Summer Fling

by Vi Keeland, Penelope Ward, LJ Shen, RS Grey, Willow Winters, Sarina Bowen, Helena Hunting

  I don’t even want to consider how much money he spent on this, or what Cosy is going to say about it when she finds out. Cosy has always been very practical with money and extremely thrifty. Much better at financial management than I’ve ever been.

  I’m not proud to admit that for a number of years I dated highly emotionally unavailable men who showered me with gifts and provided me with a shallow, empty, but comfortable existence.

  So when my very practical, bargain-shopping, somewhat relationship averse younger sister ended up with a guy almost eleven years older than her with enough money to buy several small countries, I was surprised. I was also appropriately wary due to my own experiences with older, wealthy men, although I did cash in on his desperation a few times when he screwed things up with Cosy in the beginning.

  I’ve matured a lot since then.

  Okay, I’ve matured a little.

  And I’m still working on making better choices with men, hence the reason I’ve spent the better part of the past year on self-improvement. Which also means I’ve been on a lengthy dating hiatus. My lady parts haven’t seen action in so long that I almost feel like a born-again virgin.

  I’m equal parts excited and nervous about this party. The Mills family knows how to throw a shindig. There will also be an inordinate number of insanely financially well-endowed dudes there. I’m going to do my best not to fall off the wagon and get involved with one of them. Not even just a fling.

  Well . . . maybe a fling wouldn’t hurt. Get back on the bike once to make sure I haven’t forgotten how to ride.

  “Anyway, enough about baby names and me getting knocked up. Do you think you’ll be here in time for dinner? We’re planning to have a campout. Griffin even set up the Airstream and there are yurts and everything!” I imagine Cosy bouncing on her toes with excitement.

  I’ve seen Griffin’s Airstream. It’s nicer than the apartment Cosy and I used to live in back when she first met him. And close to the same size.

  I glance at my phone, which is set in a mount on the dash. “According to the map, I’ll be there in nine hours and seventeen minutes, but that’s based on me driving the actual speed limit, so there’s a good chance I’ll be there sooner than that.”

  “Just don’t get a speeding ticket.”

  “I’ve talked my way out of the last three, so don’t you worry, little sister.” I take my foot off the gas, though, because there’s a car on the shoulder up ahead, and while I’m sure I can get myself out of another ticket if I need to, I’d rather avoid the delay.

  I’m currently on an open stretch, having just passed the Arizona-Utah border. The road before me is flat and straight, with the desert spanning on both sides, not a cloud in the sky, and the sun is beating down, hot and bright. I adjust my sunglasses, slowing a little more as I approach the car.

  It’s old, definitely a classic. Those happen to be my kryptonite. When I moved to New York to be closer to my sister, I managed to score a really cool job restoring classic cars at a very exclusive body shop.

  My recent trip to Vegas was spent checking out a couple of options for one of the shop’s very regular clients. I’m being paid to drive across the country and tell him whether or not I think it’s worth it to purchase and restore the car.

  Obviously, I’m going to use the opportunity to check out a few more on the way home, and make a stop in Colorado for the weekend to hang out with my sister on her birthday.

  I let out a low whistle and slow even further as I drive by the beautiful car that’s apparently experiencing some engine trouble based on the propped up hood. “Oh man.”

  “Oh man, what?” Cosy asks.

  “I just passed a 1969 Alfa Romeo Spider.” I glance in the rearview mirror, noting long blonde wavy hair.

  “Uh, I’m guessing that’s a car and not an actual spider.”

  “Ha-ha. It’s not just any car, Cosy. It’s one of the top ten convertibles of all time.”

  “I’m taking it that’s a big deal.”

  “It is if you know anything about cars.” I glance in the mirror again, the car turning into a pinprick.

  The road ahead of me is empty, not another car in sight. It’s only nine-thirty and the temperature is already registering in the high eighties. It’s only going to get hotter and there isn’t a gas station within a five-mile radius.

  I’d hate to leave a fellow woman stranded in the sweltering desert with a broken-down car. I’ve been that woman before. Thankfully, I know how to fix cars and I also know self-defense, two skills not all women possess, but probably should.

  I take my foot off the gas and drop to the shoulder. Giving myself enough room to pull a U-turn, I spin the wheel all the way to the left and hit the gas. Gravel and sand spray across the road and my back end fishtails before the tires hit the pavement again with a screech.

  “What the hell was that?” Cosy shrieks.

  “I’m going back to help.”

  “Whoa, what? Aren’t you in the middle of the desert right now?” The sound of things dropping filters through the speaker. “You are totally in the middle of the desert right now! Oh my God! You’re in Utah! I can see you on the tracking app! You are not going to stop and help some random person on the side of the road, Nevah! What if it’s a trick? What if they kidnap you and stuff you in the trunk and you end up in some polygamist compound?”

  “I’m not going to end up in a polygamist compound, Cosy. It’s a woman. Alone. And there is literally no room in that trunk for a body, at least as long as it’s in one piece. I can’t leave her out here without stopping to see if I can help. I’m almost at the car. I’ll ring you back in ten.” I end the call in the middle of her screaming at me not to hang up.

  I check my rearview mirror before I cross the yellow line and pull onto the shoulder facing oncoming traffic.

  The blonde lady bangs her head on the roof of the car as she tries to look over her shoulder.

  That is when I realize the blonde lady isn’t a lady at all. She’s a dude.

  So much for helping a damsel in distress.

  Miss Ratchet

  Lawson

  “SONOFA—” I RUB the back of my head and duck out from under the hood of my awesome, but crappy new car.

  Awesome because it’s a classic, and it’s damn well beautiful. Crappy because as sexy as it is, it spluttered and coughed and stopped moving, so now I’m stuck in the middle of the desert sweating my balls off.

  I don’t even know why I bothered checking under the hood. It’s not as though I know what to look for. I’ve changed my oil before, once, when I was a teenager, and I filled my windshield washer fluid last year, but otherwise, professionals always deal with my cars.

  The woman in the shitbox convertible calls out an apology. I shield my eyes, the glare of the sun reflecting off her windshield, blinding me.

  “You need some help?” She opens the driver’s side door of her dusty, rusted out Caddy. It boasts a Nevada license plate.

  One of her sandal clad feet hits the ground. Her toenails are painted hot pink. Her legs are cut off at the ankle by the door as she steps out of the car.

  “Looks like you’re having a little trouble with your baby.” She uses her hip to close the door and I get a full view of my potential knightess in rusted steel and chrome.

  Holy shit.

  This woman’s body is the thing wet dreams are made of. Her legs go on forever, long, toned, and tanned, and they’re encased in a pair of denim shorts that ride high on her thighs. Three inches of equally tanned and toned stomach peek out from under the hem of her cropped tank, which has the letters STW stamped across her chest along with a set of cherries over her right boob.

  She’s wearing a baseball cap that casts a shadow over her face, and a huge pair of sunglasses.

  “Hello! Everything okay there?” She runs her finger along the hood of her car, stopping when she reaches the grill.

  I realize I’m gawking. “Oh, uh, yeah, I mean, no. My car broke down.” I
thumb over my shoulder at the propped up hood.

  “Yeah, I kinda figured.” One side of her mouth tips up in an amused smile. “Any idea what’s wrong?”

  I rub my beard and give my head a shake. “Uh, not really? And I can’t get a signal, so calling a tow is tough.”

  “Yeah, the reception out here can be spotty depending on your carrier.” She tucks a thumb into her pocket and tips her chin up. “Want me to have a look?”

  I can’t imagine what she’s going to be able to do for me, but she’s offering assistance and she’s got a rockin’ body, so I figure why not let her check under my hood? That way I can appreciate her very nice legs without coming across as a leering jerk.

  “Sure.” I shrug and step aside.

  It’s hotter than a sauna out here and windy, so my hair is blowing all over the place. I gather it up and use the hair tie wrapped around my wrist to secure it in a topknot. Sweat trickles down my spine and my balls are sticking to the inside of my thigh. Commando is probably not the way to go in the desert.

  She takes a few tentative steps closer. “I’m Nevah.”

  “Never?” I’m struck by a strange sense of déjà vu.

  Up close I can see that she has a delicate jawline and full lips. Her long, dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail and threaded through the snapback of her ball cap. She has a dainty nose and high cheekbones, and for some reason, she seems familiar.

  She grins. “Not quite. It’s haven spelled backwards, but pronounced like neva eva.”

  “Were your parents fans of En Vogue or something?” I want to punch myself in my nuts for asking that.

  Especially when she arches a brow. “If you start singing that song, I’m getting back in my car.”

  “Sorry. That was bad. And I can’t sing, so I will definitely not offend you further by doing something so heinously disrespectful.” I extend a hand. “I’m Lawson.”

  She glances down at my grease-streaked hand, brow furrowed. “Lawson? Is that your first name or last name?”

  “First.” I make a fist. ”My hands are disgusting. Bump instead?”

  “I’m about to get myself dirty, so I’m not really worried about it.” She slips her fingers into my palm. I instantly regret it because mine is damp and hers is not. Her grip is also incredibly firm. “Also, I thought you were a woman when I first drove by, so on the off chance you’re a psychopath lunatic surfer dude, I should inform you that I’ve taken self-defense classes and I can debilitate you with one move. I also have mace, and I can break your knees with a tire iron, if necessary.” She releases my hand.

  “Right. Uh, okay. Well, I’m not a psychopath lunatic surfer and I’ve never taken self-defense classes, so I feel like you’ve got a leg up on me. Also, I don’t have mace, so if you happen to be a lunatic, it looks like there’s a chance I’ll end up baking to death in the sun.” Why the hell does she look so familiar?

  She drags her hand down her face to cover her grimace. “Sorry, I watched the Don’t Fuck with Cats documentary last week. It freaked me out to think that Canadians could be serial killers, you know? Makes you wonder if they tell you they’re sorry while they’re lopping off your head.”

  “Dude! I watched that last week, too! I’m supposed to go up to Canada next month. Now I feel like I might need those self-defense lessons you’re talking about and maybe the mace, too. Scared the shit right out of me. Not literally, of course, just figuratively.”

  “I love Netflix, but those freaking documentaries always call my name late at night. It’s never a good idea, and yet I do it every time.” She turns her attention to my car and ducks under the hood.

  “I hear you on that.” I try not to watch a lot of TV in the evening; otherwise, I find myself binging series and then I sleep until noon and fuck half my day away.

  She makes another face and whistles. “I hope you weren’t planning to drive this baby up to Canada. She’s gonna need a lot of work before she’s ready to be ridden hard, aren’t you, sweetheart?” She strokes along the fender, the same way I would caress a lover during foreplay.

  Also, I’m not sure if I actually heard those words come out of her mouth or I’ve just been standing in the sun too long. Maybe she’s not even real. She could be a mirage that my mind has conjured up. I could be lying on the ground right now, halfway to dead and not even know it.

  She looks up at me, her ponytail swishing across her shoulder, and pushes her sunglasses up. For the first time, I get a look at her eyes. They’re a shade of blue that reminds me of the beach. Cool and fresh and inviting. I think I might be thirsty.

  “Lawson?”

  “Huh?”

  “How long have you been stranded out here?”

  I consider raising my arm to do a sniff test, but I’ve already offended her with the En Vogue reference, and she’s likened me to a Canadian serial killer. I’m thinking I don’t want to do anything else she might consider distasteful or she’ll use those self-defense skills. Unless she’s an actual mirage, in which case the point is moot.

  Still, on the off chance she’s real, I should try to act somewhat normal. “Um, I’m not sure, but I’m pretty sweaty, so I’m going to say it’s been a while. Why?”

  “Because I called your name four times before you responded.”

  “Oh, sorry.” I rub the back of my neck and go with honesty. “I was contemplating whether or not you were a hallucination. It would be just like my subconscious to conjure up a gorgeous woman who actually knows how to fix cars.”

  She chuckles and shakes her head. “You’re something else, Lawson.” She straightens and grabs the edge of the hood. “So I have some good news and some bad news. Which would you like first?”

  “I guess the bad?”

  “All of your spark plugs are shot. I’m surprised this girl is running at all. You also have a crack in your radiator, and I think you’re leaking oil, but I’d have to get under her to be sure, and I don’t have the equipment to do that here.”

  I rub the back of my neck again. “There’s some good news in there?”

  “I have a friend about fifteen miles down the road in Utah who owns a garage. I can call a tow and we can take your girl there, see what can be done to get her back on the road.”

  “Shit. Well, I guess that’s what I get for buying a car without having it safetied first.”

  “How long ago did you buy it?”

  “Yesterday. I took it for a spin and it ran just fine. I guess this explains why it seemed like a sweet deal.” I saw the car parked on some old man’s front lawn and couldn’t resist stopping. Within hours, I’d bought the car and left my rental behind.

  “How long was the spin you took it for?”

  “Twenty minutes, give or take.”

  She glances at the California plates. “You drove that from California all the way here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How far are you planning to go?”

  “Long Island.”

  Her eyebrows pop. “Did you tell the guy who sold you the car that you’re driving all the way across the country?”

  “Uh, I didn’t really think it was relevant?” Although, I suppose I should’ve asked for more clarification, but it’s a cool car, and it seemed like a good deal. I also didn’t feel like spending hours at an airport when I could enjoy the open road instead. Two states later, and the road trip vibe is definitely wearing off.

  “Right, okay. Well, I’m not sure you’re gonna make it that far without some serious surgery. I’ll call my friend, then?”

  That’s not what I want to hear, but frying in the sun isn’t a viable option. “That’d be great, yeah, thanks.”

  She digs her phone out of her back pocket, punches a bunch of buttons, and brings it to her ear. “Hey, Bear, how’s it going?”

  She has a friend named Bear? I don’t know what to make of her, and I honestly wish I could figure out why I feel like I’ve met her before. It seems impossible what with her Nevada plates.

  Two minutes
later, she tosses her phone into her car. “My friend’s sending a tow out. Should be here in about twenty.”

  “Great. Thanks a lot.” I swipe my arm across my forehead. I could really use a shower, or a pool, or some air conditioning.

  After about thirty seconds of silence, in which we both look around uncomfortably, she thumbs over her shoulder. “You wanna sit in my car while we wait? I’m sweating my tits off, so I gotta imagine it can’t be all that nice for you either.”

  “Uh, that’d be great. Thanks. I’m just gonna grab a bottle of water.”

  “Good plan. It’s hot enough to fry a steak out here.”

  I walk around the side of my car and lean over to grab the bottle of water I left in the center console. It has to be a full twenty degrees hotter inside the car than it is outside. “Fuck,” I mutter when I remember that there are freaking Amalie dolls strapped into the passenger seat.

  My dad made an empire out of dolls that look like my younger sister. At least they started out looking like her. She’s essentially a much more proportional human version of a Barbie doll. Now they come with every conceivable hair color and skin tone possible.

  You can have them made to look exactly like your kid. We have girl and boy dolls with customized clothing options. There’s even an interactive app. I’m in charge of the social media for the dolls, which means I spend a lot of time dressing them up and posing them for pictures.

  It sounds pretty lame.

  Which is why I dabble in real estate on the side. And buying classic cars on a whim. Based on how that’s going so far, I think I’ll stick with real estate.

  I’m also aware that it looks really fucking weird to have a couple of dolls meant for six year olds riding shotgun in my car. I unbuckle the seat belt, toss them in the back, and shrug out of my super sweaty shirt. I grab my spare, which is draped over the back of the passenger seat, and the bottle of water.