Page 17 of Filthy Little Midlife Fling

“Let me get the door,” Remy says from behind me, and I jump so high I stumble back—right into his chest.

Rough hands close over my bare biceps, sending shivers racing over my skin. He steadies me, standing so close I can feel the heat of his body at my back. His thumbs stroke my shoulders once, quickly, then he releases me.

I turn. “Thanks. You startled me.” Stealing a glance down to the other side of the garage, I see the woman’s car turn out of the garage. “Her car was okay?”

“She’s going to drop it off next Wednesday,” Remy explains, then reaches past me to get the office door. He smells incredible, and by the time he guides me into the room, my head is spinning.

Laurel might have been right about me needing sex, but this is not the man I need to get involved with. That would be far, far too dangerous for my poor little heart.

“So—” Remy stalks behind the desk and pulls out a legal pad. He drops into the chair and wheels himself forward, resting his forearms on the edge of the messy desk. “My recommendation is for you to get a new van, but if you want to go ahead with the repairs on this one, I can put together a quote.”

“Sure,” I say in a small voice. He scratches a few things down on the pad and then some words fall out of my mouth: “Was that your ex-girlfriend?”

Remy glances up, dark, dark eyes sharp on my face. He leans back in his busted-up office chair and drums his fingers on the arms.

Heat flames on my cheeks. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.”

“No, it isn’t,” Remy agrees. “But I’ll tell you anyway. Anna picked me up on a night out a few months ago. It was casual, and it didn’t go anywhere.”

“She picked you up, huh,” I answer.

Amusement twinkles in his eyes, but the rest of his face remains unchanged. I want to make him smile. He runs his finger along his bottom lip and arches a brow. “Don’t believe me?”

“Oh, I believe you, all right. I bet lots of women try to pick you up everywhere you go.”

His gaze holds mine. “Not everywhere. Some women turn their backs on me when they see me without a shirt on.”

“Some women prefer to apologize while the other person is fully clothed.”

“Have you ever tried doing the opposite? Apologizing with no clothes on can be fun too.”

A flutter goes through my chest, and an alarm blares in my head. Am I… Am I flirting with this man? This insanely gorgeous man? This mechanic, who by definition must be the scourge of the earth?

Yes. Yes, I am. I blame Laurel for putting silly ideas in my head. She told me I needed sex, and now it’s all I can think about.

Maybe Agnes was right about my head, after all. I should go back to that doctor who told me I was fine and ask him to have another look.

I force my jaws to unlock. “I’m not looking for that kind of fun,” I lie.

Remy watches me for a moment, and the tension becomes almost unbearable. I wonder if he can see the truth in my eyes. Then he shrugs, and the moment is over. “Things with Anna have been over for a while,” he tells me.

I arch a brow. “Doesn’t seem like she agrees with that assessment of the situation.”

Remy shrugs. “Not my problem.”

I am definitely not having a fling with this man. He is cold-hearted. He would destroy me, casual fling or not.

“I see,” I finally respond.

Remy’s eyes coast down my body until his gaze suddenly drops to the page in front of him. Heat flares everywhere he looks, even though I know it’s a bad idea to be turned on by him. He’s bad news. He’s not fling material, or boyfriend material, or anything except neighbor-and-mechanic material.

Mechanics are scum, aren’t they? Why am I even entertaining this idea? He has a nice body and a nice face. These things are best admired at a distance.

“So,” he says. “You’re looking at about four grand total, and that’s with a discount on the labor. The body work is really what’s going to cost you.”

A spike of stress pounds through my sternum. I reach forward and fiddle with the items on his desk while I think, sorting the pens from the papers from the tools, moving them into neat piles. “Okay,” I say while my hands work. “Okay. Sure. Four thousand dollars. I have insurance. They might cover this.”

“Do you have comprehensive coverage?”

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