Home > Slow Ride (Fast Track #5)(14)

Slow Ride (Fast Track #5)(14)
Author: Erin McCarthy

To distract himself from thoughts of helping her wash her body, he glanced around her apartment. It somehow reminded him of her. Tailored. Clean. Classy. Everything looked like it belonged where it was. Even the nubby blanket she had been wearing was elegant, not your granny’s afghan. He hadn’t seen much the night before when he’d been struggling to drag her into her apartment. They’d stumbled down the hall together, then she’d taken a facer onto her bed. He’d removed her shoes and turned her onto her back. He’d thought about taking her dress off, but that was crossing a boundary, considering they’d only met twice, so he’d just pulled up her covers and left her with some aspirin and water.

He was feeling a little guilty though for not just crashing on the couch. He’d been tempted, but hadn’t wanted her to wake up and think he was some creepy douche bag lingering around going through her underwear drawer.

The shower turned off almost immediately. He was impressed with her speed. A minute later she appeared in the doorway, a towel around her body, a second one on her head.

“Three more minutes,” she told him.

“Where is this brunch?” he asked her.

“Statesville. Some bed-and-breakfast.”

“That’s in the opposite direction of your car. What time were you supposed to be there?”

“Fifteen minutes ago,” she called from the recesses of her bedroom.

“Then why don’t I just drive you to the brunch? Someone can give you a ride to your car after.” It was the least he could do. He was feeling a little responsible for her predicament. He should have thought the whole thing through a little better the night before, given that he’d been the sober one.

She came out wearing a short dress and black high heels, shoving her arm into several bracelets, a pink bag in her hand. “Really? That’s awesome of you. Okay, I’m ready.”

Given that her hair was still wet, she didn’t look ready to him, but he knew better than to argue with a woman about her hair. “Okay.” He stood up. “Want me to grab your coffee?”

“Oh, my God, yes. Thanks, Diesel.”

He went and fetched the cup out of the bathroom, trying to ignore the sight of her panties and bra strewn across the tile floor. No time for that. None whatsoever.

Tuesday was grabbing a little black purse and her keys and in a minute they were outside, her slamming the door with such violence that she actually winced.

“Oh, God, my head.”

“You look a lot better. Cute dress.” Which sounded so lame the minute it came out of his mouth he almost groaned out loud. He was turning into a fourteen-year-old boy around her.

“Thanks. I’m glad you’re driving so I can slap on some makeup and pull my hair back. We’ll pretend its hair gel giving it a slicked-back look.”

A certain scene from a movie involving something that was decidedly not hair gel popped into his head. He needed to get a goddamn grip and fast.

“Why are you so quiet all of a sudden?” she said as she closed the passenger door of his car and flipped down the visor to reveal the mirror.

Because he was struggling with horniness.

“No particular reason.”

“God, I don’t want to go to this. Everyone is going to be there with their husbands and boyfriends and there will be me, the morning-after girl.”

“But you didn’t have sex last night so it’s all good.” Neither had he. Damn. Diesel put his car in reverse and stomped harder on the gas than was necessary.

“That’s not the point. I get tired of being the single girl everyone feels sorry for. Don’t they know I’m perfectly fine?”

The words his uncle had spoken to him earlier popped into his head. Fine, yes. But happy? Diesel wasn’t sure about himself, and he suspected if pressed, Tuesday would be even less sure.

“I hear ya on that one. My uncle is trying to convince me to go to something at his church where a certain single woman will just happen to be. I do think we’re all a little old to be fixed up by our families.”

“No shit.” She smeared something on her face and worked it around with her fingers. “I’ll give you twenty bucks if you go to this brunch with me.”

The hell he would. “You’ve mistaken me for someone stupid.”

“Oh, come on. You’ll get a good meal out of it.”

“I’m wearing jeans.” Not that he was even considering it. He didn’t want a bunch of women grilling him on how he knew Tuesday.

“So what? Come on . . . please?” Her voice took on a wheedling quality that set off alarms in Diesel.

He was helpless against women when they did that, got all soft and needy and pleading. He chanced a glance over at her and her eyes were big and beautiful, the dark circles under them still evident. Damn it.

He was going to give in. He could feel it. But he was getting something out of this himself. “I’ll go to the brunch if you go to night at the races at church with me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You drive a hard bargain, Lange.”

“Saturday night. You in or out?”

Tuesday looked away, checking her reflection in the mirror again. “Fine. I’ll go.”

It wasn’t the most normal way to go about getting a date, but Diesel had to admit, he was strangely thrilled at the thought of spending more time with Tuesday, even at a wedding brunch and a church fund-raiser.

Which meant he was one hundred percent certifiably insane.

CHAPTER FOUR

TUESDAY was feeling a little smug about securing Diesel as her date, aka old lady deflector. Her plan was to leave him at the mercy of the elderly aunts while she plowed her way through six plates of food and a gallon of coffee to rid herself of the final hangover remnants. Which was probably more than a little selfish of her, given that Diesel was being supersweet. How many guys would have shown up with coffee the morning after they’d turned down your drunk offer of sex?

She had to admit, she didn’t even know what to make of it. Was he just not attracted to her? Was he a supergood Samaritan? She wasn’t sure.

But she was really grateful for his sexy ass standing next to her when she walked into the room later than could possibly be socially acceptable, all eyes turning and scrutinizing her. Her hair was still wet in a ponytail and her makeup was half-assed at best. But it was the best she’d been able to do in ten minutes or less.

“I feel really self-conscious,” she murmured to him.

“Just smile. You look great.”

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