Page 45 of Whispers and Wildfire
Knowing full well I shouldn’t race on a Sunday night—I’d be dragging ass the next day—I texted back that I’d be there. The temptation was too strong. I wanted the rush.
And maybe it was just what I needed to get Melanie out of my head.
CHAPTER 12
Luke
Despite knowingI’d be dragging after going out the night before, I was still grumpy about it. I’d snoozed my alarm three times and groaned like my old man getting out of a chair as I hauled myself out of bed. Even after some very strong coffee, I was struggling.
Racing had been what it always was. A temporary fix. Exhilarating high one moment, crashing back to reality the next. I’d skipped the after-party as usual, but I’d still been out half the night.
I drove to the garage with the windows in my Chevelle down, dark sunglasses cutting down the sun's glare. It was hot already. Apparently, summer had no intention of letting up. My mind drifted to the days when my brothers and our friends and I would have congregated at the lake, beating the heat in the chilly water. Staying to sit around a fire as the sun went down.
When was the last time we’d done anything like that? It seemed like life—or maybe adulthood—had gotten in the way.
Chasing away thoughts of summers spent at the lake, Iparked and got out. I had a hell of a lot of work to do, and I was already behind.
A zing of adrenaline perked me up more than my coffee as I entered the lobby. Melanie sat at the front desk, talking to someone on the phone. Thankfully, she was using her regular voice—no random accent. Her dark hair was up, and it irritated me the way her red lips twitched in a hint of a smile as our eyes met.
I was going to walk by and head straight for my office, but something about her was magnetic. She pulled me in against my will.
She said goodbye and hung up the phone. “Morning.”
“Morning.”
“Why so glum?”
“Glum? Who uses that word anymore?”
“Me, obviously. I was trying to be nice, but since that failed, why do you look like you slept in a dumpster?”
I glanced down at myself. “I don’t look like I slept in a dumpster.”
“Fine, someone’s couch, then.”
“I slept at home. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Of course it isn’t. Let’s try this again.” Pausing, she took a breath, then gave me a too-big smile. “Good morning, Mr. Haven. There’s fresh coffee if you’d like.”
“Is that your receptionist persona?”
She kept smiling. “I thought it would be appropriate.”
“Can you just be… you?”
“Well, you don’t like me, so…”
Glancing away, I rubbed the back of my neck. “I don’t not like you. And before you make fun of me for the double negative, you know what I mean.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Sure, you weren’t.”
Her lips turned up in a grin again. “Coffee?”
“Are you actually trying to be nice, or do you keep offering me coffee because I look like hell?”
“Both.”
