Dirty Thoughts (3 page)

“First, you can’t be quiet. And second, by quiet, I mean
alone
.”

Brent dropped onto the couch. “Come on, you don’t mean that.”

“I really do mean that.”

Brent ignored that. “I’m bored.”

“Get a puppy.”

Brent had selective hearing. That was not news. “So how about we talk about Jenna MacMillan.” Brent waggled his eyebrows.

Although Cal knew his brother was doing it to get a rise out of him, he couldn’t help wanting to wipe the leer off of his brother’s face. “That’s the last thing I want to talk about.”

“Okay, so she was hot in high school; I’ll give you that. The legs and the hair. But she got, like, way hot now.”

Cal growled into his beer.

“We’re just talking.”

“No,
you’re
just talking. I’m trying to watch the game.”

Brent’s gaze flicked to the TV. “Um, you don’t like either of these teams.”

“I dunno; thinking I like them a whole hell of a lot right now.”

“Anyway, you plan to do anything about it?”

“About what?”

“Quit playing dumb.”

Cal sighed. “It didn’t work back then; it wouldn’t work now. Just let it go.” He wondered who he was saying that to—Brent or himself.

He’d done everything he could to separate himself from that dumb, angry, impulsive eighteen-year-old kid who’d fucked up his future. The kid who’d lost the best thing that had ever happened to him.

For ten years, he’d been sure that kid was gone. Done. Buried with a tombstone. Covered over with a neat, orderly, simple life where Cal kept a lid on his emotions.

But he hadn’t anticipated the one wild card in his life to come back and dig up old wounds and feelings. Jenna still saw him as that same angry, hot-tempered teenager, not trusting him with the knowledge that the Charger belonged to Dylan.

And the worst part was, that bothered him. It dug under his skin like a splinter, painful enough to feel the need to set her straight.

Why couldn’t he have kept his mouth shut? He was good at that—the not-talking thing.

Except around Jenna. Around her, he’d always lost control. Spilled his guts. She’d been everything to him once, in a way no one had been before or after. Other than his family, no one could get extreme emotions out of him. He liked it that way. It was safe and comfortable.

He’d been in Jenna’s presence for ten whole fucking minutes, and the body of their past was already dredged up to the surface. He’d felt exposed, like he’d rolled over and shown her his tender belly. That wasn’t safe. That was the exact opposite of safe.

He squeezed his eyes shut and gulped down his beer. When he looked over at Brent, his brother grimaced.

“So maybe I shouldn’t have said anything,” Brent muttered.

“Ya think?”

“I didn’t know that there was still—”

“There’s nothing!” Cal raised his voice, and Brent flinched. Cal took a deep breath and steadied his voice. “There’s nothing
still
. Okay? I don’t know why Jenna’s in town, but I’m sure she’ll be going back to wherever she came from after I fix her brother’s car. It was nice to see her and all of that, but that’s about it.”

Brent swallowed. “What if she’s in town . . . for a while?”

“She’s not.” She couldn’t be. He was sure of it. This wasn’t meant to be anymore, her here in Tory. Single.

Not with him.

Jenna had always wanted a family. A husband and kids and cats and all things that he didn’t want. At least, not anymore.

Back when he’d been with Jenna, he’d thought about having those things with her, and he might have done it, if she hadn’t ended things.

Cal’s dad had pretty much checked out after his mom left, so Cal had been responsible for his brothers for a long time. He wasn’t eager to fill that dad role again. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. Now he wanted to come home from work in silence and drink his beer and eat crappy food and not have to answer to anyone.

So he’d made his decision, and he was nothing if not stubborn. He had his inner circle of family, and it was a firm boundary. He didn’t want the same things he’d wanted at eighteen. In fact, he wanted just about the opposite of what that impulsive kid had wanted. He’d committed to bachelorhood now, and it would take an act of God to shove him off course.

Although, Jenna MacMillan had always been an act of God in his life. Just the sight of her had brought back a lot of those feelings of a bright, family-filled future. And he wasn’t eager to pay those feelings any attention.

Cal sighed. “Can we drink and watch the game now, please?”

Brent pursed his lips. “Okay.”

The silence lasted five minutes before Brent started talking about the girl he’d taken out last week, and Cal decided he was definitely getting his brother a puppy for Christmas.

Chapter Three

F
AMILY.
I
T WAS
always fucking family that made him grit his teeth and clench his fists and feel that white-hot bolt of anger deep in his chest. At least he’d learned how not to let it manifest physically. “You know I have the certifications. I don’t understand why you’re so against this.”

His father didn’t even bother turning around from the tool drawer he was rooting through. “Already explained it.”

“Yeah?” Cal said. “Well, explain again, please.”

His dad turned around and stared at him. Sometimes, after Cal showered in the mornings, he wiped away the condensation from the mirror and stared at his eyes, wondering if they looked like his dad’s. He’d inherited the slate-gray irises from him, but Cal wondered if he’d also been passed down the chill they caused.

“I told ya. I’ve had this garage for almost forty years, and I ain’t fucking with it. And if you fuck it up after I die, I’ll come back and haunt your ass.”

“Like you have a soul,” Cal muttered.

His dad’s lips twitched. “Heard that.”

“Didn’t whisper it.”

“I don’t want to deal with motorcycles. I don’t want them taking up room here—”

“Told you we could add on a special bay—”

“And we can’t spare your time. I need you for the cars—”

“We can hire someone else—”

“And I don’t want the clients, and I just don’t want to deal with it.”

Cal ran his tongue over his teeth. “I own part of this garage too.”

“Well, I own more.” His dad gave Cal his back and turned his attention to the drawer.

That was how his dad ended conversations. There was no politely wrapping up discussions in the Payton family. Nope. Why waste the words? Showing your back was much easier.

Cal walked away, tired of arguing anyway. Plus, Brent was singing again, and it was giving Cal a headache.

He stepped out back and lit up a cigarette. Payton and Sons was on the main drag of Tory, surrounded by strip malls, a couple of gas stations, a bed-and-breakfast, and a grocery store. Their garage had four bays, plus a small office and back room. Cal was proud as hell of the garage and, if he wanted to really be honest with himself, proud of his dad. Their mom, Jill, had devastated Jack when she left. She’d devastated everyone, really, leaving her family behind.

Other than Jack, her leaving had been hardest on Cal. He’d been six, so he’d remembered her more than Brent or Max did. He’d remembered what it’d been like when she was there. How she bought him and Brent matching pajamas every Christmas Eve. How she loved to laugh. So when she left and subsequently remarried out in California, he’d had something to miss.

Jack was a hard man to live with, but when she left him, she’d abandoned her sons too. And the only correspondence Cal got from her were cards signed,
Love, Jill,
on major holidays and his birthday. Which was more salt in the wound than anything.

Cal inhaled sharply. The cigarette helped to calm his nerves a little over the situation with his dad.

He’d finished his work for the day and gotten a call from a friend of a friend who was inquiring about motorcycle repair. Again, Cal was reminded that he wasn’t doing what he most wanted to do, which was repair bikes. Not that he didn’t like working on cars. He enjoyed that. But bikes were where his main interests lay. His dad couldn’t be persuaded to list the shop as a Harley-Davidson certified repair site.

They’d been having this argument for the last couple of years. It was
déjà vu
. And it had only gotten worse since Cal went out and got the certifications himself.

After he finished his cigarette, Cal spent the next hour completing paperwork in the office. He hated it and usually left it up to Brent, but he didn’t want to be in the garage with his dad, so he’d volunteered to do it. Childish, but whatever.

And he didn’t want them to know that he was nervous. He’d been anxious all day about whether he’d see Jenna. He’d had Brent call her to tell her the repairs and the price, to which she’d given the go-ahead.

If Dylan came to pick up his car, Cal would say as few words as possible to him and then ignore him as Dylan looked down his nose at Cal.

But if Jenna showed up—which was what Cal thought was going to happen—that was another story.

He’d thought about her all night, despite telling himself he wouldn’t. And in that odd conscious state between sleep and wakefulness, that was all his brain wanted to dwell on.
Jenna.
She’s been his first girlfriend. His first everything. He hadn’t thought about her in a long time, preferring to relegate all the MacMillans to a far recess of his brain.

They’d stayed there, right where he put them. Out of sight, out of mind. So much that he’d forgotten about them, and he’d taken it for granted. Because now Jenna was back and refusing to be locked back into that box. He’d have to work extra hard to get her there again when she left.

By closing time, she still hadn’t showed up at the garage. Jack left, and Brent asked Cal if he wanted him to stay. Cal waved him on home. He’d wait another half hour or so, and then he’d call Jenna.

He didn’t have to wait much longer. A MINI Cooper screeched into the parking lot, loud music blaring. Only one person in Tory drove a MINI Cooper, and that was Delilah Jenkins, so he figured Jenna had arrived.

She had. He saw her heel first as she stepped out of the car, a light beige color that made her legs look even more tan. She shut the car door, and the short skirt of her green and white dress in some sort of striped pattern swirled around her long legs. She was dressed up, and her hair was done in waves around her shoulders. She gestured toward Cal, so she must have spotted him through the glass walls of the office. She patted the roof of the MINI Cooper, and then Delilah backed up, peeling out of the lot.

Cal didn’t even bother pretending to look away. He didn’t pretend much of anything, and she’d know he’d been waiting for her.

Her heels clicked on the tile floor as she stepped into the shop.

The sight of her constricted his chest. She had more makeup on today, and it made her eyes look bigger, her red lips fuller.

She looked ready to go to some fancy high-class wedding or something. When he was a teenager, he’d been self-conscious sometimes about how he looked—all rough around the edges, where she was soft, smooth curves. His wrong-side-of-the-tracks to her right-side. But she’d seemed to like that about him, so he hadn’t fought it. He hadn’t tried to be something he wasn’t. He knew back then, though, if she’d asked him to, he would have changed for her. He would have done anything for her.

And now, as she stood all clean and beautiful and soft in his dirty shop, he wondered if she’d grown out of that bad-boy phase. Because he was too old to change now.

She was staring at him, lips slightly parted, eyes wide, and a definite flush down her neck, which disappeared beneath the low neckline of her dress. He’d seen that look before, but it’d been a long time ago. He shook his head, telling himself he wasn’t up for memories.

He stood up and walked out from behind the counter. His jeans were a little grubby today, and his gray T-shirt showed the typical smudges of dirt and grease. He jingled the keys to the car. “Wonderin’ if you were gonna come.”

Her hands lifted hesitantly to her hair. “I know. I’m so sorry. I was busy . . . ” Her fingers fluttered. “I lost track of time.”

“It happens.”

She took a step forward. “You stayed late for me?”

He shrugged. He didn’t make it a habit, but she didn’t need to know that. He gestured toward her dress. “You’re going out with friends since you’re visiting?”

“Visiting?”

He frowned. “Yeah, visiting. Tory.”

She swallowed. He watched her pale skin flush redder. “Oh, I’m not visiting. I . . . uh . . . live here now.”

He blinked at her. “Come again?”

“Yeah, I accepted a job with my father’s firm as their publicity director.”

He was going to guess that had to do with the recent lawsuit that had been splashed all over the papers. Dylan MacMillan and MacMillan Investments had been sued by a former employee who claimed they fired her when they found out she was pregnant. They won the case, but Dylan’s reputation—along with the company’s—had taken a hit in the community. Brent had thoroughly enjoyed reading letters to the editor, railing against the company. He used fake voices when he read, which even Cal had to admit was pretty funny.

When Cal just stared at her, she kept talking. “I was in New York, working for publicity at a women’s magazine but . . . I don’t mind being back.” She laughed nervously. “I’d rather raise a family here.”

It was taking him a while to catch up. “You’re living in Tory now.” He had to make sure he had his facts straight.

She bit her lip and nodded.

So this wasn’t temporary. He wasn’t going to give her back her brother’s car and be able to tell himself this was the last time he’d see her. He’d know she was here now, in town, where he could run into her at the grocery store or while getting gas or—
fuck
—on a date with some suit from her father’s firm.

Fuck.

He turned around and took a step toward the counter, needing to get her out of here, needing time to process this, get it straight in his head, so then he could fasten all his armor in place. This was okay; he’d be okay. She was just a girl from high school—

“Is that okay?” Her voice shook a little from behind him.

He stopped and gripped her car keys so tightly, he knew the imprint would be in his palm.

He faced her. “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

“I don’t know. I . . . ”

“I don’t own this town, Jenna.”

She pursed her lips. “I know that. Never mind. Forget I asked that.”

“Why would you think it wouldn’t be okay?”

She held his gaze. “Because no matter how much time has gone by, we still have a past. I thought we had closure, but the way you look at me, I’m not so sure of that. And I’m thinking I look at you the same way.”

Eighteen-year-old Jenna had been bold but unsure what to do with it, like she couldn’t harness her confidence.

Close-to-thirty-year-old Jenna, apparently, had grown into her boldness.

It was a major fucking turn-on.

He stepped closer, careful not to touch any of her fancy clothes but close enough that he could if he wanted to. The heat rolled off her body, and for a moment he wanted to melt into her. “How do I look at you, Sunshine?” he asked softly. He’d given her the nickname back in high school because everything about her was bright, from her clothes to her smile to her personality. Everything was better when she was around, like she was his own personal vitamin-D provider.

She rolled her lips between her teeth and let them out. He wanted to cup her face, rub some grease on her cheek, and swipe his thumb across those lipstick-coated lips. A trade.

“Like we’re still at River’s Edge.” She spoke hesitantly, haltingly, like each word was an effort. “Sometimes, I close my eyes, and I hear the leaves rustle above us. I can see the glow of the moon on the water, and I can smell the cigarette smoke from your clothes. You still smoke?”

She’d only said a couple of sentences, but he was right back at River’s Edge, holding her warm body in his arms, rubbing his stubbled chin in her hair while she drank a can of Bud Light he’d stolen from his father’s fridge.

Those nights were some of the best of his life. Until he fucked it up. And she’d let him go. “I still smoke sometimes.”

Her arm moved, like she was going to touch him, but then she flinched back. “They’ll kill you.”

“Why do you think I keep buying my dad cigarettes?”

She barked out a harsh laugh and then clapped her hand over her mouth. “That was so mean, Cal Payton,” she said around her fingers.

He smirked, glad the moment was broken. He didn’t want to see her hazel eyes wistful. Going down memory lane was not on his life agenda.

He took a step back. Her body swayed, like she wanted to follow, but she kept her feet planted. He held out the keys, and she took them. “Car’s out front. Brent got your payment over the phone and e-mailed you the receipt, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re good to go.” He did turn around now and retreated behind the counter. He didn’t need to stand there within arm’s reach of her when he had no intention of touching her. He didn’t need to smell her hair or whatever perfume she had on.

He didn’t need it. He had his life. His good, solitary life without being responsible for other people. Jenna was just reminiscing. She could do that all she wanted, but she could leave him out of it.

She jingled the keys. “Okay, well, thank you so much for working on it. I know you guys are the best.”

There was the flattery again. “No problem. You have fun, uh, doing whatever you’re doing tonight.”

She smiled. “Delilah and I are going out. She said there’s a new place over in Hattery that serves great martinis.”

He wouldn’t know. Hattery was a little salty for his taste. “Drive safe, then.”

“Thanks again.”

“Any time.”

She turned around and walked out the door, her heels clicking on the floor.

When her car pulled away, he dropped his forehead onto the counter. This was going to take some time. He’d have to get used to possibly running into Jenna in town. When he did go out, he tended to head south to Brookridge. So if he hooked up with a woman, there wasn’t much risk of running into Jenna. He’d tried the relationship thing a couple of times after Jenna left. And he didn’t know if it was that he missed her or missed what they had. The women after her had complained about his lack of communication and
emotions
. He didn’t know how to do that anymore. With Jenna, it had all been so easy.

His brothers received his emotions now, when he had them to give, and that was it. Everything else, he kept to himself. And he’d been fine with that, until Jenna’s eyes had met his again and brought up all those memories.

He sighed.
Fuck.