Five Minute Man: A Contemporary Love Story (3 page)

Even now, he couldn’t seem to go five minutes without thinking about her.

Holly, that’s what the blonde called her. Adam wondered if she would be at the book signing, too, then decided it didn’t matter, because he wasn’t going.

***

H
olly’s fingers flew over the keyboard. The visions and words in her head were coming so fast it was hard to keep up. Rather than write complete sentences, she just jotted down phrases and words – enough to get the gist and flow – before she forgot them. She’d come back and fill in the details later.

Three days. Three days of absolute gold and enough imagined fantasies to finish her alpha-male novel and spawn the continuing storyline through a few sequels. All Holly had to do was close her eyes for a moment and picture the guy from the restaurant and the ideas came to her.

Tall. Broad. Muscular. Too rugged to ever be called pretty. He was the epitome of her perfect alpha, at least in looks. Thank God he hadn’t said more than a few words and ruined it all. As it was, he had said just enough to hear the deep, baritone rumble and fuel the fantasy. Change the length of his hair and imagine that body in different clothing and he could fit into any genre – historical (Highlander), military (SEAL or Ranger), paranormal (shifter), or contemporary (himself).

At any given time Holly had six to ten stories in various stages of development, encompassing a wide range of genres from historical to paranormal to alpha-SEAL. What she chose to work on depended on her mood of the day, as well as her level of sexual frustration. Ever since Tuesday night, she’d been ...
inspired
.

Granted, it had been embarrassing as hell at the time, running into him like that and landing on the floor. But hey, if it got results like this, she might have to start scoping out various places and deliberately staging a few such “accidents”.

Or better yet, maybe she could just stalk the restaurant guy. She probably wouldn’t even have to instigate another embarrassing physical encounter; simply observing from afar would be enough to spawn a few ideas. With that dark hair, pale blue eyes, sculpted features and hard body, the man was made for sweaty, erotic fantasies.

He had to have been the guy Liz spotted in the booth behind them, and boy, she hadn’t been exaggerating when she said he was hot. Not in a polished, pretty boy sort of way, though. There was something inherently male about him, something that made all of Holly’s girlie parts sit up and shout a great big “hey, howdy”.

Smelling of clean male soap and deodorant, a bit of stubble around his strong jaw, and a deep, slightly husky voice that Holly couldn’t seem to get out of her mind, he was the perfect muse.

The only bad thing was, Liz seemed kind of interested in him. She hadn’t come right out and say so, but she had admitted to pumping the server for info and passing along a flyer for the book signing they were going to in a few days.

Holly sighed and absently petted Max with her foot beneath the table. If Liz was interested, she didn’t stand a chance. Most men took one look at Liz and started acting like lovesick puppies. They never looked at Holly, not unless Liz shot them down and they were forced to troll elsewhere. It was one of the main reasons Holly never went anywhere with Liz except to their girls-only weekly dinners.

Liz was her bestie, her BFF - her only true friend, really – but Holly’s decided lack of people skills and fragile ego couldn’t take the rejection she’d inevitably face at Liz’s side. Besides, her dignity wouldn’t permit her to knowingly be someone’s second choice.

It was for the best, really. For the first time in her life, Holly felt truly at peace. She had her own place, did her own thing. Her life was all about what
she
wanted, what made her happy.

Holly once again said her daily prayer of thanks to her late great aunt, whose bequeathal had allowed her to purchase this little cottage and move out of her hometown for good. Great Aunt Rose had been the only one who ever understood Holly’s love of books, of reading and writing and getting lost in a really great story. The only one who had ever encouraged her to follow her dream.

With the exception of Liz, no one else got it. Both of her sisters – one older and one younger – were blessed with social skills and thought her preference for spending the day holed up in her room with a book was weird. And both of her brothers – one older and one younger - thought
everything
about her was weird. Her parents – well, they were just disappointed. Disappointed that she’d hit the big 3-0 and still wasn’t married, still had no kids. Disappointed that she’d quit her job as a software engineer to write romance novels, of all things. Disappointed that she didn’t even tell them she was moving out of town until after the ink was already dry.

It had to be that way, though. If they’d known about her plans to buy this place, to move out and start living her life the way she wanted to, they would have held an intervention. Deep down, they meant well, but they just didn’t (or couldn’t) seem understand her desire to live alone, or spend her life doing what she loved. That sort of thing was reserved for spinsterly types. Or lesbians.

At the moment, she was neither. Despite the lack of male (human) companionship, she was still a twigs and berries kind of girl, though if things kept going the way they were, spinsterhood was looking increasingly likely.

She had Max, though, and he was her saving grace. Spinsterly old women had cats or parakeets, not dogs. She reminded herself of this known and scientifically proven fact almost daily.

It wasn’t always easy, but Holly loved her little fixer-upper cottage, one of the last remaining outbuildings on what once had been a palatial estate belonging to William Penn, for whom the Commonwealth (not state!) of Pennsylvania was named. She loved having the freedom to stay in her PJ’s all day long if she wanted to. And she loved the fact that what little she had was hers and hers alone, and she didn’t have to share with bitchy older siblings, annoying younger ones, or – the worst of all possible creatures –
roommates
.

She’d had enough of
them
to last a lifetime. First at home, sharing a room with her sisters. Then at the state university, where she’d been paired with a girl who’s biggest college achievement was being selected as a little sister in one of the nastiest frats on campus (really, if you were into that whole brotherhood/sisterhood thing, why not at least go for a sorority?) And, of course, the coup de grace – her disappointing attempts to find a compatible, mature young adult to share an apartment in town.

If there’s one thing that Holly had learned about herself over the years, it was that she didn’t like having roommates.

No matter how much you thought you knew someone, or how good of a first impression they made, all that was shot to shit when you moved in together. In her experience, the quiet, shy ones turned out to be noisy and annoying, especially when you were trying to do something that required peace and quiet – like reading, or writing – the two things Holly loved to do most. The perfectly coiffed debs were actually pigs behind closed doors, and the steadfast and loyal types often proved untrustworthy in the end, stiffing her for rent, horking her food.

The absolute worst thing about roommates? It wasn’t sharing a kitchen or microscopic living room, but a communal bathroom. Holly had yet to find anyone aware of, much less a devout practitioner of, the ass-tag convention. Her last cohabiter actually had the nerve to look at her like she was crazy for having even brought it up. As if getting out of the shower and wanting to know that you could dry your face without having to worry if the same towel had just dried someone’s ass was a bad thing!

Honestly. And they thought
she
was the weird one.

Hannah sat back and re-read the last few paragraphs, her face flushing and her body heating from the latest in a series of some really hot scenes.

Her alpha muse would just have to remain in her deepest, darkest fantasies, she decided, only coming to life on the pages of her stories and her dreams. Who needed the real thing when she had a writer’s imagination and Vinny?

––––––––

S
unday dawned clear and bright, a perfect early summer day, ideal for doing a few minor repairs around the house. There were some shingles that had blown loose in that last Nor’easter. The rotting step on the back porch. And he’d been meaning to replace that leaky faucet in the kitchen for months now.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have the supplies he needed on hand. It was a damn good thing that a Lowe’s opened up in that new shopping center down in Covendale and he’d be able to drive in and pick it up all in one shot; he wouldn’t have to waste daylight running all over the county.

After paying for his purchases, Adam loaded up his truck and breathed in the heavenly sent of grilled beef, setting his stomach to rumbling. While he was here in town, he might as well catch a bite to eat at Lou’s Diner. Everyone knew that Lou had the best burgers around. It was lunchtime, after all.

The place was packed, but that was no surprise. Lou’s was a staple in the small northeast community. After waiting a couple of minutes, Adam was shown to a booth along the window. Foregoing the menu – he knew just what he wanted – he waited for the server to come by for his order and looked outside. He was a bit shocked when he realized his seat had a perfect view of the bookstore across the parking lot.

Or had he subconsciously ended up exactly where he wanted to be?

***

“I
’m sorry the guy didn’t show, Liz,” Holly said, clutching her bag of discounted paper backs and her signed copy of the murder/suspense hardback. She had hundreds of stories on her eReader, but sometimes she just wanted to hold an actual book in her hand, feel the weight of it, smell the pages.

“No biggie,” Liz said with a casual shrug. She had a bag, too, but hers was nearly all historical, period type romances. “It was more for your benefit than mine anyway.”

Holly stopped dead in her tracks, turning to her friend in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, he was hot and everything, but a little too rough around the edges for me, you know? Definitely more your type than mine.”

“I have a type?”

Liz rolled her eyes. “Of course you do. Big, strong, alpha types with a white knight complex.”

Holly gaped at her. “Who wouldn’t want that?”

“Me,” Liz said matter of factly. “I mean, don’t get me wrong – I love to read about them – but in real life? A little too intense for me. I prefer Armani to Eddie Bauer, Bruno Magli to Red Wings.”

“See a lot of Armani in these parts, do you?” Holly teased.

“No, but I can dream, can’t I?”

***

A
dam was halfway through his burger when he saw them. The blonde and the brunette came out of the book store, each carrying a bag with the bookstore’s logo on it. He watched with mild interest as they walked out into the parking lot together, chatted for a few moments, then parted ways.

When they split off into different directions, it was the brunette his eyes instinctively followed. She had a nice walk – a natural sway that was graceful without any attempt to impress. On the far side of the lot, she stopped by a late model SUV – one of the smaller compact jobs – and got in. The fact that she’d been discreetly scanning the lot and had the foresight to check under the car pleased him; women could never be too careful these days.

A minute later, he caught sight of her chocolate and cherry waves as the dark blue vehicle drove past the diner. Once the taillights were out of sight, Adam sighed and went back to finishing his burger. On a sudden impulse, he ordered a refill on his cherry Coke and a slice of chocolate cake.

Thirty minutes later, his heart actually stuttered a little when he saw the navy Sportage listing off on the shoulder. Pulling up behind her, he caught the bob of dark hair by the front passenger wheel. Adam put on his flashers and got out to offer his assistance.

***

H
olly poked her head up when she heard the crunch of gravel and stopped breathing for a second when the tall male form eased from the truck that had pulled over behind her. It was him! The guy from the restaurant!

“Hi,” he said easily. “Need a hand?”

Given the slight hint of amusement in his eyes, he recognized her, too. Thankfully, it seemed as if he was too polite to remind her of their previous encounter. It was definitely a plus in her book. And if the flannel hugging his biceps was any indication, the frozen lug nuts on the rim wouldn’t be a problem for him. Damn Jiffy Lube and their hydraulic tools anyway.

Holly released her death grip on the tire iron and stood up to her full not-so-impressive height. Pushing her curls back from her face, she left a nice dark streak across her sweaty brow.

***

A
dam tried hard to hide his grin.

“Yes, actually,” she said on an exhale. “I can’t seem to get these nuts off.”

“Well, that is a problem,” he said, somehow managing to keep a straight face. “Not one I’m personally familiar with, but I’ll do my best.”

She grinned at him, her cheeks pink with an honest-to-God blush, and a little explosion went off in his chest. She had the prettiest smile. It took him a minute to realize she was holding out the tire iron to him. “Then I humbly defer to your manly expertise.”

It took a few good tugs, but he managed to get the tire off with little trouble. He turned to ask if she had a spare, only to find her standing behind him with it in her arms. Since it was a full-size spare (another point in her favor), it covered her practically from knee to shoulder.

“I would have gotten that,” he said, taking it from her. She shrugged, then stepped back to let him get on with it. “Least I can do.”

“Appreciate it,” he said, meaning it. Most women wouldn’t have tried to help, would have been content to sit back and let him do all the work. Not that he’d have it any other way.

He finished changing the tire, then carried the flat to her open trunk. After closing the lid, he removed a blue kerchief from his pocket. Rather than wiping his hands, though, he handed it to her. She looked at him, confused. Adam pointed to her forehead. “You’ve got some grease, right there.”