By the time they left, I was feeling surprisingly chipper. Randy was fine. The limo was fine. And I was fine, well, except for the dirt, that is.
All in all, things hadn't turned out so bad.
As the limo disappeared down the dark, secluded road, I turned to Jack and said, "See? It all worked out just fine."
Slowly, he turned to look at me. He eyed me up and down, taking in my dirty clothes and messy hair. "You think so, huh?"
"Sure." I summoned up a smile. "Hey, I got the key back, didn't I?"
He never did answer. Instead, he led me back to the sedan, opened up the passenger's side door, and waited while I climbed inside and settled myself into the passenger's seat.
With an inscrutable look, he handed me the screwdriver and said, "You wanna put this back?"
As I took it from him, our fingers touched for the briefest instant, and I felt another warm shiver creep up my spine. He was so stupidly sexy, and I was, well, a mess, that's what.
But it didn't matter. Not only was he insanely out of my league, he was also just a little bit scary.
As I returned the screwdriver to the glove compartment, I heard myself say, "You know, you're nothing like I thought you'd be."
Standing beside the car, he gave me one of those looks, another long penetrating one that I couldn’t quite decipher. "Yeah," he said. "And neither are you."
Chapter 17
Jack
I'd meant what I said. Anna's sister was nothing like I'd expected. As I drove down Flynn's driveway and hit the remote to shut the front gate behind us, I gave Becka a long sideways look.
She was sitting there, looking surprisingly happy in spite of everything that had just happened. Her face was smudged, and her hair was a tousled mess.
I frowned. She was so adorable, I could hardly stand it. I didn't know why or how. She wasn't my type. She was too nice, too impulsive, and too stubborn for her own good.
It was a lethal combination.
On top of that, she was practically Flynn's little sister. This meant that she was strictly hands-off – unless I wanted a big complication, which I didn't.
That was fine by me. Nice girls weren't my thing. It's not that I liked them nasty, but I wasn't looking for anything real. More to the point, I wasn't looking at all.
Given my plans, the next few months would be complicated enough without adding more trouble to the mix.
From the passenger's seat, Becka said, "Randy's nice. Don't you think?"
I felt my hands tighten around the wheel. "He's nice enough."
"What, you don't like him?"
I didn't like himordislike him. I just found it odd that she was bringing him up. I looked to her and asked, "So, do you have a thing for him?"
I hadn't meant to ask. But now that I had, Iwascurious.
"What?" She turned in her seat to face me. "No. I mean, yeah he's a nice guy, but…" She shrugged. "He's just not my type, you know."
Ididknow. Becka was small and sweet, with a tight body and impish smile. As far as Randy, he wasn't nearly good enough – nice or not. Plus, there had to be at least ten years between them, maybe fifteen.
I said, "He's too old."
She gave it some thought. "Yeah, I guess."
"And not your type."
