It was an old Camaro with a banged-up door and mismatched paint. I felt my brow wrinkle in confusion. It had no license plate. Now,thatwas odd.
I was still staring when the passenger's side door flew open, and I heard a familiar male voice call out, "Get in."
Chapter 10
My gaze bounced between the pickup and the Camaro. Stupidly, all I could think was,"Army Ant? Or Steamroller?"
I was still standing there, dumbstruck, when two things happened at once – the painter emerged from the Camaro's driver's side, and Chester reappeared in the pickup's window, wearingnotthe dreaded shirt, but no shirt at all.
Was that improvement? Honestly, I had no idea. In passing, I couldn’t help but notice that I'd been right about one thing. Hewasstill in good shape, in a big, beefsteak sort of way. But that didn't mean I wanted to see him shirtless – I hesitated – or pantless for that matter.
Oh, God.Hewaswearing pants. Right?
My gaze was still bouncing back and forth when I heard myself call out toward the painter, "Oh, hey…" Drawing a total blank, I said the only term of endearment that came to mind. "…Honey."
Honey?
Cripes. He wasn't a honey. He wasn't gooey or sweet. He was, from the looks of him, a steamroller on a mission.
And, judging from his stride, the mission was me.
In cheerier news, he hadn't contradicted the gist of my greeting. Not yet, anyway.
I looked back to Chester, who was hanging out of the pickup, looking ridiculously confused. I forced an awkward smile. "It was, uh, nice catching up. But my ride's here, so…."
Before Chester could say anything in response, the painter was at my side. He draped a possessive arm over my shoulders and said, "Sorry I'm late. Car trouble."
If the trouble involved a vehicle with no plates, I could definitely see what he meant. But of course, I knew his words weren't really meant for me. They were meant for Chester, who was watching us with that same perplexed expression.
Probably, my own expression wasn't much different. Suddenly, I felt so confused. Draped over me, the painter's arm felt embarrassingly nice – firm and strong, with the perfect amount of pressure.
Worse, it fit perfectly, too, resting over me like a warm, protective cocoon. Against all logic, I fought a humiliating urge to lean against him and close my eyes.
Just maybe, if I closed them long enough, all of this would magically disappear. Or maybe,I'ddisappear.
Talk about wishful thinking.
The painter said, "Baby, is everything okay?"
My breath hitched, and my heart gave a funny little leap.Baby?From his lips, it sounded surprisingly good. Too good, all things considered.
I knew it was all just an act. And I thanked my lucky stars that he'd caught my hint. Still, I was liking this way more than I should've, especially considering what a jerk he'd been earlier.
Somehow, I managed to say, "Uh, yeah. Everything's fine." I looked to Chester, who looked as clueless as ever.
Did he even realize he was half-naked?
Hoping to end this, I gave him a little wave. "Alrighty then, have a safe trip back, okay?"
Chester's gaze darted from me to the painter. "Is that your…?"
"Yup," I chirped. "It sure is."
My what? My boyfriend? My ride? My rescuer?
Okay, I knew this wasn'treallya rescue, because technically, there hadn't been any danger, well, except to my sanity. In hopes of sparing everyone further embarrassment, I turned to the painter and said, "Ready to go?"
He dropped his arm from my shoulders and flicked his head toward the Camaro. "Get in the car. I'll be there in a minute."
