“Nope,” Caleb said. “He didn’t get laid.”
That morning Colbie sat in the coffee shop with her laptop. Her fingers were moving on the keyboard, always a good thing. She was writing something new and she had absolutely no idea if it was any good. But she figured she could fix crap on a page. What she couldn’t fix was a blank page.
The important thing was that she’d been in San Francisco for nine days now and her rough draft was coming along with shocking ease, thrilling her heart. She was several pages in when she recognized the battered athletic shoes that came into her vision. She let her gaze run up a set of long denim-covered legs, past a jacket and an untucked, unbuttoned shirt over a T-shirt that said Ride or Die, and felt all her good spots tingle.
“Hey,” Spence said. He had a black Lab at his side on a leash and was holding a coffee to-go cup and a brown bag that smelled amazingly delicious.
“Hey back.” Her stomach growled, reminding her that she’d had only coffee and she’d missed breakfast hours ago now. “Something smells like heaven on earth.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, but I don’t think it’s you,” she said. “It’s whatever’s in your bag.”
Willa just happened to be walking past her table with a tall, good-looking guy. Keane, her boyfriend, Colbie assumed. They kissed and he got in line for them while Willa stopped to talk. “Don’t even bother to ask Spence to share,” she told Colbie. “He never shares his muffins. Ever.”
Spence gave the bag to Colbie and Willa sputtered. “Are you kidding me?”
Spence just smiled at her and handed her the black Lab’s leash. “I’ve got to get to work, but he’s done his business.”
Willa pointed at him. “I could tattle on you for sharing your muffins with her and not us—you know that, right? Your life as you know it would be over.”
“You really want to tell stories, Willa?” He gave her a long look that obviously meant something to Willa because she sighed and rolled her eyes.
“You fight dirty,” she muttered.
“Remember that,” he said, and when Willa moved off with the dog at her side, Spence reached for Colbie’s hand. “Break time.”
“But you just told Willa you had to get to work.”
“And I do. But this first. Get up, Colbie. We’re going to do this and it’s going to be good.”
Oh boy. Butterflies danced low in her belly as she shut her laptop, slipped it into her bag, and stood up. “Um, I feel like I should warn you, I haven’t done laundry yet, so I’m not in my best lingerie—” She broke off at the wide grin Spence flashed her. “God bless America,” she said on an expulsion of air. “You didn’t mean sex at all, did you.”
“Hey, I’m nothing if not flexible,” he said. “We can work it into the plans. If you’re a very good girl.” He leaned in and put his mouth to her ear. “But being bad works too.”
When he pulled back, she had to blink away the sensual fog he’d put her in, seemingly with no effort at all. “You’re talking like we’re going to . . .” She broke off and bit her lower lip. “Like it’s for sure going to happen.”
His low laugh was sexy as hell. “Oh, it’s going to happen.” Since she couldn’t feel her legs, she sat back down.
With a laugh, he took her heavy bag from her shoulder and slung it over one of his. Then he pulled her back up and tugged her along with him across the courtyard.
They went out the gate to the street and down half a block, where he shepherded her into that beautiful ’57 Chevy of his.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he pulled out into the street.
He just smiled.
“Are you kidnapping me?” she asked.
“Eat your muffins.”
“You mean your muffins.” But she opened the bag and happily busied herself eating them.
Twenty minutes later, they pulled into a huge parking complex for some biotech company. Spence flashed his ID at the guard gate.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Mission District.” He pulled to a far corner of a vast parking lot and got out of the truck. Before she could figure out what he meant to do, he came around, opened her door, unbuckled her, and lifted her, then dropped her behind the wheel.
“I don’t know how to drive,” she said.
“We’re going to change that. Number nine on your list, remember?”
She blinked, even as a surge of excitement barreled through her. She was going to learn how to drive! “I hope you have good insurance.”
Chapter 15
#SonOfABiscuit
Spence had thought it’d be fun to teach Colbie how to drive. Turned out fun wasn’t quite the right word.
Terrifying would’ve been a better one.
Or here were two. Living. Nightmare.
She stomped on the brake and he practically kissed the windshield. He was still peeling his face off the glass when she hit the gas, knocking the back of his head into the seat rest . . .
“Whoops,” she said and jammed both feet on the brake.
Shaking his head from the whiplash, he put a hand on her arm to stop her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Your pedals are a little touchy.”
Uh-huh. “Try sweet-talking it into doing your bidding,” he suggested. “Ease it gently into following your whim. You do that and it’ll give you a helluva good ride.”
Colbie slid him a look. “Are you aware that sometimes the things you say sound dirty? You want me to sweet-talk what exactly into giving me a good ride—your truck or your favorite body part?”
He grinned. “Honey, you can sweet-talk my favorite body part anytime you want. Now put one foot on the brake and then the truck back in drive.”
She put her left foot on the brake pedal.
“Other foot,” he said.
She switched to her right foot. “I’ve always thought that seems dumb,” she said. “Why not use a foot for each pedal?”
“Because it works out better for the engine—and my neck—if you don’t try to use both the gas and the brake at the same time.”
“Oh,” she said. “Good point.” She paused. “You do know that I have no idea what I’m doing, right?”
“I’m getting that,” he said. “Didn’t you ever ride the bumper cars at the fair? Or Autopia at Disneyland?”
“No. But one time my brother stole an ATV. He joyrode it home and I had to drive it back.”
“And how did that go?”
She didn’t answer.
He glanced over and grinned at the flash of guilt on her face. “Let me guess. Not good.”
“I hit the gas too hard, did a wheelie, and fell off the back,” she said and winced. “Got a concussion.”
He had an arm stretched out along the back of the seats and slid his hand up the nape of her neck to palm and cradle her head. “We’re not going to do that today,” he said.
“Thought you didn’t make promises you couldn’t keep.”
“I don’t. Now hold the brake down and put it in drive,” he said again. “You’re going to be fine.”
His voice was purposefully low. Authoritative. Calm.
Which in turn appeared to calm her. She held a foot down on the brake and put the truck into drive.