The Hot One

She thanked me in the sweetest voice, and then I put a Band-Aid on the cut.

She shrugs her shoulders in an I-give-up gesture, and I realize I’m letting her wind me up. This woman was the most fiery, spirited person I’ve ever worked with, but I can’t let her get under my skin, or make me want to put Band-Aids on her when she can damn well do it herself. I need a new approach, especially if we’re running in the same circles.

“See you later, Max.”

She turns to go, but I grab her arm. “Wait.” My voice is gentler now. “Tell me what you’re up to now.”

“Building cars.”

“I figured that much from what you said. What’s your specialty?”

The corner of her lips curve up in a smile as she moves closer. So damn close I can smell her sweet breath, and I’m half wondering how she smells so good at four in the afternoon, like cinnamon candy. But then, that was one of her many talents. Smelling good, looking good, working hard. “The kind I would have made with you if you’d have let me,” she says and steps one inch closer. So close I could kiss her cinnamon lips. “They’re called . . . the best.”

She spins on a heel and walks away.

I should call out after her. I should try harder to smooth over the past. But I’m better off letting her go. She’s far too dangerous. Even though a part of me likes playing with fire.

And that part of me needs to stay the fuck away from a woman like her.