Carrick raises his eyes, and I can read the sexual innuendo all over his face.
“A mouthful can be a good thing.” He grins sexily. “Andi is a boy’s name, and you’re far from a boy. No, Andressa…that’s a beautiful woman’s name. It’s perfect for you.”
Oh, he’s good.
I feel him move in even closer to me. My heart starts to beat harder and faster than I’ve ever known it to do before.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Unable to look at his face, I keep my eyes on his chest. “You’re pretty rich in lame pick-up lines.”
“That’s not all I’m rich in.”
As I look up, I see him flash a glance down, causing my eyes to focus on the very prominent bulge in his pants.
Good God.
And that breaks the spell he was weaving over me.
I turn back to the bar, leaning into it, I put my bottle down and rest my elbows on it. “You really shouldn’t talk to me like this.”
He rests his back against the bar, but I can feel his eyes on me. “And how exactly should I talk to you?”
I slide my eyes to his. “Like you would speak to any of your mechanics.”
“How do you know I don’t speak to Ben like this? And Robbie? He and I have something special going on.” He winks cheekily before taking a swig of his beer.
A laugh escapes me.
Cutting it off, I stare ahead. “Seriously, we need to draw a line here. So, let me just lay it out for you—”
“Perfect. Your place or mine?”
“Jesus, can’t you be serious for one minute?”
He angles his body toward mine. “I am being serious.” The tone in his voice screams a totally different kind of serious to mine.
“So am I.” Straightening my spine, I turn to face him. “Exactly how much have you had to drink tonight?”
His brows pull together. “Not enough that I can’t get it up. And even if I was wrecked, I can guarantee I would have no problem getting it up for you.”
Then his eyes do that thing they do, running the full length of my body, giving a lazy perusal. And it irks the hell out of me. He wouldn’t treat his male mechanics this way, so he definitely doesn’t get to do it with me.
“Let’s just cut the comedy. You need to stop with the flirting and the sexual innuendos. You and me – not going to happen. I don’t go with drivers. It’s a rule of mine.”
He frowns. “You don’t go with drivers?”
“I don’t sleep with them.”
“What I was suggesting wouldn’t involve sleep.”
“Yeah, I got that memo. But if you’re wanting sex tonight or any other night, it’s not gonna be with me. Drivers are off-limits for me, especially ones I work for. Now, thanks for the drink.” I pick my bottle up. “And have a great rest of your birthday.” I turn to leave.
“That’s it?” he says, his voice pulling me back to him.
I give him a strained smile. “Yeah. That’s it.”
“So, we can’t even be friends?”
I give him a suspicious look. “You want to be friends?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?”
“Um…because less than thirty seconds ago, you were trying to get into my pants.”
“Look”—he scratches his cheek—“the flirting…it’s just the way I am. I don’t mean any offense. But I like you. I think you’re cool. I’m guessing, as you’re new here, you don’t have many friends—aside from John—so I’m saying, let’s be friends.”
I ponder on it for a minute. Is it a good idea to be friends with Carrick? Probably not. But I’m going to be working for the guy, so friends seems logical. Not good friends. Just work buddies.
“Friends…okay, I can do that.”
“Good.” He smiles winningly.
“Carrick? You ready to go?”
My eyes swing to the voice calling his name, and I see a group of guys and girls all by the main door, looking like they’re about to leave. I notice that Amy and Ben are with them. Amy is looking at me less than favorably. A definite frown is on her face. I get the impression the frown is because Carrick is talking to me, and she likes Carrick, which isn’t surprising.
In this moment, I find myself comparing my looks to hers, not something I usually do. She’s pretty, womanly. She has definite hips and a bum and plenty going on up top. Me…well, my figure’s more boyish. I’m slender with no hips and very little arse. My cup size is generous but not too generous. I know my face is nice because people always tell me how much I look like my mother, and she is beautiful. And I have nice dark-brown hair—long, thick, and with a natural wave. I don’t wear it down often though as it’s always tied up because of work.
“I’ll be there in a sec,” Carrick says to the group.
“Well, the cabs are here, so hurry up,” someone calls out.
I watch as they pile out the doors before I bring my eyes back to Carrick, who’s already looking at me.
“We’re going clubbing. Do you want to come?” he asks with a tilt of his head.
“No, but thanks for asking. I’m tired. The jet lag is catching up with me. I’m gonna head home soon.”
He stares at me for a long moment, before he starts backing away. “Okay…cool. Sleep well, and I’ll see you soon, friend.”
He gives a cheeky grin, one that I can’t help but return in the form of a soft smile.
“Good night, Carrick.”
One last dazzling smile, then, he’s gone, and for a split second, I regret not going with him even though I know that I did the right thing. Nothing good could have come of me going clubbing with Carrick.
That becomes even more apparent in the morning when I go out to get some food from the local shop and see the newspapers in the stands. They are filled with pictures of Carrick leaving a club, looking the worse for wear, with a couple of girls hanging off of him, and I recognize one as Amy, the front-of-house girl.
I’m guessing Carrick hasn’t learned his lesson about sleeping with coworkers.
Seeing this picture and going by the icky feeling in my stomach at the knowledge that Carrick quite possibly had sex with both of those girls, probably at the same time, I’m starting to think that it’s maybe not a good idea for me to be friends with him.
Because, if after a day of knowing him, I feel icky over a picture, then it can only go downhill from there.
I’M IN MELBOURNE for the start of the season.
It’s my first time in Australia. We’ve been busy since we arrived, preparing for the first race of the season at Albert Park, so I haven’t seen a lot of the sights, but what I have seen is amazing.
What, or I should say whom, I haven’t seen is Carrick—for two weeks now.
The last time I saw him was the morning after his birthday. He came into the garage, wearing sunglasses and a ball cap pulled low.
When he saw me, he stopped and stared at me in a way I couldn’t decipher, but I felt that look all the way down to my bones. Then his eyes cleared, he lifted a hand in a wave, and was gone.
I felt rattled for the whole day after that, but then I quickly sorted myself out.
Carrick is a player. And a driver.