Dirty Thoughts

by Megan Erickson

  He turned around, checking out the car, while she stood gaping at his back. He’d . . . he’d flirted back, right? Cal wasn’t really a flirting kind of guy. He said what he wanted and followed through. But flirting, Cal?

  She shook her head. It’d been over ten years. Surely he’d lived a lot of life during that time she’d been away, going to college, then grad school, then working in New York. She didn’t want to think about what that flirting might mean, now that she was back in Tory for good. Except he didn’t know that.

  “So, you think the bearings need to be replaced?” Cal ran his hand over the hood. From this angle, all she saw was hard muscle covering broad shoulders, shifting beneath his T-shirt.

  She shook herself and spoke up. “Yeah, it’s making that noise—you know, that growl.”

  He nodded.

  The only reason she knew was because she’d spent a lot of weekends and lazy summer afternoons as a teenager, lying in the grass, getting a tan in her bikini while Cal worked on his car, an old black Camaro, in his driveway. She’d learned a lot about cars and hadn’t forgotten all of it. She wondered if he still had that Camaro.

  “Want me to inspect it too?” Cal was at the passenger’s side door now, easing it open.

  “What?”

  He pointed to the sticker on the windshield. “I can do it now, if you’d like. You have to get it done by end of next month.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him sure, but then she’d have to give him the registration and insurance card, and then he’d know it was Dylan’s car. “No, no, that’s all right.”

  He frowned. “Why not?”

  “I just . . . ”

  He opened up the passenger’s side door and bent inside.

  “What are you doing?” She walked around the car, just as he pulled some papers out of the glove box. She stopped and fidgeted with her fingers, because he’d know in three . . . two . . .

  He bent and tossed the papers back in the glove box. “I’ll have it for you by end of the day tomorrow.” He started walking toward the office of the garage.

  He had to have seen the name, right? He had to have seen it. She walked behind him. “Cal, I—”

  He stopped and turned. “Do you need a ride?”

  “What?”

  “Do you need a ride . . . home, or wherever you’re going?”

  She shook her head. “I’m going to walk across the street to Delilah’s store. She’ll take me home.”

  His gaze flitted to the shop across the street and then back to Jenna. He nodded. “All right, then.”

  She tried again. “Cal—”

  “You picking it up or your brother?”

  The muscle shift in his jaw was the only indication that he was bothered by this. “I’m sorry, I should have told you . . . ”

  He shook his head. “You don’t owe it to me to tell me anything. You asked me to fix a car—”

  “Yeah, but you and Dylan don’t like each other—”

  That muscle in his jaw ticked again. “Sure, we don’t like each other, but what? You think I’m going to lose my temper and bash his car in?”

  Uh-oh. “No, I—”

  He shook his head, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer. “You didn’t have to keep it a secret it was his car. I’m not eighteen anymore. I got more control than I used to.”

  She felt like a heel. And a jerk. She wasn’t the same person she was at eighteen, so she shouldn’t have treated Cal like he was the hothead he’d been then. “Cal, I’m so sorry. I—”

  He waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it, Sunshine.”

  That name—it sent a spark right through her like a live wire. She hadn’t heard that nickname in so long, she’d almost forgotten about it, but her body sure hadn’t. It hadn’t forgotten the way Cal could use that one word to turn her into putty.

  He seemed as surprised as she did. His eyes widened a fraction before he shut down. “Anyway”—his voice was lower now—“we close tomorrow at six. Appreciate it if you’d pick it up before that.” He jingled the keys and shot her one more measuring look, and then he disappeared into the garage office, leaving her standing outside the door, her mind broiling in confusion.

  She should have known Cal Payton could still knock her off her feet.

  Chapter Two

  DELILAH’S DRAWERS SAT across the street from Payton and Sons in a small strip mall that held a Subway, a Dollar Store, and a popular Mexican restaurant.

  Jenna’s friend Delilah had opened up Delilah’s Drawers, a clothing consignment shop, shortly after they’d graduated from high school. Delilah had liked alliteration and thought it was a cute play on words—as if people were looking into her dresser drawers for used clothing. She’d already signed paperwork and made promotional material with the name before someone told her they thought the name referred to Delilah’s underwear.

  But Delilah, being Delilah, held her chin up and kept the name. No one even mentioned it anymore, since she’d been in business for close to ten years. It wasn’t like Tory got many visitors.

  Delilah had a steady stream of clientele. There was another consignment shop in the area that had been there since Jenna was a kid that carried children’s clothing. So Delilah cornered the market on higher-end women’s clothing, shoes, and accessories.

  The bell over the door rang as Jenna stepped into the shop.

  “Be there in a minute!” a voice called from the back room.

  “Take your time!” Jenna called back and walked to the front counter to gawk at her favorite part of Delilah’s shop—the jewelry. Jenna had a weakness for large earrings, and after that whole situation with Cal at the shop, she could use some retail therapy.

  She’d been naive to think that seeing Cal again would be no big deal. It’d been so long since they’d been together, so long since they’d even seen each other. It was a shock to her system that he could still cause a wave of arousal to crash over her body. All those old feelings weren’t dead and buried. They’d just been lying dormant. And now she’d gone and offended him because she’d wanted to avoid an awkward situation. Good call there, Jenna. That situation hadn’t been awkward at all.

  She sighed and fingered a set of gold chandelier earrings with fake jade accents. They’d go perfectly with that cream-colored top she’d just ordered . . .

  “Hey, you.”

  Jenna smiled at her friend. Delilah was a five-foot-nothing beauty, whose parents had adopted her from China when she was a baby. Jenna wasn’t tall by any means, but Delilah made her feel like a linebacker. Today, Delilah wore a sleeveless navy jersey dress with gladiator sandals and a long necklace made of coral beads.

  “Hey, you,” Jenna said, hugging Delilah tightly. “I’ve missed you.”

  Delilah squeezed her and then pulled back. “Missed you too. Glad we’re going to get some girl time in, now that you’re back.”

  Back. What a weird word. She’d never planned to return to Tory. She’d gone to school in New York and worked there for years. Her plan had been to stay there, but as time went on, it became apparent she wasn’t happy. As much as she loved the city, she was tired of the pressure, of the people, of the cost of living. She hadn’t been willing to give it up, though, because a little bit of it felt like admitting defeat. But when her father offered her a job back home as the publicity director for his financial firm, she took it. After an employee discrimination lawsuit—that her father ultimately won—the firm’s public image was in the crapper. Her father had called on the old “family must help family” adage, and so here she was.

  Being back in Tory had rekindled some old dreams she used to have—a nice house with a yard in the suburbs. A husband and kids. Growing up, she’d never been close to her family. They’d lived in a big house, which only gave them the excuse not to interact with each other. Unlike Cal’s family. Despite Jack’s absence in the Payton sons’ upbringing, the brothers had been close. She’d admired that. Craved it, even. Back in high school, Cal had dreamed about
starting a family, hoping to do a better job than either of their parents did.

  But that had been the dream then, and slowly, she’d let it fade. It was still there, though, if she squinted hard enough. And seeing Cal again had already wiped away some of the cobwebs that had covered that dream.

  She’d been back in town for a week, having rented a little two-bedroom colonial in a decent neighborhood until she figured out where she wanted to be long term. She started work on Monday and planned to dive in headfirst to improve how the area viewed MacMillan Investments. Not that she was a huge fan of the firm, but it was family, and at the end of the day, her last name was on the letterhead.

  But that was next week. For now, she was going to spend time with her oldest, truest friend. Jenna gestured around Delilah’s shop. “It looks great in here. Business okay?”

  Delilah fixed a gauzy tunic on the rack next to her. “Yeah, it hasn’t been bad. Tory is getting better. More businesses are opening, which means more people and people with money.” She winked. “But they still like to buy cheap.”

  “And you have great stuff.”

  “I have excellent stuff.” Delilah snapped her fingers and stepped to another rack. She shuffled through the hangers quickly. “Actually, a dress just came in, and all I could think was, this would look fabulous on Jenna.”

  “Oh, Delilah—”

  She snapped her fingers again. “What was I thinking? I put it aside so no one would buy it.” She walked around her counter and bent down behind the register. Smiling, she held up a sleeveless, green- and cream-colored chevron dress. “See? Isn’t it gorgeous? And there’s a little green matching belt.”

  Jenna fingered the material, which was lightweight. The fabric flowed beautifully. “I could wear this to work with my—”

  Delilah shook her head. “No, how about you wear this out for dinner and drinks with me tomorrow?”

  Tomorrow was Thursday. It wasn’t like Jenna had to get up for work until Monday. She raised her eyebrows. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

  Delilah didn’t even blink. “I’m telling you.”

  Jenna smirked. “Of course you are.”

  “Come on.” Delilah shimmied the dress. “I know you’re used to high-class New York drinks, and all we have here is Tory, Maryland, drinks, but I think you can lower your standards a little bit.”

  Jenna laughed. “Oh, stop. As much as I loved New York, I certainly was never as close to anyone as I am to you.” And maybe that was why it’d been so easy to leave. And so easy to come back home.

  Delilah pretended to wipe away a tear. “You really know how to talk to a girl.”

  Waggling her fingers, Jenna said, “All right, so tell me how much the dress is, and I’ll take it off your hands.”

  “Well, you can just take it—”

  Jenna shook her head and dug her wallet out of her purse. “Stop. Don’t you dare give this to me for free, Delilah Jenkins. Don’t you dare.”

  Her friend pressed her lips together. “Fine.”

  “Fine. And throw in those gold chandelier earrings too.”

  As Jenna signed the credit card slip, Delilah leaned on the counter and placed her chin in her hands. “So. Cal Payton.”

  “Cal Payton,” Jenna repeated, her lips comfortable forming the name, like they’d never forgotten.

  “How’d he react when you dropped off the Dill Pickle’s car?”

  Jenna pushed the slip to Delilah, who placed it in the register drawer. “Do not call him Dill Pickle.”

  “It’s either that or Dylan the Dick.”

  Jenna held back a laugh. “Okay, fine. Dill Pickle it is.”

  Delilah beamed, surely pleased she won that argument.

  Jenna leaned a hip on the counter, crossed her arms, and told Delilah what had happened at the garage, including how she’d offended Cal.

  Delilah’s eyes widened. “Huh.”

  “What’s ‘huh’ mean?”

  “Wow.”

  “What’s ‘wow’ mean?”

  Delilah furrowed her brows.

  Jenna threw up her hands. “Will you talk?”

  Delilah shrugged and held her hands out, palms up. “I don’t know what you want me to say! That’s weird. It’s weird Cal showed emotion, and it’s weird that it bothered him that much. And it’s super-weird he was honest with you.”

  Jenna chewed the inside of her cheek. “Weird bad or weird good?”

  Delilah was silent for a minute. “I . . . I would actually say good. I’ve been worried . . . ” Her voice trailed off, and her gaze drifted. “I’ve been worried about Cal for a while. Not that I talk to him much or see him much, for that matter, but when I have, it’s seemed like he was turning more and more into . . . well . . . ” Delilah winced. “Jack.”

  Jenna clamped down on the inside of her cheek so hard that she gasped. Jack Payton, Cal’s father, was a bitter, scowling man. At least, that’s the way he’d been back when she and Cal had been together. “I take it that Jack . . . ”

  Delilah shook her head. “He’s not any worse, but he’s not better.”

  Jenna sighed and picked at a sales sticker on the counter. “I never wanted that for Cal.”

  “I know, sweetie.”

  Jenna looked up. “Cal was never going to leave Tory, though. He was always going to stay here. I mean, I made the right decision. I didn’t want to ruin his life. Or mine.”

  Delilah laid her hand on top of Jenna’s. “It’s not even worth it to look back. You know that. It’s not like you can change anything.”

  Jenna swallowed, dreading the next question but asking it anyway. “Does he . . . have a girlfriend?” She didn’t recall seeing a wedding ring.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. To be honest, I don’t see him around a lot. It’s a small town, but most rumors are about Brent, not Cal. Although they are the most eligible bachelors in Tory.”

  She didn’t know which relationship status for Cal she preferred more. Even though the thought of Cal in a serious relationship with someone else hurt, it also hurt to know he was alone. “I kind of hate this, Delilah. I had no idea this would still be all . . . fresh.” She looked into her friend’s deep brown eyes. “I thought time healed everything.”

  Delilah’s face softened. “I don’t—”

  Jenna’s phone rang, cutting into the moment. She pulled her cell out of her purse and rolled her eyes. “This is Dylan. I’m sorry. I have to take it.”

  Delilah waved her on. “Don’t even worry about it. I have to close out the register anyway before we leave. Say hi to Dill Pickle for me.”

  Jenna huffed a laugh and then answered the call. “Hello?”

  “Hey, did you get my car fixed?”

  Jenna clenched her phone hard so she didn’t say something nasty to her brother. He wasn’t a bad guy. But he had a serious lack of interpersonal skills. “I dropped it off. It’ll be ready tomorrow night. I’ll pick it up for you.”

  A pause. “Where’d you take it?”

  “Um . . . ”

  “You took it to him, didn’t you?”

  Jenna’s hackles rose. “Yes, I did, actually. Because we all know that’s the best garage in town, and I wasn’t driving an hour to the dealership.”

  “He’s probably going to put a condom in my gas tank—”

  “Oh, grow up, Dylan.” Jenna was over this. Her brother was thirty-four years old, and he needed to act like it. “Cal is a professional, and he’ll treat you like any other customer. If you do find a condom in the gas tank, it will be me who put it there!” She ended the call and huffed out a breath.

  A strangled sound came from in front of her, and she lifted her gaze to Delilah’s wide eyes. “Did you just tell off your brother?”

  Jenna winced, immediately regretting letting her anger get the best of her. “Crap. I should call and apologize, shouldn’t I?” She hovered her finger over the phone button.

  Delilah reached across the counter and snatched the phone from Jenna’s
hand. “Don’t you dare, Jenna MacMillan. I’m proud of you for yelling at Dill Pickle. Damn, that was the best thing I’ve heard in a while.”

  Jenna ran her hand through her hair. “I lived and dealt with his dickishness for eighteen years. I’m over it. He can’t talk to me like that.”

  Delilah raised her eyebrows. “Talk to you like that or talk about Cal like that?”

  Jenna opened her mouth, then shut it, then opened it again. “Tomato, tomahto.”

  Delilah smiled knowingly. “Whatever. Let me get this register closed out, and I’ll take you home.”

  “Can we stop for some wine on the way home?”

  “Of course, sweetie.”

  Jenna didn’t have wine glasses yet. But on second thought, maybe she’d just drink straight from the bottle.

  CAL HAD JUST sat down in his recliner with a newly opened beer when there was a bang on his front door. He stared at the baseball game on TV and waited. The knock was louder this time. He waited longer and cocked his head. Three more knocks and a muffled, “Let me in, asshole!”

  “There it is,” Call muttered to himself. He set his beer on the coffee table with a sigh and walked to his door. He turned the deadbolt, unlocked the knob, and opened the door. He turned around immediately, walking back to his recliner. The door shut behind him, and then two thuds sounded as Brent toed off his boots.

  Cal picked up his beer and sat down. He heard Brent pad into the kitchen and grab a beer from his fridge. Cabinets opened and closed, and Cal rolled his eyes because he knew Brent was hunting for food.

  His brother still lived in the apartment they had shared. It was a decent place, and now Brent had a spare bedroom. But Cal . . . well, he wanted his own place. He wanted a garage and a yard and a deck where he could set up a grill.

  Cal had found this two-story home on an acre of land, and even though it was old, he could manage a lot of the repairs himself. He had no neighbors nearby. None. He could walk around in his backyard naked if he wanted to. Not that he did, but he could.

  He had a small basement, and the first floor had a family room, a half-bath, and a nice kitchen with an island, with a door out to his small deck. On the second floor were two bedrooms, plus a full bathroom with a big shower. He loved that damn shower.