Swinger Style: Hot Rods, Book 5

by Jayne Rylon

  Luckily, the remainder of the night passed peacefully as his garagemates kept old horrors at bay.

  Chapter Five

  “Is your new plan to chase Sabra away by pretending to be a stalker or something?” Carver plucked the phone out of Holden’s hand and jabbed the disconnect button on the screen.

  “Hey, I’m just doing what you guys asked.” He shrugged as if he didn’t give a damn when he really wanted to run around the garage at full speed a few dozen times like Buster McHightops did when a squirrel crossed his path.

  He’d psyched himself up for a confrontation with Sabra, figuring they could hash out some stuff before they were in close contact daily. Instead, all he’d gotten was her voicemail. About forty times in a row.

  Come to think of it, that might look a tad excessive.

  “Cool.” Carver nodded and buffed the same spot on his project for far too long.

  “What?” Holden hated to ask, but the guy clearly had something on his mind.

  “You said it goes straight to voicemail without ringing, right?” Meep glanced over his shoulder, his face too serene to be as innocent as he seemed.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, that probably means she turned her phone off. Or it ran out of juice.” Meep grinned as he asked, “Why not head over to her apartment and let her know? Be a good citizen. And while you’re there, kiss and make up. Work some of this energy out of your system before you drive us insane.”

  “Is it that obvious?” Holden turned and banged his head on his toolbox hard enough to rattle his brains. Unfortunately it didn’t seem to knock any sense into him. He actually considered Carver’s suggestion. “Don’t answer that. I guess I just don’t get why. Why her? I hardly know her. Why can’t I stop thinking about her?”

  Neither of them dared mention that she’d resurrected his nightmares, too.

  “I’m not sure.” Carver edged closer. “Chemistry, I guess. The connection is there. Or it could be. Hell, Kaige was kind of like that with Nola. All those emails back and forth when he’d never written as much as a postcard before. Maybe you should find out what’s between the two of you before you screw it up. It’s after quitting time. Go have some fun. Give her a hell of a ride. Scratch that itch and maybe you’ll forget about her by morning. Just make sure she’s cool with temporary before you bone her so you don’t screw things up with the show. She could make you regret it if you piss her off. Editing can make you look like a tool, you know?”

  “Do you think that’s okay?” He rubbed the base of his neck, where his Hot Rods tattoo rode his collarbones. “Me hooking up with her?”

  “Hell yes. Be safe, like always. Enjoy yourself. And her. Then come home to us when you’re back to fucking normal.” Carver knew without explanation what Holden had worried about the entire day. None of them had strayed outside the Hot Rods for their affairs lately. There’d been no need. “It’s fine, Swinger. We don’t own you. No one will be pissed if you get some on the side.”

  “Are you sure?” He glanced around the shop nervously. The other guys—and Sally—went about their usual business, sliding under cars, painting them, meeting with customers to discuss restomods and ringing people up in the service station. Nola and Kaelyn laughed together about something in the office, completely ignoring his man-to-man moment with Carver.

  “Yes. We talked about it at lunch.” It was impossible to be pissed when Carver grinned.

  “So you drew the short straw, huh?” A laugh bubbled from Holden. He should have figured.

  “You got it. Terrible luck, as always,” Meep grumbled. “So can we quit this bro-talk?”

  Holden didn’t find it necessary to inform Carver that the straws were rigged. Meep would figure it out eventually and they’d make it up to him, somehow. It was one of Swinger’s favorite running jokes around the shop. He never had outgrown the need to make people laugh. Or at least to try.

  He clapped Carver on the shoulder. “Thanks. This is finished. Would you let Bryce know to call the owner for pick up?”

  “Sure.” Meep nodded.

  Holden packed the rest of his tools and tidied his station. Then he stripped off his coveralls, patted his keys in his pocket, and took a few strides toward the gleaming 1969 Dodge Dart Swinger waiting for him out back. His baby could use a quick ride.

  “Yo, Swinger.”

  “Yeah?” He walked backward as he faced Carver once more.

  “If you’re really smooth, you’ll find a way to clear that pile of missed calls from her phone before she notices them.” Carver shook his head ruefully. “Otherwise, she’s going to know how pitiful you are. Then she’ll never fuck you—forget coming home with you—and I won’t get to help you satisfy her. Because it’s all about me, you know?”

  Holden flashed Meep the finger. Still, that wasn’t a terrible idea.

  Either the call purging or the Hot Rods invite.

  If things went well, he’d consider it.

  He ducked into the jet-black interior of his Swinger and ran his hands over the new leather he’d wrapped the steering wheel with last weekend. The fancy lacework had taken him hours, but he loved how it had turned out. When he set his mind to something, he usually made sure it lived up to his high expectations.

  Untangling this mess with Sabra would be no different.

  Sabra paused as the roar of a ridiculously overpowered engine neared her apartment. Good thing she’d finished her marathon meditation or the giant raspberry emanating from the approaching motor would have snapped her out of her zone. Damn teenagers and their love affair with pizza.

  She went to the window and looked out as the vehicle pulled into the private parking area behind the shop. Bad move, jerkwad. Mr. Tortelli routinely had people towed. Sabra liked to think it was because he kept the area free for her and her guests, but his hyper-diligence probably had more to do with his cut of the fee.

  Her fingers froze on the window as she prepared to raise it and shout a warning to the unsuspecting driver. Until she saw who climbed from the cherry-red classic granting infinite cool points to her parking lot by association.

  “Holden,” she whispered.

  As if he heard her, he looked up at her window. She jumped, though he didn’t seem to notice her in the shadows. Instead, he turned and plucked a daisy from the snarl of wildflowers beyond the pavement.

  The pounding of her heart stuttered.

  Then he looked down at the perfectly imperfect bloom, frowned and tossed it to the ground. Once he started in her direction, he moved quickly.

  Sabra only had a moment to fluff her hair using the hazy reflection on the glass. She winced as she glanced at her workout gear and hoped she didn’t stink too bad. Nice. Out of options, she grabbed a lemon from the water bottle she’d kept close while practicing yoga and rubbed it on her neck before taking a sip of her post-exercise drink—the alcoholic kind—as she flitted through the galley kitchen.

  Though his knock wasn’t overly aggressive, she still jerked in response.

  Several deep breaths later, she opened the door and tried to act surprised. “Holden? What are you doing here?”

  “I—uh—” He seemed speechless as he took in her sticky state. That bad?

  She winced until she realized he was staring at her chest.

  Sabra clapped her palms over her hard nipples, visible through the soft cotton of her sports bra. Not just noticeable, but obvious. Damn. Hopefully, he’d assume it was the reaction of her damp skin as it cooled.

  She knew better.

  “Whoa.” He shook his head then met her gaze, his pupils dilated. “Sorry. Is this a bad time? I tried to call. You weren’t answering. I thought maybe you’d like to know your phone isn’t working. It kept skipping directly to voicemail.”

  “Shit! I silenced it.” She raced inside, unconcerned when he shut the door and followed her. “I was…concentra
ting.”

  “All day?” He tipped his head. “On what? The only time I’m that focused and that sweaty is when…”

  And suddenly she knew what gutter his mind had jumped into when he’d asked about his timing. For a moment, she couldn’t resist teasing him. Something told her he’d do the same if their positions were reversed. His infectious grin and dimples, which he’d flashed the day of Kaige and Nola’s engagement, screamed practical joker.

  “When what? When you’re enjoying a good lay?” She hummed and trailed her fingertips down her neck, discreetly flicking off some pulp that had adhered to her skin. Smooth. “Boning some lucky girl…or guy…or both…until they see stars?”

  To her surprise, Holden actually flushed. He didn’t deny her speculation about his bisexuality. Damn, that possibility magnified his sexiness, taking it to a whole new level.

  His throat flexed as he swallowed hard then nodded. “Should I come back some other day? Or you could call the shop if you want to talk about business. I didn’t mean to interrupt. Sorry, it was presumptuous of me to assume it was unintentional when you didn’t answer. Freaking Carver and his dumbass schemes.”

  He angled toward the exit.

  “Don’t leave,” she almost-shouted. “It’s not what you think. I was training. I’m a jivamukti junkie.”

  “Jiva-whaa?” His brows lifted and drew together as he tried to decipher her explanation.

  “Jivamukti. It’s a type of extreme yoga. I use it to tone up while honing my mind. To reflect. It’s kind of an obsession, actually. How I wind down. It’s probably almost as good as your method for releasing tension.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. But that’s cool.” Holden relaxed. He returned, resting his hip against her counter. His innate sexiness filled her humble living quarters, enhancing the effect of the adrenaline zinging through her veins after her epic session. “Does that mean you’re extra bendy and stuff?”

  “I guess you could say that.” An understatement.

  His smile turned naughty and his gaze appreciative.

  She couldn’t help but beam. “If you’re nice to me, maybe I’ll show you later. Anyway, I just uncorked a decent bottle of wine. I’m not going to lie. It usually oxidizes before I can drink a quarter of it. So you might as well help me toss some back after delivering the bad news.”

  “Who says that’s what I came here for?” He reached over and idly twirled her phone on the counter, fiddling with the screen while she poured a second glass for him. She didn’t mind him tapping away on the thing in time to his own beat. Hopefully, he turned the volume up again. She couldn’t believe she’d missed his calls.

  “Isn’t it?” she wondered. During her rumination earlier, she’d allowed herself to visualize for the first time what it would be like if she didn’t get her way. She’d bounce back, think of some other plan for survival.

  “Actually, no.” Holden rubbed a hand down his face, drawing her attention to his own pretty-damn-perfect physique. She wondered what he did to stay in shape. Sex burned an awful lot of calories, she supposed. Especially hedonistic orgies.

  “Wait, what? Are you sure you didn’t stop by to crush my hopes?” It took her rational side a moment to catch up.

  He laughed. “Yep. Unless you’ve changed your mind about what you’re rooting for.”

  “Hell no, I haven’t.” Wine sloshed onto her knuckles as she bounced. “I want to produce a show about Hot Rods. It’ll be a smashing success. I can picture it already.”

  Another of the scenarios she’d visualized over the past few weeks. This one repeatedly.

  “Well, you’re going to get your wish. Those crazy bastards I work with are egomaniacs. They want to be the next big thing. More famous than the guys on Pawn Stars or Duck Dynasty, even.” He chuckled. “Maybe we should grow beards down to our dicks. Think that would help?”

  Sabra chuckled. “Nah. I’m sure they’re not your style. But honestly? Are you serious?”

  As soon as he nodded, she hurdled the counter. His eyes widened, but he caught her when she flung herself at him. Impressing her with his steady center of gravity—a requirement for jivamukti—he didn’t spill a drop of wine when he filched the glass from her yet held her steady, with one arm supporting her waist.

  Then again, her legs had somehow wound around him and smothered his hips. She’d climbed him like a koala on eucalyptus.

  If he minded, he didn’t say so. In fact, his fingers kneaded her ass.

  “Thank you.” Without giving herself time to second guess her instincts, she leaned into him and kissed him gently. Not the ravenous suck-face kind of making out they’d indulged in the night he’d driven her home from Bad News. But something sweeter, and more genuine.

  He dropped her as if she’d farted on him.

  “Don’t be so damn nice to me, grateful. I voted no.” At least he didn’t lie to her. Still, the truth stung more than she thought it would.

  “Oh.” She wiped her mouth as if she could scrub the taste of him from her lips, or her memory. They both reached for their drinks and took a synchronized sip. Okay, more like a gulp.

  “And those bastards have stipulations.” He took a deep breath, then ticked them off on his fingers.

  No Kaelyn and Bryce. Check.

  Anyone else could choose to be excluded. Check.

  Nothing went out the door before Eli screened it and approved. Check.

  Assurance that business, not personal shenanigans, would be the primary focus of the program. Check.

  “That’s great. I can live with all of that.” Gripping the counter, she prevented herself from reaching for him again. “We only have about a month of shooting to make the station’s deadline. That’s isn’t a lot to get exactly what I need for the pilot.”

  “Hang on.” Holden slowed her down. “What do you mean?”

  “See, I thought of this idea after I heard rumors that the national network is unhappy with one of their primetime shows. Rumor has it that they’re scouring local affiliates for a replacement program. Our station doesn’t have an offering to submit—yet. They’re scrambling for something because it would mean more support from the national level and prestige too. You guys are kind of local celebrities. And the execs know me and the quality of my work down at the station so I won’t have to rely on my dickhead old boss for a reference. It should be an easy sell. After the station agrees to take us on as their bid, we can start lobbying for the national network to select Hot Rods as the mid-season replacement they’re desperate for. Something fresh, original and…perfect. If we hurry, we can be in production in time.”

  “Does that mean it’s not a done deal yet?” Holden asked.

  “Oh. Well, I think it’ll be a no-brainer. But…I guess the execs could say no to airing you locally. And the competition at the national level will be strong.” She frowned. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I explained the process well enough. I was really excited…and, frankly, I didn’t think there was any chance you would say yes.”

  “I didn’t,” he reminded her. And though he didn’t say so, he seemed cheered by the prospect that they might not get airtime. “I’ll let the guys know about the extra steps, no problem.”

  “Tha—” She stopped herself this time when she realized her appreciation really would be unwelcome. He seemed kind of annoyed by her happiness. What did the guy have against cheering her up? Hell, giving her the best news of her entire life?

  “Shit.” Holden tipped his glass and drained the dregs of his wine. “I’m gonna have to drink more if you’re planning to be this cute when you’re hanging out with us.”

  “Why?” She couldn’t decide if he liked her or hated her. Maybe both.

  “Because I’m so damn hard it hurts, and I have been for weeks.” The admission startled her almost as much as his hand, which wandered toward his crotch to rearrange the noticeable bulge in h
is jeans. “You’re not making this easy for me.”

  “I could make it really simple.” A glutton for punishment, she sashayed closer. When she went to her tiptoes and laid her palms on his solid chest, she could nuzzle his neck. So she did. Not too tall, he was the perfect height for her. “We’re adults, Holden. Consenting adults. I’ve realized lately that I let a lot of opportunities pass me by while I was so focused on my career. I don’t want to keep repeating my mistakes. Tell me you won’t let a romp screw up our shoot and I’m game for helping you out with that problem in your pants. I’ve never been this attracted to a guy in my life.”

  “I should go and keep us both from fucking up royally.” His fingers plucked hers from his neck. But instead of releasing them, he lingered, caressing them. She thought she heard him whisper, “What would Tom do?”

  Mr. London seemed entirely too responsible for what she had in mind. So she appealed to the impulsive streak Holden couldn’t begin to camouflage.

  “What fun would that be?” This devilish side had never escaped her before. Something about the mechanic drew it from her, inciting her to break rules. To riot against playing it safe.

  “None,” he murmured against her lips. “Absolutely none.”

  And then they were kissing.

  His mouth claimed hers, gliding across it with skilled caresses that spoke of a heck of a lot of practice. A low hum, which reminded her of a growl, emanated from his chest as he indulged his wicked tendencies and coaxed similar urges from her.

  Funny, she’d never seen the appeal of a bad boy before. Until him. He encouraged her to run wild with flicks of his tongue at the corner of her mouth. Accepting, she opened for him, applying herself to the kiss.

  Sabra nipped his lower lip, loving the ferocious need he inspired in her. She didn’t have to be careful. He could handle anything she did. The reserve she’d always worn like a cloak fell away, leaving her exposed and open to his explorations.

  His fingers edged beneath her waistband before rising again to rake over her exposed abdomen. A shiver ran through her when he traced the fine indentions alongside the muscles she worked so hard for. An appreciative groan flooded her mouth as he curled his hands around her waist and tucked her even tighter to his chest.