A few blocks past the gas station she pulled into an old outdoor do--it--yourself car wash. Growing up, Dad had bought both her and Laurel cars when they turned sixteen. It was part of his image. Giving so generously to his family. His daughters were an extension of himself, and they had to appear better than the average teenage girl rolling into the parking lot of Polk High School.
In reality, the cars were just one more thing he would shout at them about. They didn’t drive them properly. Didn’t park in the driveway correctly. He insisted, of course, that she and Laurel keep their cars spotless. God forbid if the inside was a mess. She knew how to wash a car so that it passed her father’s eagle--eyed inspection.
She fished out enough spare change for ten minutes of water—-just for starters. Water was a precious commodity out here in the badlands. She tried to preserve when she could.
Once the car was soaked, she began soaping it with the sponge, humming under her breath. She didn’t mind getting wet. It kept her cool. Even at five o’clock it was still warm.
She paused and tried to shove several strands that had fallen loose back into the bun on the top of her head. Then she bent back over her car, standing on her tiptoes in her flip--flops so she could reach as much of the roof as possible.
A car honked driving past, the guys inside catcalling her. She sent a glance over her shoulder, satisfying herself that they weren’t stopping.
“What the hell are you doing?”
She yelped and whirled around, her back slamming into her wet car as she gawked at a very pissed--looking Knox in front of her. She forgot that she held the hose in her hand. Water sprayed down the front of his big body. His hands came up to ward off the water.
She lowered the hose. “What are you doing here?”
He looked down at himself, his dark eyebrows drawing tight. “Getting soaked, apparently.”
Her gaze followed his stare to his soaking wet shirt. It was plastered to his chest. She swallowed a suddenly dry throat, tracking the outline of every delicious muscled ridge and indentation.
“You startled me,” she accused just as her water slowed to a weak drizzle and shut off, her ten minutes at an end.
“I was driving by and spotted you. Hard not to when you’re sticking your ass out for every passing car to ogle.” His gaze dropped to her chest and his eyes darkened to slate.
Her gaze dipped and heat scalded her face at the sight of her breasts. Her nipples poked through her bra and T--shirt. She hunched her shoulders self--consciously. Pointless, she supposed. He’d seen, tasted, and touched all of her.
“I—-I’m washing my car.” She glanced out at the road. “Were you just driving by or . . .” She couldn’t finish the question. Was he coming to see her? presumed too much.
“Something like that,” he murmured, dragging a hand down his dripping face. He turned and dug into his pocket. Pulling out more change, he turned and fed it to the ancient machine, adding more time.
He faced her. A muscle worked in his cheek, feathering his bristly skin there. “The sooner we finish, the sooner every jackhole that drives past won’t drool over you like some piece of meat.” He picked up the soapy sponge and easily reached the roof of the car, covering all the areas that she could not reach. She watched, frozen for a moment as he washed her car. He cared that jackholes drooled over her? Even though she thought that an exaggeration, pleasure suffused her chest.
He glanced back at her. “Come on. Water is running. Wash off the soap.”
She blinked out of her daze and proceeded to rinse the soap off the gleaming hood. She followed in his wake, spraying off all the suds, her gaze repeatedly straying to him. She couldn’t help herself. She tracked the way his muscled body stretched and worked, walking purposefully around her car. The water finally stopped and she hooked the hose back into place. Opening her car door, she reached inside and tossed him one of the towels she’d brought. Grabbing the other one, she started rubbing her car dry.
“You know there are car washes where -people do this for you?” he asked.
She grinned at him over the hood of the car. “I didn’t think you were the kind of guy to pay someone else to wash your car.”
“I’m not. But I thought you were.”
Briar worked her towel in fierce circles, fighting a grin. “You don’t know everything about me.”
“So I’m learning.”
Something warm unfurled in her chest at his deep voice. Did that mean he wanted to? No, no, no, no. She killed that thought and her budding smile. She couldn’t get her hopes up about this guy. Not him. He wasn’t anyone she could bring to Thanksgiving dinner. She couldn’t forget that fact.
“For example,” he added, “are you a pepperoni kind of girl? Or do you like the works?”
She paused and blinked at him over the car. He didn’t even look up as he worked to dry the rear window. “What do you mean?”
“Pizza,” he elaborated, flicking her a glance that was faintly amused.