Before I can ask another question, the phone rings, and she runs off to answer. When she returns, she looks a little panicked.
“That was the diner. Would you mind if I take a shift this afternoon? Someone called in sick, and they’re short-handed.”
“Not at all. Do what you need to do.” I hate that she has to work on a Sunday.
You do it all the time.
It’s true. I do, but it seems wrong that this girl is running herself ragged. I make a mental note to figure out how much I owe her so I can write that check tonight.
She pours a cup of coffee and calls over her shoulder, “I bet Mrs. Mac won’t mind watching Izzy until this evening. I can call her after I take a shower.”
“It’s okay. Give me her number, and I’ll see what they’re up to over there. You said they’re nearby?”
“Yup. Just down the road about a half mile.” She heads into the office and pulls out a list of important phone numbers. Everything is on here—neighbors, vets, you name it. I smile knowing that Kat made this because it’s color-coded in her handwriting, the same writing I found on a Post-It in the fridge the other day when she wrapped me a sandwich and labeled it, “Brady, bite me.”
She disappears to take a shower, and I grab the phone. Mrs. Mac says she’d be happy to watch the baby until dinner time, and then she asks if her husband can borrow our truck to haul some firewood.
“Absolutely. Any time you need it, just let me know.”
“You’re a doll. Just like your brother.”
I rub my forehead, feeling a sudden burn of shame. “Thank you, ma’am.”
She tells me he’ll walk down to pick up the truck. Ten minutes later, there’s a knock on the door.
Mr. Mac is a slender man with a friendly face and gray hair. We chat for a bit about the weather and his constipated pig Gerald. Then he tells me he likes my tattoos and pulls up his sleeve to show me an American eagle on his forearm.
I have to say I like all of this neighborly stuff. I think Massholes would rather have their kidneys punctured than have to talk to neighbors like this, but I’m warming up to it.
When Kat walks into the office a few minutes later, she’s looking panicked again. “Did… did Mel’s truck just drive off?”
“Yeah, the MacIntyres need it to haul some wood. I said they could borrow it this afternoon.”
“Oh.” She bites her nail.
“Why?”
She looks up at me sheepishly. “I need a ride to work, and I assumed I could take the truck. I’m so sorry. That was presumptuous of me.”
“Shit. Sorry. No, that wasn’t presumptuous.” I rub my neck, ignoring how cute she looks in her simple white t-shirt and jeans. “I could take you to work if you don’t mind hopping on the back of the bike.”
She stills. “You mean the Harley?”
“Yeah. You up for that?”
A huge smile lifts her lips. “If it’s not too much trouble. That sounds kinda fun.”
She’s bouncing on her toes as we head toward the motorcycle. I strap my helmet on her, and she flashes one of those killer grins that makes my heart beat faster.
“Button up.” I tap on the lapel of her coat and hop on the bike. When she jumps on behind me, I show her where to put her feet before adjusting my rear view mirror. “Hang on tight. Don’t want you sliding off.”
She whacks my arm. “That’s not nice, Brady.”
I chuckle. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’d never let anything happen to you.”
As I rev the engine, her arms slide around my waist and her thighs tighten against mine.
Fuck. Okay, maybe I thought it was a good idea, but clearly it isn’t if my dick thinks it’s playtime. Down, dude. I reach down to adjust myself. Jesus. It’s like I’m in middle school, sporting spontaneous wood.
Kat gives me directions, and we take off down the country road. It’s a gorgeous day, bright and sunny with a chill in the air. The roads are muddy, so we take it easy until we get to the main drag where I can go a little faster.
Every time we turn, she squeals a little and tightens herself around me.
If I thought riding around by myself was awesome, having her on the back of my bike is exhilarating. The heat of her body and the press of her curves to mine make me want to forget all of the reasons starting anything with her would be a bad idea. She’s a cool girl. Sweet and unassuming. Beautiful inside and out. And she likes to ride.
A guy could get used to this.
I ignore the voice telling me this is a bad idea. Right now, I don’t give a shit. After how upset she was last night, after how emotional yesterday was, I’m guessing we could both use a fun ride. Even if it ends the minute she gets off.
The minute she gets off.
For a second I stop breathing. Because the idea of Kat getting off has me hard all over again.