Page 13 of Filthy Little Midlife Fling

“You might have killed my tree.”

Her teeth bite into her lush lower lip, and she glances over her shoulder at the tree in question. The line of her neck curves enticingly, revealed from behind the curtain of her hair.

“You weren’t hurt?” I hear myself ask, even though I don’t care if she was. Truly. Still, I frown when it takes her a second to answer. “Were you? Hurt?”

She glances back at me and shakes her head. “I passed out because of the shock, according to the doctors. I wasn’t going fast enough to do real damage, so apart from some bruising…” She leans the pie plate against her hip and uses her free hand to lift a hank of hair from her temple, revealing a patch of purple skin.

Something tightens around my ribs. I’m an ass. I’ve been annoyed at this woman all day, resenting her voice and her body and her eyes, and she could have been seriously hurt. No wonder my relationships haven’t lasted. I’m not a good person. Taking Danny in must have exhausted every good deed I had inside me, and now there’s nothing but bitterness left.

She drops the hair and squares her shoulders, gripping the pie with both hands again. “Listen. I’m so sorry…um…”

“Remy.”

“Remy,” she repeats, and I can’t help but notice that my name sounds good on her lips. “I’m Audrey. Please take the pie.” She extends it toward me again.

I straighten and take the pie from her. Pecan. My favorite. I lift the pie a couple of inches. “Thanks.”

She nods, meeting my gaze again—and frowns. “Wait. Aren’t you the tow truck guy?”

“Took you this long to notice?”

A flush creeps up her neck and over her cheeks. “Um. Yes. I was…uh…distracted. I didn’t…see your…face, because—” She stops speaking abruptly.

I don’t like this woman. She’s a reckless driver who doesn’t take care of her vehicle. She cares about organization and appearances. She thinks a pie will fix the fact that she might have killed the tree that saved my sanity as a kid.

But my ego does like the fact that my body can cause a reaction like that in her. Makes me want to see what other reactions I could elicit.

And—fine. I don’t hate her. She took the time to bake me a pie, and it looks like she’s truly apologetic about the tree. She couldn’t have known what that tree meant to me, and I know she didn’t do it on purpose.

Maybe that’s why, instead of sending her off and shutting the door, I say, “If you’re free, I could take you to the garage and let you know what’s going on with your van.”

Her eyes have drifted to a tattoo on my left shoulder. She nods absentmindedly, then shakes her head and smiles at me a little too brightly. “Sorry. What was that?”

“I’ll drive you to the garage. I took a look at your van yesterday. We could go over what needs to be fixed.”

“Right now?”

“Might have to give me a minute to put some clothes on first.”

Her face goes red again, which pleases me in a weird, deep, perverted way. “Of course,” she responds. “That would be great. Just knock on the door when you’re ready.”

Without waiting for me to reply, she scampers off across our lawns, hops over the demolished part of the bushes, and disappears inside her house. I wait for the door to close, then I bring the pie to the kitchen and have a slice.

It’s delicious.

FIVE

AUDREY

It takes me a full ten breaths to get my heart rate under control. I lean against my front door and inhale for the eleventh time, then I open my eyes.

Oh. My. God.

My next-door neighbor is most definitely not a little old lady. He might be the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in my life.

And I crashed into his tree. And he hates me. I’ve seen him in a towel with water dripping over every solid, muscular slab. My mouth is dry. Other parts of me are not.

I fumble for my phone. “Laurel,” I say when she answers. “Was that whole fling thing some sort of horrible joke?”

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