“Why?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought it was something to do with his truck, but now that I know about your dad, I’m not sure. Just make sure you’re not standing on the sex bridge when he gets there. He might accidentally get on it, and wouldn’t that be embarrassing?”
Picturing Ben catching her in a compromising position, Lori burst into laughter. He’d had enough embarrassment via Molly over the past year, and she didn’t want to put him through any more, but the thought still struck her as hilarious.
Enough with worrying about men. Tonight she was going to have fun. Let the boys watch from afar. And maybe…maybe even drool a little.
T HE SUN BEAT DOWN , hotter than it had been all summer, burning Quinn’s back. If he were working at his site, he would’ve already ditched the shirt, but he wasn’t working. Instead, he was in Tumble Creek, watching Lori.
He hadn’t expected to find her in the garage on a Sunday, but there she was, balanced on the bumper of a half-ton pickup, her small body swallowed by the depths of the engine well. A long, muttered curse bounced off the hood of the truck, something so blatantly obscene that it turned him on. Who’d have thought such a pretty little thing could have such a dirty mouth? Even more shocking, who would’ve thought those coveralls could so thoroughly hide those curves? Not that she was buxom, but last night his eye had recognized the beauty of each perfect proportion. Though not until after he’d recovered from the shock of glancing up and spying some sort of ultrafeminine doppelgänger of Lori Love.
Speaking of spying…Maybe it was creepy of him to stand outside unannounced.
So he said, “Hey, Lori,” and then watched her head rise into a quick and nasty crash with the truck’s hood. “Damn,” he rasped, rushing forward to help. The cursing started again, which would have made him smile if he weren’t worried about her skull.
“Are you okay?”
As she clutched the top of her head, Quinn eased his hands around her waist and lowered her to the ground. “Are you bleeding?”
She slapped his hands away and cursed some more. “You scared the hell out of me!”
“Sorry. You want some ice? Let’s get some ice.”
“I don’t…” Her shoulders slumped. “Okay, fine.” She led the way through the garage and into the house, fingers gingerly exploring her scalp the whole way. “I think it’s all right actually.”
But Quinn didn’t pay any attention; he was busy inhaling the scent of home-cooked food. “My God, that smells good. I was going to ask if you wanted to go grab dinner, but you’ve already got plans, I guess.”
He glanced over to find her staring at him, hand still pressed to her head. “Dinner?”
“Yeah. You’ve already got something in the oven?”
“Yes.”
When she didn’t offer anything more, Quinn felt his stomach sink. “So you’re busy?”
She looked from him to the oven, her green eyes wide with…anxiety? Strange. “No, I’m not busy.”
Well, she wasn’t exactly enthusiastic, but he didn’t plan on giving up that easily. He’d been thinking about Lori Love since yesterday afternoon in his cabin. He’d been thinking seriously about her since last night.
“It smells delicious, did I mention that?”
She finally lost her shocked expression and smiled, rolling her eyes at his obviousness. He’d never claimed to be slick with women.
“Fine, Quinn Jennings. Since I’ve already cooked dinner, would you like to stay and help me eat it?”
“That’s a fantastic idea! I’d love to. Now let’s get some ice.”
“My head feels fine. I’ve got a thick skull. And lots of hair.” She glanced at the clock as she balanced a boot on a kitchen chair to loosen the laces. “It’ll be ready in about fifteen minutes. Just give me a second to change. There’s beer in the fridge.”
His shoulders had already begun to turn toward the ancient beige fridge when his eye caught the motion of her hand rising toward her zipper. He changed direction, turning back toward Lori as she moved the zipper down. The coveralls gaped, and Quinn watched, entranced, as a white tank top was exposed.
At that point, he half expected her to step out of her uniform wearing nothing but a thin white tank and a pair of panties. But Lori tugged the coveralls down with no ceremony, revealing a faded pair of jeans. And the tank top wasn’t that thin, either. Damn.
Seemingly unaware of his train of thought, Lori toed off her boots, pulled off the coveralls, and tossed them over the chair before heading for the bedroom.
Her walk seemed captured on a slow-motion camera; Quinn imagined her hips swaying in nothing but a pair of skimpy blue panties and reached blindly for the handle of the fridge door. He needed a drink. He might not be better with women with a beer or two under his belt, but he forgot how bad he was, at any rate.
After popping a bottle open for Lori, he downed half of his in a few quick swallows. What the hell was he doing here, anyway? Looking to ruin a perfectly good friendship? His track record with relationships so far was zero and…Hell, he didn’t even know the number, which proved the point. But every time he put down his work lately, he started thinking about her and that smile.
Lori Love was an enigma. Though she and Molly had been friends in school, they hadn’t been best friends. Molly had been popular and slightly flighty, while Lori had embodied the stereotype of the scholarly girl. Nose always in a book, extracurricular activities planned with an eye toward college applications, or so Molly had claimed. Lori had studied hard and spent her free time working in Love’s Garage. Quinn had no idea what had happened to her after that, except that she’d gone to Boston College on a full scholarship, then come home when her dad was injured.
And now she seemed like a typical female mechanic, if there was such a thing.
Wandering into the living room, Quinn let his architect’s eye take in the lines of the fifties construction. Nothing had been changed since the original build as far as he could tell. He wasn’t even sure the walls had been painted since then. Certainly the decor hadn’t been updated. Nothing here, absolutely nothing, gave him any clue as to who Lori had become.
Ancient bowling trophies crowded the mantel above the moss rock fireplace. A lamp made from a bowling pin sat on an unremarkable oak table. The couch was frat-house chic.
This was her father’s house, plain and simple. But her father had died over a year ago. Was it grief that kept her from making the place her own? Quinn raised the dusty blinds on one of the small windows and found a view of the garage yard. The sad sight burned through his stomach. He could see why she kept the windows closed.
A creaking floorboard alerted him to her presence, and when he turned, Quinn forgot about old decor and broken-down cars. Her jeans and tank were gone, replaced with white capris and a flirty little red shirt that showed off her shoulders. She chewed on her lip and tugged a few brown curls into compliance. He let his eyes slide all the way down to her bare feet…and bright red toenails.
“Nice toes,” he said stupidly, and watched them curl against the carpet. Clearly he needed to finish the beer. Who the hell told a girl she had nice toes?
When she’d had enough of him staring at her feet, Lori spun for the kitchen and opened the oven. “Another few minutes,” she muttered. “I’ll make the salad.” By “make,” she apparently meant “get out the bag” because she cut open a plastic bag and dumped the salad into two bowls while Quinn smiled at her back.