by Linda Cajio
Which meant she was going to look like a fool in front of Tom before they’d even managed to ride two miles.
“Bad news. I, uh, I have the wrong tubes. I need two-niner tubes, and I don’t have them, so I can’t change the flat. But listen, you go ahead, and I’ll find a bike shop. And after it opens”—in three or four hours—“I’ll buy another tube and meet up with you this afternoon.”
“Or you could patch it.”
Another catastrophic failure of planning. Lexie hadn’t brought a patch kit. She’d carefully considered whether she needed one and had concluded that since she was going to be carrying plenty of extra tubes, it didn’t make sense to tote a patch kit as well. Also, there was the fact that she’d never patched a tire before. The whole process had always struck her as rather arcane, and she hadn’t seen any reason to bother learning how to do it. Tubes were cheap, after all.
“I don’t know how,” she admitted, knowing he would frown and glare at her, and that he would be justified.
He did frown and glare at her. But then he took the tube from her and started looking for the puncture.
“I already did that.”
Tom ignored her. He used his hand pump to put some air in the tube, then stuck it next to his ear and turned it slowly, listening for the hiss of escaping air. Two full revolutions later, he put a little more air in the tube. And then he stuck out his tongue and licked it.
“What are you doing?”
He didn’t answer her, just kept running the tip of his tongue slowly along the rubber tube and staring at her with those intense dark eyes. And God help her, it turned her on.
She felt her cheeks heat up and looked away, mortified. Almost thirty years old, and she was getting off on the sight of a guy licking a tube. A hot guy licking a tube, but still. She obviously needed to get out more.
When she glanced back at him, he had his patch kit open and was using the sandpaper to rough up the rubber. Apparently he’d found the leak. With his tongue. Jesus.
Thank goodness sex was already off the table. Considering how hot she was for her ride buddy right now, the fictitious Mr. Marshall might turn out to be a blessing. The catastrophe of her last failed relationship had made her more than a little wary of climbing into bed with the wrong guys, and Tom Geiger couldn’t have been more wrong if he’d tried.
Though he was patching her tire for her.
Tom smeared on some glue, applied the patch, and handed her the tube.
“Hold that on there for five minutes. Then you can put it back together and pump it up.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
She couldn’t think of anything else to say, so she just pressed on the patch and waited, deeply uncomfortable. So far, her grand adventure was not turning out remotely like she’d imagined it would. So far, it kind of sucked.
He pulled the water bottle off his bike and took a drink, swished, spat. “Next time, you lick the tube,” he said. “It tastes fucking awful.”
Lexie laughed. Risking a glance at Tom out of the corner of her eye, she caught him smiling at her—and nearly fell over.
A broad grin had transformed those fine lips, erasing every trace of Angry Tom and replacing him with a Tom she hadn’t met yet. But she wanted to. Oh, man, she wanted to. He had an amazing, engaging smile. His eyes seemed to sparkle with his amusement, and deep laugh lines appeared at the corners. There was a dimple in his chin she hadn’t noticed before. His teeth were bright white against his dark skin. This Tom was utterly delicious.
Miracle of miracles, he also looked like a lot of fun.
They stood there like that, smiling at one another for just a few seconds longer than was called for, before Tom frowned slightly and turned away to put his water bottle back in the cage.
Lexie let out a breath she hadn’t even known she’d been holding. Maybe he wouldn’t be so bad.
