Page 40 of Down & Dirty

I shoved off the couch, heading to the kitchen as if I was going to check on the sauce or the meatballs or something. Not knowing what to do once I got in there, I topped up my nearly full wine glass just to buy some time.

“I’ve still got plenty of motos left in me.” I shrugged at her over the bar. “No need to worry about that yet.”

The silence that stretched between us was almost as unbearable as if she’d argued with me, pointing out all the ways I was already past my prime and risking more than anyone should in a career that was never going to last anyway.

I was staring down into my wine glass when she slipped silently into the kitchen. She slid behind me to get to the stove, her hand skating across my lower back, as if she needed to move me out of her way. It was innocuous, harmless. But the subtle touch quelled the riot pressing against my ribs just enough to drag in a breath.

“Good thing you never crashed on your head,” she said, her eyes raising to meet mine with a knowing glint. “You need that pretty face to keep you and your shoe collection flush.”

That was the thing about Sky. She pushed and poked and pissed me off plenty. But she also seemed to get it when I didn’t want to spar anymore. When she’d hit a nerve, but knew not topush it further. And no one offered a casualoutin a conversation quite like this woman.

It was on the list of things I was starting to dig about her. A list that was growing by the day.

Especially since she had no idea how on-the-mark her comment had been.

But I wasn’t about to let my dread of the future derail a chance to enjoy the stunningly gorgeous woman in front of me.

“My shoe collection is a hazard of the job, sweetheart. I have a reputation to uphold, remember?” My remark elicited the eye roll I was expecting before she turned to the oven to actually check the food I’d pretended to.

“So pretty, yet so shallow. What a shame.”

A laugh huffed out of me as I dodged the hot sheet pan in her hand. “I knew you thought I was pretty. You’re not as good at hiding it as you think.”

As she spun, a section of bangs fell into her face. She tried to move it with a couple of harsh breathes, but they kept landing back in her eyes. I reached out, carefully tucking them behind her ear, the persistent urge to find some excuse to touch her getting the best of me.

Skylar eyed me from the side, the corner of her mouth quirking up. “If I’m so transparent, hot shot, what am I thinking right now?”

I licked my lips, the taste of the red wine lingering as I studied her profile. The tendril of blond hair that had tempted me earlier was dipping just between her shoulder blades and my fingers itched to reach out and wrap it around them.

“That I don’t have real plates for us to eat off.”

Skylar closed her eyes as a laugh burst free. “No. I think you’re overly consumed with appearances and impressing people with surface level accomplishments, not that you’re a frat boy.”

Her comment stung, but not as much as it once would have. And that was in part because I didn’t believe she still felt that way. At least not entirely. Sky wouldn’t be wasting her time cooking forsomeone she regarded so harshly. But clearly, I still had work to do if I wanted her to see me as much more.

“Okay, so what were you thinking then?”

She stopped turning the meatballs to look my way. “That if you don’t like my mother’s meatball recipe, we might never be able to see each other again.”

Reaching over her head for the plates in the cupboard, I set them on the counter, my grin spreading wide. “Impossible.”

“Because they’re going to be good or because you’d refuse to stop harassing me no matter what?”

I was inclined to tell her both, but instead I grabbed a meatball off the platter and popped it in my mouth before realizing it was still too hot. I sucked at the air to cool it as Sky shook her head with a laugh. Swallowing it down, I licked my fingertips, my eyes locked on hers.

“Impossible because I’ve never met a meatball I didn’t like. I’m a meatball connoisseur.”

She rolled her eyes at me again, but seemed satisfied enough with that answer to let it go, which was good because if she pressed me further, I wasn’t sure how many other lies I could come up with. I just knew I couldn’t tell her the truth; that I knew I’d like the meatballs because they were made by her.

CHAPTER 14

CORY

“You sure about this new handle bar?”

Billy’s concern was making me anxious. It was a subtle change to the bike, a modification I hadn’t tried in years. But I was hoping by giving it a shot, things would start to gel. The suspension was dialed in, and yet the feel of the bike was still off.

“If I don’t like it, we can go back to the other one. I just have to see if it’ll make a difference.”

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