Slow Ride (8 page)
Heading into the hallway, she tripped over her shoes, which she had obviously just dumped outside the door. She wanted to go back to bed. She wanted coffee. She wanted a new head.
The doorbell rang.
Great. That was probably someone coming to collect her for the brunch. If it was an elderly aunt, she was not answering it. She didn’t need that kind of judgment. Glancing through the peephole, she realized it was way worse than some ancient relative in a floral sundress.
It was Diesel.
“Shit,” she whispered, lifting a hand to her hair. Not that anything her fingers did could fix that hornet’s nest. She couldn’t possibly open the door to him.
Then again, he was holding two grande-sized coffee cups in his hand.
It was tempting.
Vanity versus caffeine.
He knocked again. “Tuesday, it’s Diesel. I wanted to give you a ride to your car. I brought you some coffee.”
She liked that he didn’t inquire how she was feeling. There was nothing more annoying than that question when you were hungover.
“Hey,” she said through the door. “Thanks. I’m not exactly ready though.”
That was an understatement to say the least, given she was in her underwear and looked like she’d spent the night in the woods running from a murderer.
“No problem. I can wait a few minutes.”
Tuesday looked through the peephole again. He raised one of the coffee cups and drank from it. She could practically taste it sliding down her throat, easing her suffering.
She had to get to that brunch and Diesel was her best hope for both a ride and a caffeine recovery. To hell with her appearance. If he thought she looked like shit, well, he would be right.
Grabbing a throw off the couch and wrapping it around herself, Tuesday opened her door.
He did blink when he saw her, but made no comment on her appearance. “Good morning. Sorry I didn’t call first but I don’t have your number.”
“That’s okay.” Her hand was already reaching out, polite or not, for the cup in his hand. “Thanks for the coffee.” She took it from him, took a big long swallow, and sighed as the liquid eased the rawness of her throat and the extreme cotton-mouth.
When she took a second sip, she realized she was both hungover and rude. “Sorry, come on in.” She shuffled backward a few steps in her makeshift blanket toga and stepped out of the way so he could enter. “I really appreciate you coming over. I’m supposed to be at this brunch and I just woke up and I realized I don’t have a car. I suck.”
Now that her head was pounding a little less, the guilt was increasing. What kind of person gets bombed at her best friend’s wedding, then is too hungover to get to a wedding brunch on time? One that sucked, that’s who.
Diesel shrugged. “It happens. You had a good reason to tie one on last night. You were both celebrating and grieving.”
She swallowed, gripping her coffee and her blanket, appreciating his matter-of-fact attitude. “You’re right. I don’t think I was too embarrassing last night.” She remembered everything. She’d danced a lot but that was about it for the general crowd. She’d saved most of her outrageousness for Diesel. Lolling across his lap in the car was not something she normally did with men she barely knew. “Sorry I hit on you.”
He grinned. “Are you taking it back? You were just beergoggling with me?” He put his hand on his heart. “You’re shattering my ego, you know.”
“That’s your heart, not your ego, and I sincerely doubt I’m shattering either one.” Tuesday set her coffee down. “I’m just saying thank you for being decent and not taking advantage of the drunk girl and having sex with me.”
Though as she eyed those biceps peeking out from his T-shirt and remembered his erection pressed against her, she wasn’t sure she would have regretted it.
His eyebrow shot up. “You’re welcome.” He moved farther into her apartment, setting his own coffee down on the end table. Diesel moved past her, his arm brushing hers, and as he went for the couch, he met her stare head-on. “If I have sex with you, I want you fully aware of everything you’re doing. And everything
I’m
doing.”
I’m
doing.”
Despite her aching muscles and her pounding head and her stuffed up nose, Tuesday felt that proclamation shoot straight into her vagina. She had not been expecting him to say that. “Is that a hypothetical?” she said, her voice a little breathier than she would have liked.
He flopped on her couch. “That’s up to you.”
She wasn’t sure how to answer that. Her brain wasn’t working at full capacity at the moment and she couldn’t think of a single clever thing to say. “Well, right now is out of the question.”
He laughed. “Probably. Since you have that brunch to go to.”
“Yeah, and the fact that I look like ass and smell like someone’s grandpa. Which I have to say I appreciate you not mentioning.”
“You don’t smell like old man, don’t be ridiculous.” Diesel put his feet on her coffee table and settled back into the couch.
Tuesday waited, but he didn’t add anything else. Feeling annoyed, even though she knew it was irrational, she said, “But I do look like ass?” She knew she did. She looked beyond bad. She looked like sewage, like the witches in
Macbeth
, like she’d been in a battle with a monkey and lost. But he could at least lie about it.
Macbeth
, like she’d been in a battle with a monkey and lost. But he could at least lie about it.
“You don’t look like ass. You’ll always be a beautiful woman. But I have to say I prefer your hair the way it was last night over this look.”
It was sweet. Fair. Truthful. But she was still put out. She wanted him to think she was hot. She gave a grudging, “Thank you.” Then she dropped the blanket she’d been clutching. “I’m taking a five-minute shower.”
His mouth fell open.
Which served him right.
Tuesday figured a bra and panties were no different than a bathing suit, and she was happy with her body. Maybe that view would wipe out the hot mess her hair was. She was playing with fire, but hell, you never got anything if you didn’t ask for it. She figured this was the visual equivalent of requesting his erection.
If she wasn’t feeling like shit, she wasn’t sure she would have taken such a brazen approach, but the alcohol seeping out her pores and wafting around her in a noxious cloud made her self-conscious. This leveled the playing field in some strange way.
Turning on her heel, she headed for the bathroom, swiping her coffee off the table on her way.
Diesel was well aware of the fact that he was speechless, but he couldn’t force anything out of his mouth. All of his blood and concentration had rushed south to his cock. Tuesday was . . . naked. Virtually. He had figured there wasn’t a whole lot on her body under that blanket, but he had never expected that he’d be given the privilege of seeing it. Today, anyway.
It was a hell of a view. She was a hell of a woman.
With very long legs. A tight backside. And a flat stomach that made him want to lick from her breasts to her navel and right on down to the promised land.
Her skin was creamy and fair, her breasts small but perky, her arms long and elegant.
Yes, her hair looked like she’d jammed her finger into an electrical socket, and it looked like a five-year-old had made free with her makeup, but that was to be expected after a night of overconsumption of alcohol. There had been a lot of hair spray in that twist thing she’d had going on with her hair, so he could imagine this would be the end result even if she had been sober.
She was beautiful; he had been telling the straight-up God’s honest truth. And now he knew for certain she had a banging body, and he had the hard-on to prove it. Damn. He hadn’t seen that one coming—the dropping the blanket, not the hard-on. He was starting to think that was going to be a perpetual problem around Tuesday.
When he stopped choking on his own drool he managed to call out, “Am I driving you to your car, is that what we’re doing here? Or am I just hanging out on your couch for no reason?”
“Yes, you’re driving me to my car,” she said, her voice grumpy. “How else am I supposed to get to the brunch?”
“Float there with your angel wings?” he asked, a little heavy on the sarcasm.
She popped her head back out of the bathroom. “Don’t be a hater. I’m not at my best this morning. I’m hungover. I’m embarrassed. I’m late. I appreciate a ride, seriously. And I appreciate you bringing me home last night.”
Wow. That was a refreshing display of honesty. “You’re welcome. And you have no reason to be embarrassed. It was a wedding. Everyone was getting their drink on.”
Her answer was the shower turning on. Her head had disappeared but she hadn’t closed the bathroom door. Which meant she was probably stripping off her bra and panties and stepping into that shower totally naked. Where hot water would bounce off her bare body and trickle down over every inch of her.
Diesel shifted on her couch. He was starting to get more than a little uncomfortable. For a guy who was leery of having sex, he was starting to think that given the option, he’d dive in face-first with Tuesday, bum knee or not.
To distract himself from thoughts of helping her wash her body, he glanced around her apartment. It somehow reminded him of her. Tailored. Clean. Classy. Everything looked like it belonged where it was. Even the nubby blanket she had been wearing was elegant, not your granny’s afghan. He hadn’t seen much the night before when he’d been struggling to drag her into her apartment. They’d stumbled down the hall together, then she’d taken a facer onto her bed. He’d removed her shoes and turned her onto her back. He’d thought about taking her dress off, but that was crossing a boundary, considering they’d only met twice, so he’d just pulled up her covers and left her with some aspirin and water.
He was feeling a little guilty though for not just crashing on the couch. He’d been tempted, but hadn’t wanted her to wake up and think he was some creepy douche bag lingering around going through her underwear drawer.
The shower turned off almost immediately. He was impressed with her speed. A minute later she appeared in the doorway, a towel around her body, a second one on her head.
“Three more minutes,” she told him.
“Where is this brunch?” he asked her.
“Statesville. Some bed-and-breakfast.”
“That’s in the opposite direction of your car. What time were you supposed to be there?”
“Fifteen minutes ago,” she called from the recesses of her bedroom.
“Then why don’t I just drive you to the brunch? Someone can give you a ride to your car after.” It was the least he could do. He was feeling a little responsible for her predicament. He should have thought the whole thing through a little better the night before, given that he’d been the sober one.
She came out wearing a short dress and black high heels, shoving her arm into several bracelets, a pink bag in her hand. “Really? That’s awesome of you. Okay, I’m ready.”
Given that her hair was still wet, she didn’t look ready to him, but he knew better than to argue with a woman about her hair. “Okay.” He stood up. “Want me to grab your coffee?”
“Oh, my God, yes. Thanks, Diesel.”
He went and fetched the cup out of the bathroom, trying to ignore the sight of her panties and bra strewn across the tile floor. No time for that. None whatsoever.
Tuesday was grabbing a little black purse and her keys and in a minute they were outside, her slamming the door with such violence that she actually winced.
“Oh, God, my head.”
“You look a lot better. Cute dress.” Which sounded so lame the minute it came out of his mouth he almost groaned out loud. He was turning into a fourteen-year-old boy around her.
“Thanks. I’m glad you’re driving so I can slap on some makeup and pull my hair back. We’ll pretend its hair gel giving it a slicked-back look.”
A certain scene from a movie involving something that was decidedly not hair gel popped into his head. He needed to get a goddamn grip and fast.
“Why are you so quiet all of a sudden?” she said as she closed the passenger door of his car and flipped down the visor to reveal the mirror.
Because he was struggling with horniness.
“No particular reason.”
“God, I don’t want to go to this. Everyone is going to be there with their husbands and boyfriends and there will be me, the morning-after girl.”
“But you didn’t have sex last night so it’s all good.” Neither had he. Damn. Diesel put his car in reverse and stomped harder on the gas than was necessary.
“That’s not the point. I get tired of being the single girl everyone feels sorry for. Don’t they know I’m perfectly fine?”
The words his uncle had spoken to him earlier popped into his head. Fine, yes. But happy? Diesel wasn’t sure about himself, and he suspected if pressed, Tuesday would be even less sure.
“I hear ya on that one. My uncle is trying to convince me to go to something at his church where a certain single woman will just happen to be. I do think we’re all a little old to be fixed up by our families.”
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