the truck and earn some money once it gets going, if they want. It could be an ever-flowing source of support for the program. And you…” She swallowed past the knot in her throat. “I know it’s not exactly what you envisioned, but you could have a restaurant to run again.”
“I could have…” He stared at her, dumbfounded. “Holy shit, this is some sort of guilt thing, isn’t it? You’re trying to fix things. You’re trying to give me a restaurant. Rebecca, that’s nuts.”
“It’s not guilt, Wes, it’s—”
“No. Listen to yourself,” he said, squaring off with her. “People don’t do this. People don’t meet strangers and offer to dump a truckload of money on them. They don’t offer to hand them a business on a platter for the hell of it.”
“I swear it’s not guilt.” She pursed her lips, nerves trying to take over. “It’s—”
He held his hands out, beseeching. “It’s what? Please tell me because I sure as shit don’t understand.”
“I’m a Long Acre High survivor.” The words tumbled out of her and fell into the tense space between them.
His combative expression went slack, his lips parting. “Long Acre. Like the Long Acre?”
“Yes. I’m assuming you didn’t know,” she said quickly. “That’s why I limp sometimes. I was shot in the leg. And I’m only telling you now because visiting your class was the first time I’ve willingly been around teenagers or an active school setting since then. It brings up too much stuff.”
A pained look crossed his face. “God, Rebecca, I would’ve never asked you—”
She lifted a hand to cut him off, needing to get the words out. “But I’m glad I got to see you teach that day because watching you with the kids… It was something special. Something good. It gave me ideas. I saw kids that I could’ve gone to high school with, ones who maybe have gotten off track but just need someone in their life to say, ‘Hey, you’ve got potential,’ or ‘It gets better,’ or ‘You have a safe place or person to come to if you need it.’ That program is a safe place, and you are that safe person.” She held his gaze. “That is something worth fighting for. That is something worth investing in.”
He laced his fingers behind his head, clearly anguished on her behalf. “Rebecca…”
“And you were right. I’m good at my job and it’s a necessary profession, but I know I’m not doing anything that’s going to change the world. But you…you are. Even if you don’t think of it that way. And if this money can help you do that while you’re there, then maybe I can go to bed at night knowing I helped a little bit, too. That I didn’t escape all those years ago for no reason.”
His brows knitted. “For no reason? You don’t owe some debt to the world because you survived.”
The back of her nose burned, but there was no way she was going to let herself cry. “I do.” More than he or anyone else realized. “So maybe this is more self-serving than you realize. Maybe I’m doing it for me, too.”
His hands dropped to his sides and he stepped closer, concern on his face. “Rebecca, I don’t know what to say to all this.”
She gripped her elbows and shrugged. “Maybe just say yes.”
He cupped her shoulders, his eyes searching hers. “Promise me you’re not trying to pay me back for something. I don’t deserve that.”
She shook her head. “I need to do something good. I want to help your kids. And I can’t do that without you being on board with this. Tell me you’ll do this.”
He pushed her hair away from her face, his lips quirking into a small smile. “So this wasn’t a date after all, huh? It was just some master plan to get me to agree to this project?”
A glimmer of pleasure went through her, cutting a path through her somber mood. “Well, getting kissed senseless wasn’t part of the original agenda.”
“Senseless, huh?”
She sniffed. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”
“Oh no, I’m going to look pleased. Knowing I kissed Rebecca Lindt senseless may need to go on my résumé. Right at the top.”
She shoved him in the chest. “Shut up.”
He gripped her wrist and pulled her close, touching his forehead to hers. She thought he was going to kiss her, but after a moment, he let out a long sigh. “What are we doing here, lawyer girl?”
“What?” she asked, a little breathless.
“I want to kiss you again. I’d like to keep doing that, actually, preferably not in a used car lot and without interruption. But it feels damn selfish.”
Her heartbeat thumped in her ears. “S
elfish?”
“Because that’s all I’ve got to offer. I’m just barely getting my shit together and have steered clear of dating or anything resembling a relationship since my divorce for good reason. You’ve got to realize I’m a bad investment.”
She lifted her head and met his tense gaze. “Are you worried I’m going to expect your class ring so we can go steady if I let you kiss me again?”
His expression turned chagrined. “Maybe? This isn’t meant as an insult, but you strike me as the type of woman who’d want the traditional steps into a relationship.”
She stared at him, not insulted, not even surprised. She held everything so tight and close—her feelings, her desires, her fears—that she was used to people layering their ideas about who she was on her like a costume. At work, she was the aggressive, confident lawyer. To her father’s friends, she was the studious, obedient daughter. To her friends, she was the practical, unemotional one. She was all those things and none of them, but those masks gave her a comfortable place to settle, a role she knew how to play. With Wes, she couldn’t find her footing or her lines, so blatant honesty slipped out instead. “I’ll admit I’m not someone who does the hookup scene. But I’m also not looking for something serious from anyone. Ever, really.”
He lifted a brow. “Ever?”
“I don’t see the point. I witness what happens to marriages every day at work. If you want to talk about bad investments, there’s a verifiable one. I have no desire to subject myself to that kind of ugliness and heartache. Things don’t have to be that complicated. Me kissing you back doesn’t mean anything more than it felt good and I like you.”
He stared at her for a long moment as if trying to puzzle her out, but then he smiled, some of the light coming back into his eyes. “You like me, huh? Like, like me, like me?”
“Oh my God, you’re twelve,” she groused. “All I’m saying is that we can be friends…who maybe kiss sometimes.”
He was still gripping her wrist, and he brought her hand up to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. “I’ve got a deal for you, Ms. Lindt.”
