Changing Gears

by Roseanne Beck

  My thoughts wander back to the possibilities of Lauren’s hands on me.

  Shit.

  This would probably be much easier if I were working with a bunch of dudes. At least then I wouldn’t have to be worried about getting boners at my place of employment.

  “Oh, my God!”

  The distressed cry startles me, and my eyelids snap open.

  Lauren’s standing in the doorway, eyes like saucers, one hand covering her mouth while the other holds the handle of a bicycle.

  Great. Now she’s gonna think I’ve been sleeping on the job. Or worse. “It’s not what it looks like.” I glance down at my shorts, relieved to see that my leg is the only thing raised right now.

  Her shoulders relax, and relief replaces the concern on her face as she lets out a breath. “I thought you fell.”

  “Nope. Just elevating my leg.” Definitely not thinking about my boss. Or what her hands could do. I give her a sheepish smile and struggle to sit up. The smile falters as I try to figure out how to get back to my feet again. Shit. Probably should’ve thought things through a little more.

  Story of my life.

  “Well, uh, okay,” Lauren says. “I’ll just leave you to it, then.”

  “Wait.” I really hate that I even have to ask, but if I don’t, no telling how much longer I’ll be stuck down here. “Could you, uh, help me up?”

  Her eyes widen again, and her cheeks flush. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s my own stupid fault.” Planting my good leg, I hold out my hands.

  The stain on her cheeks intensifies, and her eyes fly to my hands.

  Oh. Right. They’re probably covered in grease. With another wince-smile, I wipe them on my pants. “Sorry.

  “Don’t be.” She exhales and shakes her head, then offers her hands. Bracing herself, she nods. “On the count of three, okay?”

  “Yep.”

  “One...Two...Three.”

  She tugs me upright, and my hands tighten around hers as I fight to keep my balance.

  Her hands are soft, and from this distance, I get a whiff of vanilla that I’m guessing is either her shampoo or body lotion.

  Oh, damn.

  As if I needed to add more awkwardness to the situation, I can feel my groin tightening. Again.

  Seriously?

  If this keeps up, there’s a good chance she won’t be the only one embarrassing herself.

  “Thanks.” I flash her a smile and let go. “I’m good.”

  “Yeah.” Her gaze lingers on my lips for a few beats before she shakes her head as if to clear it. “Oh. No problem.” Her eyebrows furrow as I get settled on my crutches. “How’d you get down there anyway?” she asks.

  “Gravity?”

  A hesitant smile curves Lauren’s lips. “Ha-ha. Very funny.”

  “I thought so.” I return her smile, then nod toward the bike leaning against the doorway. Focus, Jake. “So, did you bring me another present?”

  “What? Oh. Yeah. Nothing big. Just an annual tune-up.” She glances at my leg. “But no rush. It can wait.”

  “Nah. I’m fine.” Probably best to keep myself occupied anyway. I point to the bike stand. “If you can help me get that bike off and this one on, I can get started on it.” We change out the bikes before I speak again. “So, uh, you want to fill me in on what I signed up for?”

  “Huh?” Lauren’s brow knits in confusion.

  “This weekend? With you?”

  “Oh. That. You don’t really have to go.”

  “Why not? Don’t you want me to go?”

  Her cheeks pinken. “No. I mean, yes. I mean, I don’t really want to go.”

  “Why not?” I ask again.

  Her lower lip disappears between her teeth, and her eyes dart to me before they skitter away again.

  An idea races through my head. One I don’t like. Because I’m getting the feeling here that despite what she said, it might actually be one of the rare cases where “It’s not you, it’s me” is a total lie, and that it might actually be me. Which is weird, because I could’ve sworn that I was detecting some interest from her side.

  Crap.

  Maybe that’s not what the lip biting and blushing was about after all, and my intuition is as screwed up as my leg.

  “It’s just...” Lauren rolls her bottom lip between her teeth again, then winces. “I’m not all that great at being the public face of the company. That’s really Kylie’s cup of tea.”

  Relief washes through me. “Oh. Well, then. No problem.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I do public stuff all the time.” Or used to, anyway. I smack away the doubts and continue. “Sure, most of the Motocross gig’s racing, but part of it’s PR stuff, too. Autographs, talking with sponsors, that kind of thing.”

  “Oh.”

  “So as long as you can handle the business-y side of the conversations, I can handle the other stuff.”

  The previous hesitancy in her eyes disappears. “Like a team.”

  “Exactly.”

  She takes her lower lip between her teeth again, and her eyes dart between my mouth and eyes. The blush creeps back onto her cheeks and she blows out a breath, the corners of her lips lifting as she nods. “Okay, then. Go, Team.”

  “Yeah. Go, Team.” While I’ve never been one for team sports, I am definitely willing to make an exception in this instance.

  As long as she doesn’t have pom-poms. Or a cheerleader outfit. With a sweater stretching across firm, ripe breasts and a barely-there skirt showing off her legs.

  My blood makes a run south of the border, yet again.

  Damn.

  This has the potential to be the most uncomfortable team meeting ever.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Lauren

  PLUNKING THE LAST BOX onto our Pedals & Medals table, I begin to unpack.

  Banner and tablecloth? Check. Swag for giveaways? Check. An overabundance of nervous energy and a high likelihood that I’ll do something cringe-worthy in Jake’s presence today? Double check.

  I unfold the Bike Moore banner and clip it into place, my sweaty palms making the action a little more complicated than it should be.

  Cool it, Lauren. Have some dignity. He’s just an employee.

  A guy employee.

  A hot guy employee.

  A hot guy employee with gorgeous eyes and intriguing ink and strong hands that I wouldn’t mind holding again.

  I blow out a breath, trying not to remember the way his touch sent little jolts of pleasure zipping across my skin. Trying not to imagine his long, calloused fingers wandering higher up my arms and exploring body parts that’ve seen way too little action recently.

  Argh! Why couldn’t Jake be balding with a beer belly? It would make my life so much easier right now.

  I glance at my watch, and the nervous butterflies in my stomach do the jitterbug once again. He should be here any minute. Although if I’m lucky, maybe he’ll be late. Or he won’t be able to get a ride.

  But then I’d be here in the booth by myself all day.

  Crap. I don’t know which option would be worse—having Jake here or not having Jake here. If only Uncle Pete wasn’t still hopped up on pain meds after his surgery, I could have him run interference.

  I cast my phone a longing glance. Maybe Sheila could come—

  No! Stop it! You are a strong woman. You can do this.

  “Am I interrupting something?”

  I jump, startled by the seemingly sudden appearance of Jake by my side. How the hell did I not hear his crutches? It’s not like he’s exactly stealthy. “What? No. Why?”

  He gives me a look somewhere between amusement and concern. “Uh, because you were kind of talking to yourself.”

  Great. Now I’m socially awkward and crazy. Might as well start adopting cats right now to complete the picture. “Nope. Just trying to give myself a pep talk.”

  “Well, then, I guess I showed up just in time. Wouldn’t want to miss the tea
m pep talk.”

  I rack my brain for something that won’t make me sound like a lunatic, but all I hear is the excited buzz of my hormones. Jake looks like he hasn’t shaved in a day or so, and the Bike Moore T-shirt he’s wearing stretches across his chest and shows off his biceps. His forearms flex as he clenches the handles of his crutches, and it’s all I can do to keep from reaching out and tracing the intricate lines of his tattoos.

  Come on, Lauren. Get a grip.

  And not on any part of Jake.

  What were we talking about? Oh. Right. “Uh... Go, Team?” Instead of the cheerleader-ish arm motion I intended, I find myself doing the jazz hands maneuver.

  Ten minutes in and you’re already spazzing out. Geez.

  Jake shifts on his crutches. “Alright, then. What’s the game plan?”

  Right. The game plan.

  The game plan is to make it through an entire day trying to talk to strangers about my business while in close proximity to someone who makes my IQ drop twenty points.

  It’s gonna be a really long day.

  WHILE I’M GLAD JAKE’S here to handle the publicity side of the equation, I’m pretty sure if he wasn’t here, I wouldn’t have nearly as much foot traffic to worry about. And I’m not altogether sure how many of the women stopping to chat with him will translate into actual Bike Moore customers. I get the feeling that most of them are more interested in getting his info, not the business’s.

  Something that feels a lot like envy courses through my veins as I see yet another woman cooing over him. Throwing back her head and laughing. Running her hand up his tattooed arm.

  Damn. She makes flirting look so easy.

  And Jake, well, it seems that in addition to bikes, he’s pretty adept at the flirting thing himself.

  But what did I expect?

  I mean, he’s a professional athlete and one of the best-looking guys I’ve ever seen. Flirting’s probably like a second language to him.

  I stifle a snort. If I could’ve taken Flirting 101 to satisfy my language arts requirements, I might’ve considered it. Of course, that probably would’ve pulled down my GPA, so never mind.

  “Hey.”

  I jump, Jake’s hand on my elbow sending a sizzle down my arm.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “What? You didn’t startle me.” The thudding in my chest argues otherwise.

  “Looked like you were in pretty deep thought there for a while.”

  “Really?” I shake my head and look around the deserted booth. “Why? Did I miss something?”

  He gives me a wry smile and eases himself down onto one of the folding chairs. “Nothing of substance.” A wince mars his features as he props his cast on one of his crutches. “So... How do you think things are going?”

  “Well, you’re certainly delivering on that whole being good with strangers thing.” Especially the pretty ones.

  “What can I say? It’s a gift.”

  The easy grin he gives me makes me feel a bit lightheaded.

  Or maybe I’m just dehydrated and hungry. Yeah. Probably that.

  Taking advantage of the lull, I sit down, too. “You want a water?” I pull a water bottle and a container of carrot sticks out of the little cooler I brought.

  “No, thanks.” He gives me a sheepish grin as he pulls his own water out of his backpack. “My sister made sure I came prepared.” He holds out a baggie of cookies. “Want one?”

  A bubble of laughter rises up and escapes before I can contain it.

  Jake gives me a suspicious look. “What? Are you mocking me and my cookies?”

  “No.” I press my lips together, failing to contain my smile. “It just struck me as funny, that’s all. Kind of like we’re in grade school and trading lunches.”

  “Who said anything about trading lunches?” Jake’s look turns wary. “I don’t want any of your carrot sticks. You keep that healthy stuff to yourself.”

  “I thought you would be all into the healthy stuff.”

  His eyebrow rises. “Why’s that?”

  “Because of the athlete thing.” I wave a carrot stick in his general direction. “I don’t think that body was built on desserts.”

  Crap. Way to practically go right ahead and tell him that you’re thinking about his body.

  One side of Jake’s mouth hitches upward, a gleam sparkling in his eye. “Oh, I enjoy desserts just as much as the next guy. Especially the ones with whipped cream and chocolate sauce.”

  An image of Jake sprawled naked in the bedroom with exactly that pops into my brain. Damn. Is it hot in this tent all of a sudden?

  “Hi, Lauren.”

  I tear my gaze away from Jake, relief sweeping through me at the sight of Spencer standing in front of us. “Spence! Hi!” I’m not sure I’ve ever been this glad to see one of my sister’s exes.

  “Just stopped in to see how things are going.” Spencer smiles at me, then turns his attention to Jake. “You must be the new guy.”

  Jake shakes Spencer’s hand. “Jake.”

  Spencer lets out a low whistle. “Hurley said you messed your leg up, but damn, that’s a big cast.”

  “You know Hurley?” Jake asks.

  Spencer leans against the table and nods. “Yep. He and I went to school together. I gave him a call when I heard the competition was bringing in a ringer.” Spence winks at me, taking the sting out of his words, then turns his attention back to Jake and nods at his leg. “How bad is it?”

  Jake’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Bad.” His gaze darts to me before returning to Spence. “Two plates and twelve screws in the ankle and a pin up near my knee.”

  “Ouch. How long are you out for?” Spence asks.

  The muscles in Jake’s jaw jump. “Rest of the season, at least.”

  “Aw, man. That sucks.”

  Jake huffs a laugh, but the amusement doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Tell me about it.”

  Spencer looks around the vicinity. “No Kylie this year?”

  I shake my head. “No. She, uh, didn’t think she was up to it.”

  A furrow forms between Spencer’s eyebrows, concern darkening his expression. “Are you guys doing okay?”

  “Yeah. We’re fine. Thanks for asking. She just needed a break is all.”

  Spencer presses his lips together, then nods. “Okay. But Lauren—let me know if you guys need anything.”

  “Will do. Thanks, Spencer.”

  “Funny,” Jake says, after Spence is out of earshot. “That’s not how I pictured the Spawn of Satan.”

  “What?”

  “Your sister may have, ah, told me a little about him.”

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t listen to Kylie. He’s a nice guy.”

  “So, if he’s such a nice guy, why does your sister think he’s the Devil’s spawn?”

  “Where do I start?” I munch another carrot stick. “Don’t know how much she told you, but he owns one of the other bike shops in town.”

  “Okay. So, that explains the ‘competition’ comments.”

  “Yeah. But that’s not the Devil spawn part.” I wrinkle my nose. “They used to date.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. I still don’t know everything that happened between them, but let’s just say that Spence has been on Kylie’s shit list for well over a decade now.”

  “Ouch.” Jake winces. “That is a long time to hold a grudge.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Note to self, don’t ever get on your sister’s bad side.”

  I bite my lip to try to contain my smile, but it breaks free anyway.

  His eyes dip to my mouth, and the queasy giddiness rolls through my stomach again.

  Silence stretches between us, and I sift through my brain, trying to find something to fill it. Something preferably not related to his kissable lips or chocolatey eyes.

  What were we talking about? Oh, right. “Who’s Hurley?”

  “One of the guys on the tour.”

  “How
did you hurt your leg? Google wasn’t all that helpful.”

  “You Googled me?”

  “Uh, yeah. Of course. You know, for employment purposes. Not like, for creepy stalker stuff.” I clamp my lips together to try to contain any further threats of awkwardness.

  “Ah. Of course.” Jake’s lips twitch, amusement sparkling in his eyes once again before his expression turns more somber. “Well, thank God I got injured during a training run, otherwise it probably would’ve been on video. Got too much air under me during a jump, bailed off my bike and landed wrong.” He runs a hand through his hair and wrinkles his nose. “Things after that are kind of fuzzy, but I remember the ambulance and then a couple of super fun days in the hospital while they tried to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.”

  “Did it work?”

  He shrugs. “We’ll see.”

  The uncertainty in his eyes tugs at my heart. Poor guy. I reach out and lay a hand on his arm, giving it a sympathetic squeeze. “Are you sure you’re up to this?” Removing my hand, I wag a finger through the air, indicating the booth.

  His expression relaxes. “Definitely. I don’t know about you, but I can only stay cooped up for so long. Especially with my sister. Seriously. This job probably kept Tracy and me from killing each other.”

  “Well then, I’m glad to know our business has been instrumental in preventing fratricide.”

  He chuckles. “You should put that on the website.”

  “Bike Moore. Preventing fratricide since 1958.”

  He laughs again, then sobers. “Is that really how old the shop is?”

  “Yep. Our grandfather started it. Then it was our dad’s. He died six months ago and left it to Kylie and me.” The shop and a lot of financial obligations. The familiar fist of emotion squeezes my throat.

  “Sorry to hear that. For what it’s worth, I really like your shop.”

  I give him a shaky smile. “Thanks. I really like you, too.” I can feel my eyelids stretch as the horror of my words sink in. Just when we were managing to have a halfway decent conversation, too. “I mean, I think you’re doing a really great job. At the shop. As a mechanic.”