He nodded once. “Thanks for dinner.”
She sucked in a breath, drawing his attention to the strain of her perfect handfuls in that white lacy get-up. He quickly averted his gaze back to her face. “No, thank you for everything. You’re a regular Mr. Fix-It. My hero.”
He grimaced as he turned to shut the truck door. “I’m no hero.” Nope. No hero would be ogling her chest. Or her ass, for that matter. “But I’m happy to help. Let me know when you get that heating element and I’ll come pop it in for you. Should only take a few . . .”
He pivoted back to face her and she was nearly pressed against him, pinning him between her tiny body and the truck. He glanced down into her face.
She licked her lips. “Absolutely.”
Absolutely what? White lace was clogging his brain. Her hot hands were on his biceps. Automatically, he reached out and found the swell of her hips.
She inched closer and the back of his legs bumped into the warm metal of the truck’s door. A knowing smile teased the edge of her mouth. Her breath tickled the skin of his cheek as her warmth branded the front of his body. Those perfect handfuls pressed against his chest, nearly making his eyes roll back in his head.
“Noble?” Her voice was inches from his ear.
“Hmmm?”
“Thank you. You’re the best neighbor a girl could ask for,” she whispered just before her lips brushed the corner of his.
Chapter 13
Michael tinkered some more with Tristan on the dirt bike’s motor, but they were limited on what else they could do until they got some help from someone who knew more about engines. And he knew exactly who that was. He was still frustrated about that.
He glanced up. “So, little Bud, how’re things? How’s school?”
Tristan shrugged and picked up a different socket. “It’s all right. Same.” He looked over shyly. “Met a girl.”
Michael raised a brow. “A girl, huh? What’s her name?”
Tristan kept working. “Ashley.”
“She cute?”
“Would I like her if she wasn’t?”
Michael laughed. “Guess not.” He moved to the other side of the bike’s skeletal frame and did what he could to help. “So, she your girlfriend?”
Tristan glanced up. “Not yet. We’re just talking. You know.”
Michael nodded sagely, wondering about the intricacies of teenage love affairs. Father only used the Love Detail once true matches were to be made with adult humans. It was very, very rare that these young loves were meant to last, and when that happened, Father usually handled that Himself.
They went back to working and what Michael liked to think of as manly silence. He’d learned that from Jed and Noble. It took practice, though. Especially when all he wanted to do was chat and pump the poor kid for information about his mom. Maybe he could glean something that would help both their causes.
They finally took a soda break. As they stood at the open garage door staring at the street, Michael couldn’t take it anymore. He glanced over into Tristan’s soulful little profile. “So, how’s your mom? Haven’t seen her around today.”
Tristan sipped his drink. “She’s hangin’ with the old fogies. I think it’s her night to read to them.” He glanced at Michael. “She likes to troll the nursing homes for a rich, old husband.”
Michael’s mouth fell open.
Tristan laughed. “I’m just kidding, man. She volunteers there. I think she actually likes the smells of prune juice and piss.” He took another drink then, still grinning, said, “She’s fine.”
Michael smiled and sat on a solid metal toolbox. “That’s good. She’s a real nice lady.” He took a breath and dived in. “So, everything still working good in your house?”
Tristan crushed his empty can and tossed it in the trash. “Yeah, man. But would you believe our fridge and oven went out the other day, too?” He turned deep, brown eyes to Michael.
He tried to look disbelieving. “Nah! You serious?”
“Serious. But it’s cool now.” He shot a glance to the right. “Mom said Noble came over and fixed it.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and studied the street. “Then I guess they went to dinner or something.”
Michael did a double-take as he felt his human heart thump rapid fire. Cool. Cool. Stay cool. But inside he wanted to yip for joy. “Dinner?” He glanced up to Tristan’s face trying to gauge how the boy felt about it.
“Yeah.” He looked at Michael, his eyes unreadable. “She took him out to thank him for all he’s done for us.”
Michael nodded, his hope fading just a tad. Tristan was the base in this love triangle, so to speak. His love was no less important than Noble and Braelyn’s.
“Does that bother you? Your mom going out with Noble?”
Tristan shrugged, his eyes roaming toward Noble’s house. “I dunno. I guess not.” He glanced at Michael again. “He’s cool.”
Michael tried to look deeper to see if there was any lurking resentment behind Tristan’s eyes. Or anger.
He saw nothing but a glimmer of confusion.
“Yeah. He’s very cool,” Michael agreed, trying to reassure him.
They moved back toward the bike. “Hey, speaking of cool,” Tristan said with a teasing tone, “how come you never told me you worked with Noble? Why did my mom have to tell me something super cool like that? He never told me he did tats, either.” He arched an accusatory brow with a half-smile.
Michael started rubbing grease off the piece in his hand. “I dunno. It wasn’t a secret or anything.” He glanced up. “He’s an awesome tattoo artist, too. Real good.”
A hero-worship grin lit Tristan’s face. “Cool. I can’t wait ‘til I’m old enough to get one. I’m gonna get a big ol’ fiery skull with snakes coming out of its eyes right here.” He ran his hand all across his bicep. “Wicked, right?”
Michael shook his head and looked away. “Wicked, all right. You might change your mind when you’re older.”
Tristan let it drop, but they didn’t keep their manly silence for long. He looked up, his brows furrowed. “Michael? You think Noble’s sleeping with my mom?”
Michael’s stomach clenched. How should he answer? “Uh, I really don’t think so. They’ve only been out to dinner once, right?”
Tristan nodded. “I mean, I don’t wanna get all in my mom’s business.” He cringed. “Gross. But she’s been dicked around by my dad and her last boyfriend. I don’t want any other dudes hurting her, if you know what I mean.”
Michael nodded. Poor kid, having to try and be the man of the house at such a young age.
“So,” Tristan continued, “you work with him, he’s your friend. You’d know him pretty well.” He pinned Michael with a laser beam stare. “Does he sleep with lots of girls?”
Michael swallowed. He’d have to tread this one carefully. “Well, women do tend to love him. I guess it’s his quiet nature. They think he’s a mystery.” He looked around the garage, but Tristan’s eyes lassoed him back in. “He’s dated some of ‘em.”
“I asked you if he sleeps with lots of girls.”
Michael understood what Tristan was really asking. And it was a fair question. He clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Noble is a good man. He won’t do anything to hurt your mom. I’m sure of it.”
Tristan seemed to take that in, then he took a breath. “One more thing.” His deep eyes didn’t falter.
“Okay.”
“You’ll probably think it’s strange.”
Michael’s brows wrinkled. “Okay.”
“And probably none of my business.”
“What is it?”
Tristan took a breath as if bracing himself. “I was wondering . . . have you noticed . . . can’t . . .” His eyes cast downward as his face began to fl
ush. “Can Noble read?”
“You look like a girl who’s just been kissed.”
Braelyn glanced up into Ariel’s beaming face and couldn’t help but smile in return. Automatically her fingers moved to her lips, checking for remnants of that evening’s cherry pie.
Ariel giggled. “I think it’s just your lip gloss.”
Oh. Good. She was afraid for a moment her wayward thoughts had been broadcasting across the nursing home. Braelyn Campbell is fantasizing about kissing her smokin’ hot neighbor. Again. And again. And all the other fun stuff that comes after kissing.
She hadn’t been this hormonal as a teenager. It had been several days since their dinner—not even a date—and kiss. If you could call it that. There had been no tongue and he had barely participated. Okay, fine. He’d stood there while she brushed her lips across his cheek, then his lips, in a gentle, friendly thank-you-for-being-a-good-neighbor kiss. But, if she was being really honest with herself, it was also a testing-the-waters kiss to see if there were any sparks there. Well, plenty were detonating on her end. She couldn’t be sure about his. He’d simply bid her a good night, ducked into his house, and she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him since.
But, man, he tasted heavenly.
She mentally chastised herself for going there—again—and tried to get back on track. She had a good life. The one she wanted. Things finally seemed to be going well for Tristan. They had a home and, knock on wood, they hadn’t had any more issues with it. She squelched the disappointment that no problems equaled no Mr. Sexy Fix-It.
Focus on Tristan!
But how was it that a tattoo artist had no tattoos?
Ariel honed in. “Why are you blushing?”
She reached up and felt her face. It was mighty warmish. “I’m just hot. Is it warm in here to you?” She was so busted.
Ariel studied her with her icy blue eyes. “Maybe it’s not the lip gloss,” she said, her finger tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Maybe you have been kissed.” She plopped down into the closest chair with a grin. “Do tell.”
Braelyn glanced around the small area they used as a reading room. The few stragglers left were snoring in their wheelchairs. The nurses’ aides had taken everyone else out to their rooms for their baths or to see the few visitors who actually showed up to the nursing home. The scarcity of family in the place made her heart ache because she’d give just about anything to have one more day with her grandmother and her loving arms, security, and unconditional love. But, she knew one more day would never be enough.
Perry Como’s static-ridden voice belted out about his Papa lovin’ the Mambo from the record player as Braelyn knelt down and tucked the blanket around Mrs. Roth’s knees before wiping a bit of supper from her wrinkled cheek.
She rose and spun around to tuck the home’s weathered copy of a much-used historical romance on the shelf to avoid Ariel’s question and all-too-knowing stare. Glancing at the sexy cover, she stifled a grin. She figured since her audience didn’t seem to care what she read, so long as she read, she might as well enjoy herself. It was just her sad luck the hunky hero in this one was a bodice-ripping Indian chief. An amped-up version of Noble back in the day. He could take her back to his tepee anytime.
Ariel put out a hand to stop her when she tried to slip past and make a break for the dining room. She wiggled her lime-green tipped fingers. “Well? Come on. I can keep a secret!” Her eyes were huge and eager and . . . compelling.
Braelyn pulled up a chair and sat next to her. “Nope. No kissing going on.” Not today.
“But?” Her multitude of bangle bracelets shimmied on her arm as she scooted closer. “You’d like there to be, wouldn’t you? Who is he?”
How could she be so perceptive? Besides, it didn’t matter what she wanted. She’d moved to Texas to start something new and fresh and better for her and Tristan. She couldn’t screw it up by starting something with some guy just because he was sexy as sin. She peered into Ariel’s eyes. “Nobody. I’m not worrying with men right now.”
Ariel’s dainty brows furrowed. “Well maybe you should.” She reached over and gripped her hands in a surprisingly strong hold. “Braelyn, I know we don’t know each other that well yet, but I sense you’ve had your heart broken a time or two. Your son as well. But you seem like a wise woman to me.” She leaned in, her gaze intense. “And if I may be so bold . . .”
Braelyn held her breath, waiting, her silence permission for Ariel to continue.
“Something tells me your luck is about to change in a big way. Follow your heart. It won’t steer you wrong.” She released her hands and stood. “Now, look at the time. I have a meeting to get to.” She spun on her heel, her voluminous gypsy skirt billowing around her ankles.
Braelyn stared at her as she stopped to say a couple goodbyes. The woman was eerie. Sweet, but eerie. But could she be right? Was Braelyn’s luck in the love department about to change? And what did she mean ‘follow your heart?’ She couldn’t very well force herself down Noble’s throat. And why was he the one who came to mind anyway? There were tons of men in Texas.
Ariel said her last farewell and was on the threshold of the lobby when she slowly pivoted around. Her iridescent eyes caught Braelyn’s gaze. “There are many men in the world. But only one for you. Follow your heart and go to him.”
For some reason, when she finally left, all Braelyn wanted to do was cry.
Chapter 14
Braelyn mulled over what Ariel said for two days. The woman had to be nuts. Had to be. But then why did it make some sense to her in her heart of hearts? Had to be one too many romance novels and being celibate too long.
As she busied herself scrubbing Tristan’s bathroom, she mentally ticked off all the things she needed to remember:
Tristan—and Tristan alone—was her sole focus. Not her raging hormones. Period.
Men were pigs. Hello. Rory and Julian? Focus, Braelyn!
Ariel was no psychic. She had no idea what man was for her. If there was even such a thing!
And even if that man existed, and even if it was by some wonderful, crazy miracle Noble . . . he wasn’t interested.
She dumped Comet into the tub and began scouring vigorously. He was a pretty hot ticket though, she’d give him that. Even if he was a bit gruff and could stand a lesson or two in the fine art of conversing. But he was gentle and kind-hearted. Why else would he have done so much to help her? It definitely wasn’t to get in her pants!
She sat back on her haunches, her thoughts drifting back to her birthday. Tristan had seemed convinced that Noble couldn’t read. Surely that wasn’t the case. Maybe he’d simply wanted Tristan to bake the cake on his own.
She bent over and rinsed the bathtub. But as the water swooshed down the drain, something niggled at her mind. Illiterate? No way.
She stood and reached for clean towels to hang on the rods. He’d ordered at the restaurant without reading the menu. But he was familiar with the menu.
She huffed out a sigh and left the bathroom. It didn’t matter one way or the other and it wasn’t her business.
She made her way to her room to clean up and get dressed. It was time to face the music. Something else wouldn’t leave her mind—or her heart—as well, and it was high time she did something about it.
Braelyn was dabbing on the last of her mascara when Michael’s voice boomed out as Tristan let him in the front door. Nerves zipped through her stomach, but she tamped them down and wiped her damp palms on her jeans.
There are many men in the world. But only one for you. Follow your heart and go to him.
She didn’t know what her heart had to do with it, but she couldn’t ignore this storm brewing between them any longer.
She slipped on her strappy heels, wiggling her freshly painted toes, and made her way down the hall. She spotted Michael a
nd Tristan bent over a video game case. Her son must be showing off his new bounty.
She cleared her throat. “Um, Michael?”
“Yes, ma’am?” He glanced up. “Whoa. You look real nice, Miss Campbell.”
Tristan’s eyes bugged open. “Where’re you goin’, Mom?”
“Out.” She kept her gaze on Michael. “May I speak to you for a moment? Alone?”
He dipped his brows. “Well, sure. I guess.” He handed Tristan back the video game. “Be right back.” Tristan didn’t act happy. He plopped down on the couch in a huff.
Braelyn spun around then headed to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of iced tea. She waited until she heard Michael come in behind her before turning to face him. She took a big swallow, watching him over the top of her glass.
He studied her quizzically and she suddenly realized they’d never been alone in a room before.
She set her glass on the counter and tugged on her halter-top, fervently hoping it wasn’t screaming desperate. “Michael, I was wondering . . .” How do you casually gather information about someone from one of his good friends without it being obvious?
She swallowed. You didn’t. You just jump in feet first and let the chips fall where they may. “Is Noble single?”
Michael’s face relaxed considerably. “Yes, ma’am. He’s single.”
So, now came the hard part. She picked at the cuticle on her thumb for a moment. Michael waited patiently. “Do you know . . .” She peeked up from under her lashes. “Do you think . . . Is he avoiding me?”
Michael pulled out a chair and sat. “Well, I dunno, ma’am. Why do you ask?”
Now she felt stupid. “I just thought . . . never mind.”
“No. He’s obviously hurt your feelings.”
She glanced at his face. The sincerity in his eyes spoke of a knowledge she’d give anything to share. Must be a guy-to-guy thing she decided as Michael continued. “Noble’s had it rough in his life and does things without thinking sometimes because he doesn’t know any better. I’m sure whatever he did, he didn’t mean to.”
The Halo Effect (Cupid Chronicles) Page 11