Roadside Assistance

by Marie Harte

  “All right, bozos.” Liam rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get to work.”

  Foley cranked the radio, and everyone turned to. A few hours later, Liam stepped close and watched him leaning over the engine of an older GMC with attitude—Foley’s favorite kind of car. No whiz-bang electrical circuitry, just good old plugs and gears and pistons. And a computer he recognized without needing a bazillion directions.

  “So.” Liam said nothing more.

  “Yeah?” Hmm. Output voltage to the fuel pump relays was less than 11.2, yet the battery was supposedly new and had a full charge. Interesting. Time to check for loose connections and maybe some broken wires.

  “You and Cyn Nichols, hmm? I hear you two are pretty hot and heavy.”

  Foley straightened. “Where’d you hear that?” Dinner at Johnny’s had been great, but he hadn’t been all over her. Unless Nina had said something. Had Cyn mentioned being really into him, maybe? Did she consider them hot and heavy? He sure the hell hoped so.

  “So you are into her.”

  “Well, yeah. She’s gorgeous.”

  “True.” Liam smiled.

  “Why the hell are you so interested in my love life?” Foley knew he sounded rude, but he worried about the guys screwing up his future with Cyn. So far everyone had been cool about it—not counting Sam’s mouth. But the crew considered one another family. Hell, Foley himself had gone with Del to Johnny’s to help him when he’d been drowning in his relationship with Lara. That made Foley fair game for interference, and he knew it.

  “Just want to make sure my guys are happy and healthy is all.” Liam tried to look innocent. It totally didn’t work.

  “Hey. I’m no Johnny Devlin. I’m not pissy and mooning over anybody.”

  “Yet,” Lou added.

  Foley ignored him. “Hell, I’m glad to be here. Webster’s Garage rocks.” He meant it. Foley loved the work he did, in addition to the guys—and gal—he worked with.

  “A little testy, eh?” Lou tinkered with one of his client’s cars. “What’s wrong, Foley? I’m sensing you want us to keep out of your private life.”

  “Like you kept out of Johnny’s?” Liam had to add.

  “Please. That boy was floundering big time. Del and I saved him from a lifetime of pain and suffering.”

  “How’s that?” Sam asked.

  “The pain and suffering he’d have gotten from the bunch of us telling him what an asshole he was. Only a tool—the dickhead kind—wouldn’t see how great Lara is for him.”

  “Good call.” Lou nodded.

  “Yeah. I get that,” Sam agreed.

  The office door to the garage opened, and Del yelled, “Asshole and dickhead equal fifty cents.” The ROP had returned.

  “Shit.”

  “Seventy-five!” The door slammed shut.

  Sam and Lou openly laughed at him.

  “I’ll put it in when I get change,” he yelled back to be heard over the music. “How can she hear me? It’s like she has wolf ears.”

  “To go with the wolf eyes,” Lou said in a lower voice, still grinning.

  “Quit changing the subject.” Liam crossed his powerful arms over his chest. “So you and Ms. Nichols are a couple now?”

  “A couple of kids having a good time is all,” Sam said for him. “Nothing serious. Just some good, clean, pornographic fun.”

  “Didn’t need the help, Sam,” Foley growled.

  Sam saluted him before diving back toward his stuck sparkplugs.

  “I’m good,” Foley said. “Cyn and I are taking it slow, but yeah, we’re a couple. She’s mine, and she admits it. We’re solid.” Man, it felt good to say that. Foley felt warm inside and knew he was in the wrong place to get all giddy. He coughed to cover his joy. “So if we’re done playing girlfriends and talking feelings, Liam, can I get back to work? I swear, Sophie is making you soft, old man.”

  “Not where it counts, boy.” Liam winked.

  The guys guffawed and got back to work. Foley took most of the afternoon to fix the Bronco and its corrosive battery connections. After a butt splice and a heat shrink, the truck proved roadworthy. A test-drive, and he’d returned, ready for more challenges.

  He hadn’t expected his biggest one would be on the ride home from work an hour later.

  “So, you and Cyn. Things are good with your new girlfriend, huh?”

  Foley watched the scenery pass by while Sam drove them in Sam’s car, which he’d finally fixed. “Yeah. We’re good.” He paused. “What do you think of her? She was cool at Johnny and Lara’s. I think Lara liked her.”

  “They seemed to hit it off.” Sam shrugged. “She’s okay, I guess.”

  “Do you like her?”

  “You called dibs, remember?” Sam sneered. “Good thing you did, or she’d be crying out my name night after night.” Sam turned back to the road, a grim smile on his face. “Or is she?”

  “Ha-ha. Very funny.” Foley had to laugh. “She’s actually pretty religious.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Mostly she’s all, ‘Oh God, oh God, yes, yes,’ on our dates.” He snickered and managed a laugh out of Sam. He figured Cyn wouldn’t mind, considering he’d been just as religious under her talented touch.

  Sam continued the drive in silence.

  “So, ah, tomorrow night. I need the house.”

  “Huh?” Sam frowned.

  “Cyn’s coming over for a date. I want some alone time with her.”

  “Alone time?”

  “You know. I can’t score if she’s worried about you hearing everything.”

  They’d been through this before. Typically, from what Foley had seen, early in a relationship, a woman needed privacy. She needed to feel out her space and his, to accustom herself to his friends and get comfortable enough to not mind the noises she made while he gave her orgasms.

  Though he and Sam shared a big enough place that they weren’t stepping over each other, they still shared the space. Sexing Cyn up while Sam sat in his room probably wouldn’t go over too well. Not until she knew him better, at least.

  “No sweat. I’ll hang at Lou’s or Johnny’s.” Sam turned onto their street. “So you cooking her up something big? Gonna impress her with more than your empty head and awful compliments? Maybe show her how neat your sock drawer is?”

  “Yeah, right. We both know I can’t cook. Since you finally cleaned the bathroom, I’m not too concerned with the house. Although…I might straighten up a little.” Sam wasn’t the cleanest guy. Foley inwardly groaned, recalling the state of his own room. “Shit. I have a ton of laundry to do. I have a feeling it’s going to be a late night.”

  Sam shook his head. “Still in that have-to-impress phase. What’s up, man? She should be hooked on the sex by now. You must not be doing it right.”

  “Please. She has no complaints.”

  “Whatever.”

  “But it wouldn’t hurt to show her I’m a charming guy in and out of bed. One who’s not a slob.” He eyed Sam up and down, and Sam responded with a rude hand gesture as they pulled into the driveway. “I don’t want her to think that the mess in our place is me. Clearly you’re the hoarder here.”

  “I’m a collector, asshole. I collect. I don’t hoard.”

  “Poor bastard, still living in denial.” Foley shook his head and tried not to laugh at Sam’s scowl. “Your bed sits in the middle of a maze of waist-high stuff. That’s hoarding.”

  “That’s organizing. And besides, I’ve seen that show about hoarders, and I’m nowhere near that. Those people have shit on their floors. Like, real turds. It’s disgusting.”

  “The only reason you don’t have that is I make you clean the bathroom.”

  They entered the house, and Sam stopped right in front of him, causing Foley to bang into him. “What the hell, Sam?”

  �
�Since I got food, it’s your turn to fix dinner. Oh, and if she’s coming over tomorrow night to cook, make sure we get leftovers, okay?”

  “If it’ll keep you out of my hair, fine.” Foley would buy something for the guy. After all, Sam had agreed to stay away for the night. “I’ll kick in a dessert too.”

  Sam brightened at that. “Maybe a cheesecake?”

  “Sure. Why not?” He opened the refrigerator and sighed. “Hot dogs, again?”

  “It’s either that or frozen pizzas.”

  “Hot dogs it is.”

  Chapter 16

  Inside Foley’s town house, Cyn glanced around, impressed to find the living area clean. She’d noticed his section at the garage had been organized, while Sam’s hadn’t been. At all. So she’d wondered what to expect from their shared living space.

  She hated to stereotype but had to face it—Foley was a guy’s guy. The house had all the charm of a barely lived-in rental. Cream-colored walls, beige carpets, no artwork. She saw a few pictures in frames on the lone bookcase in the living room, along with some magazines and books on dogs.

  A matching side and coffee table in halfway decent condition stood sentry near a large gray sectional. It faced an even larger television—what obviously passed for art in their home.

  “It’s clean.” Foley seemed proud of that fact.

  “So it is.” She followed him through the living room into the kitchen, where he placed the bags she’d brought. The kitchen had Formica counters in the shape of a U, with a pass-through to the living room over the empty sink. A coffeepot, three apples, and a roll of paper towels were the only things on the counters. The cabinets and tiled floor had no doubt been selected for function and economy. They didn’t offend with bright color and didn’t overwhelm with high-end gloss either.

  But the kitchen table had been set to look pretty. A Christmassy tablecloth and plates, napkins and silverware set for two charmed her. Candles sat on either side of a Christmas cactus, and she smiled at the attempt to liven the place with holiday cheer.

  “I love the table.”

  Foley smiled. “Yeah? My mom gave us the plant and the tablecloth. Said we looked pathetic with no decorations.” Then he shoved his hands in his pockets. “But, ah, that’s it. I mean, I set the table and all. Just me. No help from my mom. We’re not joined at the hip or anything.”

  She swallowed the momma’s-boy taunt, because he looked adorable. Huge, handsome Foley embarrassed because his mom had helped him decorate.

  He nodded at her bags on the counter. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Nothing. I’m cooking for you.”

  “Yeah, but you picked up stuff for the cheesecake, right? And I said I’d buy if you made us dinner.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s my treat. Besides, you kicked Sam out for me. How sweet,” she teased. “I owe him too.”

  He flushed. “Nah. He had plans to hang out with the guys. It’s no biggie.”

  She doubted that. Foley obviously wanted privacy for them, which she appreciated. She didn’t know how she’d feel knowing Sam was closeted somewhere in the house. And it wouldn’t seem right to eat a homemade dinner without asking Sam to join them.

  Cyn took items out of the bags. “Well, anyway, I prepared some of this at home. Let me put it together.”

  “How about some music?”

  “Sure.”

  “What do you like? I bet you like jazz or classical.”

  “I like all kinds, really.”

  Foley left while she started organizing the meal. She’d precooked the noodles and meat and blended the cheeses, so she only had to put the lasagna together, make the salad, and prep the cheesecake. Though Foley hadn’t asked her to, she’d made plenty enough for him and Sam to share the next day.

  A man as large as Foley who couldn’t cook? A travesty.

  Jazzy blues came through speakers with high-quality sound. Typical guy. He had no artwork to speak of, but he owned a big screen TV and high-end sound system.

  Foley rejoined her in the kitchen. His eyes grew wide when he noticed the pan being filled with noodles, meat, sauce, and cheese. “Oh wow. Homemade lasagna.”

  “I would have gone more gourmet, but I didn’t want to make something you wouldn’t eat. Besides, I’m Italian. If I can’t make a lasagna half as good as my grandmother’s, I’m out of the family.”

  He grinned. “I get you. My dad was a mechanic, so it was kind of in the blood for me. Grease and car parts are what I do.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep.” He moved to the fridge and came back with wine and beer. “Which would you like? I have water and milk too.”

  “How about some wine?”

  He opened it and poured her a glass of cold red. She didn’t have the heart to tell him she preferred her red wine at a slight chill, just below room temperature. “This is good, thanks.”

  He took a drag on his beer and settled against the counter to watch her. “You look good in the kitchen.” He glanced down at her feet. “Barefoot would be good too.”

  “You add pregnant and I’m out of here.”

  He laughed. “Kidding. Though you’d look good pregnant too. What can I say? I’m a fan.”

  “A fan?” She blamed her heated cheeks on the warming oven.

  “I’m all for the feminist movement.”

  “Ha. I’d be surprised if you can spell feminist.” She finished prepping the lasagna.

  “This isn’t about spelling. It’s about appreciating a businesswoman who can cook.” Foley sighed. “I can’t wait for dinner.”

  “You’re so easy.”

  “Um, yeah. I thought that was obvious. Not like I’m hiding anything from you.”

  She snorted and put the lasagna into the oven. Then she started prepping the salad.

  “Want me to do anything?” he asked.

  “Nope.”

  So he watched while she worked, and they talked about his day back at work.

  “…and I nailed the starter and figured out how to work out the power steering problem.” He said more she didn’t understand, but she wanted to. His enthusiasm for his work infected her as well. “Oh, and Del’s still a huge pain. I owe her seventy-five cents.”

  “Seventy-five cents? That’s all?”

  “That’s all she heard,” he admitted.

  She laughed. “I can imagine. You’re a huge fan of the f-word, aren’t you?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, you can use it any way you want. But doing it, now that’s what life is all about.” He drank and stared at her breasts, his grin more of a leer. “Oh yeah.”

  “Foley, behave.”

  “Do I have to?”

  She pushed the salad to the side. “Yes. Are you really just going to watch me do all the work? You’re not going to offer to help at all?”

  “Nope.” He didn’t sound the least bit repentant.

  “But I bet you’ll want to lick the beaters when I’m done with the cheesecake.”

  “Yes, please.”

  She showed him, step by step, how to put together a New York–style cheesecake. Once the lasagna finished, she’d pop it in the oven to bake.

  “We’ll eat it warm, even though it’s usually best served cold. But it’s cheesecake, right?”

  “There’s no way to eat it wrong.” He nodded. “And can I just say I’m glad you’re not going to be all weird about eating with me.”

  “Is this you being complimentary and insensitive at the same time again?”

  He groaned. “Probably. Look, I’m just saying it’s no fun to eat with a girl who says no to everything.”

  “You have this problem often?”

  He nodded. “Look at me, Cyn. I eat a lot, and I always feel like a huge pig when I’m enjoying a meal and my date picks a salad and refuses dessert. She’s never hu
ngry. But I’m always wanting more.”

  “Hmm.” They’d had this discussion before. She knew what he meant, yet she wondered if maybe she’d grown less sensitive about her size. Her mother continued to hound her, but it grew easier to ignore her when a man like Foley looked at her like he wanted to eat her up. How could a girl’s self-esteem not be buoyed by that?

  He put down his beer and stepped into her space. “You understand what I’m saying, right? We’re over that mess from before. I do not think you’re fat. A little hideous maybe, with all that ugly red hair, but I’m adjusting.” That wicked grin made her want to kiss him senseless.

  “Foley, you’re an ass.”

  “One who’s hooked on all of you, so gimme a break. How about a kiss?”

  Like he’d read her mind. “Just one.”

  He took her hands and placed them behind his neck, then he leaned close and gave her the kiss she’d been wanting since he’d left her Sunday night. He tasted like beer and sex, and it was all she could do not to beg him to go straight to the bedroom for a little hanky-panky. Cyn lived with a healthy libido, but around Foley, she felt perpetually in heat.

  Foley was special. She’d dated her share of men, but none of them had turned her on so easily. Foley had only to smile, and her panties grew damp. She thought about him all the time. And for more than his hot body. She wanted to hang around him, to watch him laugh, or hold hands while they walked in the snow. She wanted to know what he liked, what he hated, to watch him with Sam and his friends, or his mom.

  I am seriously in trouble with this man.

  He pulled back and stared into her eyes. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” she whispered back, breathless. Ignoring the urge to bring him back for another kiss that could easily turn into a quickie over the kitchen table, she pushed him back, holding him at arm’s length. She hadn’t imagined that pole in his pants rubbing against her, and the sight of his arousal soothed that part of her that continued to wonder if she was enough for him.

  “I guess you need to cook.”

  “And you need to go around the counter so I’m not tempted.”

  He grinned. “I tempt you, huh? Good to know.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She shooed him away. “If you want cheesecake, stop distracting me.”