Page 31 of Filthy Little Midlife Fling

“Oh,” I whisper, overwhelmed. I’m in so much trouble.

I take a big sip of iced coffee and immediately get a brain freeze. I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose, and then feel a broad, warm hand on the back of my neck.

“You good?” Remy asks, concern soaking into his words. His palm feels rough against my nape, his thumb stroking the side of my neck.

So much for me being a seductress. Even if I wanted a fling, I’m not sure I could make it happen. I grimace. “I’m good. How’s Danny?”

“He was fine this morning. Woke up his usual chipper self and refused to stay home. He said he couldn’t leave Jace alone at camp all day.”

I snort and shake my head. “Kids. Well, I’m glad he’s feeling better.”

“Thank you for the food, Audrey. It was kind of you to do that for us. You helped calm me down when I was freaking out about my kid.” His hand is still on my nape. While his thumb makes another sweep over the side of my neck, I lift my gaze to meet his. Remy’s eyes are dark as they stare into mine. His tongue darts out to lick his lips.

He smells like engine oil and man. My legs feel like noodles. “It’s no problem at all,” I whisper. My throat is too tight to voice the words properly.

Then, abruptly, Remy lets me go. He clears his throat. “I should keep working.”

“Of course,” I say, a little too brightly. “I’ll get started in the office.”

Remy nods jerkily and turns his back to me. I shuffle into the office and lean against the door. The ghost of his touch lingers on the back of my neck, and I wish he hadn’t pulled away. Instead, I wish he’d led me to the relative privacy of the office, locked us in, and had his filthy way with me.

But he’s my neighbor, and I’m the idiot who ran into his tree. Laurel’s ridiculous fling plan is putting ideas in my head that have no business being there.

Better to keep things professional between us. To that end, I face the mid-tidy tornado of his office, and I get to work.

Three hours later, the office door opens. Remy pokes his head through the door. He’s stripped off his coveralls and cleaned his face and hands. “You hungry?” he asks.

“Starving.” I shut the drawer I’d been working on and smile. “Is it lunchtime?”

Remy tilts his head toward the exit. “I was going to get a burger. You want to join?”

How can I resist? I agree, grab my purse, and follow Remy to his truck.

There’s something oddly intimate about getting in someone’s vehicle. It isn’t the first time I’ve let Remy drive me around, but my heart still thumps a little bit harder as I click my seatbelt and feel the engine rumble to life around me. We drive for five minutes and pull into the parking lot of Harold’s Diner.

“Take two with the milkshakes?” I ask. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Remy throws me a less-than-amused glance. “Careful, Audrey. That mouth’ll get you in trouble, no matter how beautiful you are.”

Heat arrows through my core. I have to sit still for a moment as he climbs out of the vehicle, because he just called me beautiful and he promised me trouble, and he did both in a rumbly, growly, carnal voice. When I’m sure my legs will support me, I slide out of the truck’s cab and follow him to the diner.

Remy holds the door open for me, his hand brushing my lower back as I enter in front of him. Instead of waiting to be seated, he cuts across the restaurant and slides into a booth. I sit across from him, trying not to blush when his knee nudges mine.

I feel like I’m fifteen years old, playing footsie under the table with the boy I’m crushing on. Busying myself with the menu, I pretend to be engrossed in all the options.

“The usual?” an older waitress asks, filling the cup in front of Remy with coffee.

“You know it,” he says.

“And you, honey?”

I glance at the menu and panic. Usually, it takes me forever to choose something to eat. I typically look up the menu for restaurants ahead of time and dissect every dish to make sure I’m making the best choice. I’ve barely had thirty seconds to look, and most of those seconds were spent thinking about the feel of Remy’s leg touching mine.

“Um. I’ll, um…”

“You want a minute?”

“I’ll have the Harold’s burger,” I blurt, on the edge of panic. “Can I get that with a side salad?”

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