He looks up at me, eyes squinted against the sun. The fading sunlight casts his flawless, stubble-covered skin in a golden glow, highlighting his kissable, cocky mouth and powerful jawline. He’s perfect. How could a man so beautiful and sexy be anything but arrogant, obnoxious, and self-centered? How? No matter where he goes, every woman’s eyes will be locked on him, their imaginations running wild with what a night tangled together with him would be like.
His lips pull back into a grin and he looks down. “I think I could relate to that. My grandfather started this shop,” says Reid, tilting his head toward his house. He looks over his shoulder at the shop, almost longingly. I sense the same thoughtfulness in him I saw as he looked over the landscape behind his house and can’t help being reminded there’s more to this man than grease, muscle, and sexuality. It’s something deep that he keeps well hidden, but it’s there, in the small, quiet moments.
“He wanted more for me,” says Reid. “They all wanted me to play football.” He bites his lip, shaking his head. “It was perfect. Reid Riggins. Big, strong, and stupid. Football was my only shot. At least that’s what they all thought. I got offers starting junior year. Full rides. I even had a few coaches come out to recruit me. They offered me all kinds of shit. Cars, apartments. You name it.”
I frown at him. I knew he played football in high school, but I never bothered going to the games. He didn’t even go to my school, and I thought the rumors about how good he was were just inflated because of how much every girl wanted to sleep with him. “Tara never talked about that…”
“Because she didn’t know,” he says, meeting my eyes. “If I had told my family they would’ve pestered me for the rest of my life. I tossed the letters and told the coaches to go fuck themselves. Football was fun, but it wasn’t my dream. I wanted this life. This fucking life I have right here.” Reid stands. “Give me my garage and an honest day’s work. Give me my son. And you’ve given me all I need.”
He starts to walk back to his house and then stops, as if just remembering something. “I mean,” he adds. “A good fuck now and then is fine too.”
I’m left speechless as he strides back to his garage and barks orders to one of his employees who appears to be slacking off. Every time I try to pin Reid down and think I have him figured out, he defies me. He shows me he’s more than I thought, and with every new development, I’m left wanting more. I want to know more. To feel more. To see more of him.
I swallow hard, realizing with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I’m falling for Reid, inch by muscled, throbbing inch.
13
Reid
I knock on Tara’s door and wait. I can hear the TV from inside and figure she probably has Roman planted in front of it again. Mother of the year, as fucking usual.
The door swings open and I’m surprised to see Roman.
“Daddy!” he says.
He reaches to hug me and I dodge him, ducking his head under my arm. He spins free and puts his little fists up. I hold up my palms as targets for him and he punches out a series of lefts and rights. Each little impact of his fist is laughably soft, but his face is scrunched with so much concentration that I almost expect the punches to hurt.
“Good one,” I say after he gives me a right hook. I shake my hand like the punch stung. Roman relaxes, grinning like crazy and running to hug me.
I let him this time, kneeling to hug him back. “How was it, Bud?”
“Good,” he says, but his eyes dart to the side.
I frown, looking over his shoulder and still seeing no sign of Tara. “Is mom around?”
“She’s in the bathroom, I think,” he says.
“Why don’t you go get your stuff ready. Just wait here when you’re done, okay?”
“Okay,” says Roman.
I step inside and head toward the bedroom. I open the door and find Tara sprawled on the bed with her forearm resting over her eyes.
I glance behind me and make sure Roman isn’t in earshot. I hear him distantly knocking things around in his room on the other side of the house.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask.
Tara sucks in a surprised breath and sits up. “What?” she groans, rubbing drool from the corner of her mouth.
I move closer, kneeling to get a better look. Bloodshot eyes. Slumping posture. She looks dizzy.
“Are you drunk?” I ask.
“No,” she says. “I just had a cocktail to take the edge off.”
“To take the edge off?” I ask, shaking my head. “I’m not leaving Roman here with you again. Call that fucking lawyer of yours if you want. If you want to see him, you need to grow up.”
“Grow up?” she shouts. “You want me to talk about growing up? You’re over there playing in your stupid fucking garage and your stupid fucking cars. And you’re fucking that slut who used to call herself my best friend. Get a real job. You’re teaching our son to be lazy and pathetic.”
I can’t help smirk at the hypocrisy. “I have better things to do, Tara. Sleep it off, and you can call me when you’re ready to be a fucking mother,” I say, slamming the door behind me. Roman is waiting by the front door when I step into the living room. “Come on, bud, let’s go home.”
When we get back home, Roman goes inside to help Taylor with an oil change. At his age, helping basically consists of handing Taylor tools when he needs them, but Roman loves every second of it. I’m about to get to work when I look toward Sandra’s house and hear muffled cursing and a loud metallic clatter.
I head over to her house, wondering what I’m doing with every step I take. I guess I don’t have a plan. I don’t know if I’m hoping she really is pregnant. I don’t know if I want to throttle her or want to marry her. All I know is my feet are taking me over there. Again.
I find her in the garage. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun and her pants are soaked up to the knees. She’s wearing a man’s style button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled back, and she looks fucking adorable in it.
Sandra glances up at me. A wet lock of hair is plastered to her forehead. “Reid,” she says.
“You know you could get seriously hurt trying to fix that yourself,” I say.
She drops the wrench in her hand and puts her face in her hands. I’m surprised when I realize she’s breaking down in tears.
“Hey,” I say carefully, moving to sit beside her and put an arm around her. She feels so good in my arms. So small and fragile, even though I know the mind knocking around in that head of hers is strong as hell and fiercely independent. “You’re okay. You’ll be fine.”
“No,” she says, voice heavy with emotion. “My parents are coming tomorrow. They are going to find out I’ve been lying. They are going to see my life is a mess.”
“Your life isn’t a mess” I say. I stare outside as I hold her, watching the way the trees I’ve grown up looking at sway as the wind whispers through them. “See those trees?” I ask, nodding toward the trees. “Tell me what you see.”
She sniffles. “It’s windy,” she says. “What am I supposed to see?”
“The trees can’t do shit about the wind, Sandra. Wind comes. The trees bend. But those are the same fucking trees that have been there since I was a kid.”