Overdrive (2 page)

He stopped and faced her again, eyeing her thoughtfully. “It’s lunchtime. Are you hungry? I could take you out for a bite.”

She peered down at her filthy clothes and gave her oily-covered fingers a wiggle. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. Imagine how people would react if you were seen with me? And like this, no less?” She let out a crack of laughter she hoped didn’t sound bitter.

“Who cares what anyone else thinks?”

“Really? Imagine how your mother would react seeing you with the grease monkey from Big Frank’s Garage.”

“It’s no one else’s business, least of all my mother’s,” he said, closing the distance between them. “I want it to be about you and me.”

She’d known a lot of Mimi Fairchild-Galbraiths in her life, and they’d done quite a number on her psyche. She wasn’t cultured enough, her father’s business wasn’t highbrow enough, their pockets weren’t deep enough. It wore on a girl after a while and was a big part of why she’d rebelled as a teen. Well, that and the incident with Nicky Melita. After ten years, that reputation continued to precede her, except now, instead of letting it hurt her, she embraced it. Still, the last thing she needed was to put herself back in the line of fire by being seen with the town’s golden boy.

His hazel eyes turned a dark mossy green and she took an involuntary step closer. The minty scent of his warm breath washed over her lips as he tipped his head toward her. Their bodies were nearly touching now, the rise and fall of his chest growing more rapid. If she leaned even an inch in his direction, they’d be torso to torso. She could run her hands over that—

Cashmere.
Jesus. She’d almost gotten grease all over his ridiculously gorgeous and outrageously expensive sweater. That was exactly the reminder she needed to bring her back to reality.

She dragged a breath in through her nose and stepped back. “I can’t,” she mumbled lamely.

“You know what, Frankie? I think you can. And I also have a sneaking suspicion you really want to.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off before she could. “Not lunch then, but what about dinner? Then you’ll have time to shower and change. We don’t even have to call it a date. It’ll just be two friends sharing a meal. What do you say?”

His earnest gaze held hers, and she couldn’t look away.

“Say yes,” he urged softly.

Her fears crumbled under the weight of his stare, and suddenly it seemed silly to deny herself the pleasure of his company. As friends. “Yes.”

His smile could have powered a football stadium. She couldn’t stop herself from grinning back.

“Not around here, though,” she added hastily.

“Deal. I’ll pick you up at seven,” he said. “Now, I’m leaving before you find a reason to change your mind.”

The door hadn’t even finished closing behind his fine ass when she started to have regrets. Part of her—the wild child she’d never quite managed to squash completely—quivered in anticipation of their non-date. The rest of her dreaded the thought of her name being on the lips of the townsfolk again, and if by chance they ran into anyone, this would surely cause a stir. Times like these she wished her dad was around more than ever. He would’ve given her his patented helpless stare, hauled her in for a self-conscious bear hug and said, “You’re young, healthy, beautiful and brilliant, and this is what you spend your time worrying about? Go out there and live your life. Fuck those people if they don’t like it.”

She had no memory of her mom, but based on the TV mothers she’d watched obsessively growing up, she was pretty sure that wasn’t how a mom might have handled it. But like with all the issues he hadn’t known how to deal with, at the end of the day, Big Frank had always managed to say the right thing. So what if the delivery was a little coarse?

God, she missed him. Tears pricked the back of her eyelids and she blinked furiously to ward them off. If there was no crying in baseball, there was sure as hell no crying in Big Frank’s Garage. That had been the rule since she was four years old, and she wasn’t about to start breaking it now.

Too bad she wasn’t as disciplined when it came to her own rules. She had a strong feeling that by the end of the night the ones she’d created specifically for dealing with Mac Galbraith would go up in flames.

Chapter Two

Mac stood on the third level of his garage and peered around. After spending less than thirty minutes showering, shaving and getting dressed, he’d been looking at cars for over an hour. Most women would appreciate the scent of good cologne or the feel of a hand-tailored jacket. Maybe some flowers. Not his woman. Correction. Not this woman. Frankie wasn’t his yet, but now that she’d given him a glimmer of a chance, he was going pedal to the metal to change that.

He had every intention of starting off on a high note. So did he go with sleek, understated power, a purring engine under the hood with a smooth ride? Or maybe go for some nostalgia, the kitsch and fun of a seafoam ’50’s classic that made the passengers feel like they should be drinking malts and making out at the drive-in?

He closed his eyes and pictured Frankie, her long chestnut hair swept up into a thick ponytail. Haphazard, practical and dead sexy. The length of her neck was a constant lure, framed by the vee of her overalls. She wore them tight, almost like a dare, and they clung in all the right places. Her full breasts strained the zipper, and he imagined pressing close, breathing in her scent, laying soft, sucking kisses in the valley between them until she urged him lower. His own zipper grew strained at the thought.

Focus.

What car to set the tone? How did he want Frankie to feel? She’d already seen more than half of his collection. Tonight he needed to wow her.

His wondering gaze lit on the AC Cobra and held. It was like Carroll Shelby had designed the car forty-five years ago especially for this night. Pure, unadulterated power. Four hundred and twenty-five thundering horses with barely enough car between them and the road. This wasn’t a car for cruising, this was a car that needed to be driven.

Decision made, he approached the safe on the wall and punched in a series of numbers. When it opened, he selected the keys for bay number eight. He approached the vehicle, running a hand over the dark red paint with satisfaction. Frankie was going to love it.

He slid behind the wheel and slipped the key into the ignition. His heart thumped with a boyish glee as the engine snarled to life. The sound of that four twenty-seven side oiler roaring from the pipes would definitely make heads turn. And damn if he didn’t want to turn Frankie’s head.

Frankie flopped back onto the pile of clothes on her bed and covered her face with a pillow. She should’ve said no. Again. But, damn, Mac didn’t make it easy on her. Every time he asked, he wore her down a little more. This time was even worse than normal. Seeing him hurt had hit her hard, and her self-discipline was finite. It seemed like every no she gave him left her with one less in the bank. When she’d scrounged around for one this time, she’d come up empty.

She lifted the pillow away and risked a glance at the clock. After six. He would be there in less than an hour, and she hadn’t even figured out what to wear. She should’ve asked where they were going. With a guy like Mac it could be pizza at a sports bar, lobster ceviche at an exclusive restaurant or anything in between. She briefly considered calling him on his cell and asking him outright, but vetoed that idea. The last thing she wanted was to seem like some bobblehead schoolgirl with a crush. A confident woman wouldn’t sweat it. She’d pick out something that she was comfortable in and be done with it. Besides, this wasn’t even a real date. That was the agreement. She was getting all worked up for nothing.

Mind made up, she rolled off the clothes mountain and jumped to her feet. Pawing through the mound, she stopped when she found what she’d been looking for. The classic-fit Seven jeans had been a splurge a few weeks ago when she’d balanced the books for the month and realized for the first time since her dad died she’d actually made a profit.

It had been a long haul with many of Big Frank’s customers still unsure about trusting a girl alone under their hoods. Especially when that girl was troublemaking “Kinky Frankie” Sepkaski. She wrinkled her nose at the stupid nickname. Teenage boys could be rough, but they were like guppies in a sea of piranha when it came to the girls. It had been her best friend who’d come up with the far worse “Skanky Frankie”. Ten years after high school, she hadn’t managed to live down the reputation she’d barely had a chance to earn. Not that she’d tried all that hard.

Shaking off the sense of melancholy that had managed to seep in, she grabbed a black sweater set from the pile and a pair of chunky-heeled boots from under the bed. It was the most conservative outfit she owned. In the event that they did run into someone they knew, she didn’t want to embarrass him with her flamboyant, provocative fashion sense. So long as he didn’t show up totally decked out, she’d be safe enough with the casual look.

Once she was dressed, she peered into the mirror. She dried her hair and threw it into a ponytail. A slick of peach gloss on her lips, a smidge of taupe eyeshadow and a quick swipe of mascara and she was ready to go. Understated woman on the go instead of sex goddess.

She turned away but faltered, stopping to pluck a bottle of pear body spray from the vanity. “This is still not a date,” she said firmly as she gave her neck a spritz.

The woman in the mirror rolled her eyes.

“What do you know?” she grumbled.

Before the argument between herself and herself could come to blows, her cellphone buzzed. She crossed the room and grabbed it from her bag.

Mac.

Her heart thundered as her brain concocted dozens of equally panic-inducing scenarios. He wasn’t going to be able to make it. He
was
going to be able to make it. He’d gotten into another accident. He thought he liked her, but that was before he heard rumors that she talked to herself in the mirror like some kind of nutter.

“Hello?” His husky voice put a stop to the whirlwind in her mind, and she realized she had picked up the phone but hadn’t said anything.

“Hey! Sorry, new phone. I don’t know how to work it yet. I wanted to keep my old one, but my cousin was teasing me mercilessly and I finally caved.” The words came out in a rush, like one babbling sentence.
Way to sound confident and put together.

Mac chuckled. “No problem. Listen, I don’t want to seem like a weirdo, but…I’ve been outside of your house for like twenty minutes now. I know I’m early, and I was going to wait out here so as not to rush you, but I think your neighbor might call the cops on me soon if I don’t make a move. I think she’s worried I’m casing the joint.”

The admission sent a team of butterflies fluttering in her belly, and she smiled. He’d shown up way early which meant he was as nervous as she was. She did a little shimmy before she remembered this wasn’t a date.

“That’s Mrs. Nussbaum. She likes to know what’s going on, is all. She’ll come by tomorrow with a pie and twenty questions. Believe me, you made her day showing up. I’m basically ready anyway. Why don’t you come on in? The door’s unlocked. Have a seat on the couch, and I’ll be down in like two minutes.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

She disconnected, moving to the window facing the empty driveway.
Rats.
She’d been hoping to get a look at him before he came in, but he must have parked on the street.

She scurried over to the bedroom door and opened it a hair. Closing one eye, she peeked through the crack. A moment later the front door swung wide and Mac stepped in. She bit back a groan. His camel sports coat hugged his magnificent shoulders, narrowing to skim his trim waist. His dark hair was still damp from the shower, and he ran a nervous hand through it. The black eye should have detracted from his allure, but it only added to his rakish good looks. He was downright edible. She glanced down at her stupid sweater set with a scowl.

“I’ll be in the living room,” Mac called down the hall before stepping out of view.

She backed away from the door. “Okay. Be there in a minute!” She eyed the pile of clothes again and ran over to the bed. What now? No way was she going out dressed like a soccer mom when he looked like that. Besides, he’d agreed they’d go out of town, so no one would recognize them anyway. What was the harm in dressing up a little? She whipped the sweater off and tossed it onto the hardwood floor as other possible options scrolled through her mind. Bending low, she steadied herself on the nightstand and yanked off one boot before moving to the other. It was stubborn but finally gave with one last vicious tug.

From the corner of her eye, she spied the trailing tie of her
green wrap dress in the closet. Perfect choice. She hurried across the room, when her foot tangled itself in the black sweater on the floor. One second she was sliding forward like Kristi Yamaguchi at the Winter Olympics, the next she was airborne. As if in slow motion, she windmilled, flailing to stay upright, but it was no use. She hit the ground flat on her back, hard. The wind whooshed from her lungs as she stared up at the ceiling in shock.

“Jesus, Frankie, are you okay?” Mac’s concerned voice echoed down the hallway.

She struggled for breath to respond, but her body wouldn’t comply.

“Frankie?” Concern had turned to straight up fear, and footsteps thundered toward her.