REMEMBERING WHAT TORQUE said, she commanded, “Just don’t sit down.”
Turbo didn’t seem surprised. “So, I have to stand on the bumper for the ride to my place?”
Harris narrowed her eyes and stopped. If she said yes, would he really stand on her bumper while she drove? Was that even possible? “Of course not.”
“Great. I’m driving. Keys in the ignition?” He continued to walk for the door, stopping when she didn’t follow.
“You’re not driving my car.”
“I’m a professional driver. Plus, you don’t want me to take your dash apart and put it back together upside down and backward, because I think I’ll probably have just enough time to get that done between here and my house. How fast do you drive?” He grinned. “Or did you change your mind?”
Was he serious? It was Turbo, so probably not, but did she really want to have to try to drive and watch him at the same time? She held up her keys. “Okay, you talked me into it. But don’t go over fifty, and you’ll need to put something on the seat.” She tossed the keys.
“I’m on it,” he said as he caught her keys in one hand and turned, striding out the door.
She followed. How could he be so filthy and so annoying, and yet so...appealing at the same time? When he caught her keys, when his teeth flashed in a grin, when he flirted with the knitting club that apparently met in Torque’s garage, when he threatened to ride on her bumper...she was so hopeless. She shook her head, refusing to return his smile or allow herself to soften toward him, and followed him out the door.
Turbo stayed a few steps ahead of her, holding the garage door open with his elbow while she walked through then shoving the bread under his arm and opening the passenger door for her. At least he wasn’t a total Neanderthal.
After he’d stuck the food in the back and opened the driver’s door, he took the rag he’d dried his hands off with and opened it up, spreading it over her seat. It covered about half.
She eyed the exposed seat material. “You’re going to get grease on my seat.”
He stopped, hovering with his butt inches from the seat. “I can take ’em off.”
“No!” She fumbled with the glove box. “Please wait. I’ll just...” Grabbing some napkins, she spread them out under his butt, careful not to touch it. “There. Now sit.”
Turbo settled into the seat, moving it back and down, but his legs still looked cramped. In her compact car, he seemed to take up all the space, making the area that fit her so well seem too small.
“Bet with this short wheel base, this thing does awesome donuts.” Turbo shifted from reverse into drive. Gravel crunched under her car tires.
Her back teeth ground together. “I wouldn’t know.”
“It’s not hard to find out.” He grabbed the shifter and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Hold on.”
“Stop!” Her chest constricted. He was going to wreck her car. They would both die. He hadn’t even put his seatbelt on.
He paused.
Her hand clutched the door handle. “That is exactly why I should never have allowed you to drive.”
“You’ve never done donuts, have you?” He said it like there was something wrong with her.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “No.”
“Then how do you know you don’t want to?”
“Because I don’t want to do anything that might wreck my car.” Like any normal, sane person.
“If we wreck it, we’ll fix it.”
“I can’t pay for that,” she said irritably.
“If I wreck your car because I’m goofing off while driving it, I’m not going to expect you to pay for it.” He shrugged like it was common sense.
“That’s easy to say.”
“It’s easy to mean.”
“I thought you didn’t have the patience to fix stuff?”
“No. I don’t have the patience to do the precision work necessary to make a five hundred horsepower motor work in perfect tune. Little stuff like this, body work, where you’re running power tools, isn’t hard. I’d just have to use my brother’s garage.”
“It’s just better to not have to do it in the first place,” she said, feeling every inch the prim librarian.
“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve never even so much as dinged a vehicle doing donuts. Or anything else for that matter. If you know what you’re doing, it’s not a big deal.”
She lifted her brows. “If you say so.”
“I do. Tell you what. I’ll not use your car to do anything crazy right now, but you’re going to agree to come with me tonight and I’ll teach you how to do donuts. In my pickup.”
“I’m busy tonight.” Eating, reading, and sleeping alone in her home.
He shrugged and reached for the shifter. “Hold on tight.”
“Stop!”
His hand froze, and he looked over at her. She half-thought that he wasn’t really going to do donuts in her car, but since this was Turbo, she didn’t really want to take the chance.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. His scent, soap overlaid with oil and grease, an honest, manly scent, filled her senses. His flashing grin, his angled jaw, his laughing eyes all filled her mind behind her closed eyes. She shouldn’t spend any more time with him than absolutely necessary. He made her laugh, made her heart race, stirred feelings that she didn’t want to admit to, let alone deal with. And more time in his company would only cloud her better judgment. Turbo was nice, but he was not the kind of mature, intellectual individual she was looking for. She was not interested, and she needed to act like it.
“Okay. I’ll go with you tonight.”
His teeth flashed, reminding her of the big, bad wolf. “You’re driving my truck, too, by the way.”
She glanced down to make sure her jacket wasn’t red. “Couldn’t I just watch?” From the safety of the top of a nearby tree, preferably.
“You’re coming, you’re learning, then I’m taking a video of the prissy librarian doing donuts in my truck.” He put her car in drive and pulled out of Torque’s driveway.
“I’m not prissy.” Oh, no. “You’re not posting that on social media.”
He grinned. “No way. I’d never.” His grin got bigger. “What’s the library’s website again?”
She lifted her chin; challenge met. “Only the administrator can post stuff on the library’s official site.”
“Yeah? I’m pretty sure Shelly McConnell is the lady who runs the site.”
“She is, and I’m sure you cannot bribe her.”
“Don’t need to. I hauled a load of sand in for the pool she and her husband put in last summer and told her not to worry about paying me, that we’d catch up sometime.” He tapped his hand on the steering wheel. “I’m feeling like a little bartering might be in order.”
She wanted to pull her hair out. The normal feeling any sane person had after spending more than two seconds with Turbo. “What do I have to do to keep you from posting that video on the website?”
“I’m not sure there’s anything you can do that would be better than seeing that video on the website.” He grinned, his hands competent on the wheel as he made a right-hand turn. “I’ll have to make sure my windows are down so the tint doesn’t keep folks from seeing that it’s you.”
He wouldn’t! Oh, but she knew he would. And she couldn’t do a darn thing about it. Her neck felt like Old Faithful before an eruption. Harris was so angry she could hardly see straight. She tightened her arms over her chest, buttoned up her lips, and stared out the window.
They pulled into a trailer. “I’ll be right back.”
Just because he didn’t seem to expect her to get out, she got out. Still angry. An old lady came to the door. “Turbo, you visiting your old gram?” Her eyes went past Turbo’s shoulder and landed on Harris, who hadn’t started climbing the few steps to the little porch.
Turbo stopped with his hand on the banister. “Nah. I’m just dropping off soup and bread from Miss B
eulah.”
“Oh. That was kind of her.” Gram’s eyes went again to Harris. She moved to the side of Turbo and held out her hand. “I’m his gram, since he was raised by wolves and doesn’t know how to properly introduce people.”
Harris smiled, despite her anger at Turbo. “I’m Harris.”
Gram’s eyes snapped back to Turbo. “This is the girl you dumped that paint on.”
Turbo shifted. “Maybe.”
Harris enjoyed every second of his uncomfortableness.
“Hmm.” Gram eyed her again. “Good to meet you, Harris. Glad you don’t hold a grudge.” Her housecoat flapped in the breeze, and she pulled it tighter.
“Go on back inside, Gram.”
“Give me that stuff. I’m old, not decrepit. I can carry it.”
Turbo handed it over. “I’ll be back around to check on you.”
“Thanks, boy.” She gave Harris another look. “See if you can’t treat this one good.”
“I intend to, Gram.”
Well, he hadn’t gotten off to a great start, Harris thought to herself as she let herself back in the car. They pulled away, and she stared out the window. The idea that he’d put a video on the internet...
A light touch brushed her arm.
“Hey,” Turbo said in a much softer, gentler voice. He touched her arm again, his fingers sending shocks of sensation up to her shoulder and down to where they tingled in her fingertips.
He stopped at a stop sign at a deserted intersection. He waited until she couldn’t stand it anymore and looked over at him.
“I was kidding.” He tilted his head slightly. “I didn’t mean to make you mad. No video. I promise.”
She stared in his eyes, knowing he wouldn’t lie to her but not ready to forgive him for pushing her to the point where she got angry.
He shrugged. “I just always have all these crazy ideas that float around in my head. I don’t even do half of what I think of. I was just spouting the idea out as it came to me. And Shelly really does owe me.”
“You mean you have more ideas than the ones that you actually do?” Now that was about the most amazing thing she’d heard all month.
“Thousands more. My brain never stops.” He looked at his hand resting on the steering wheel, and his voice dropped even lower, like he was confiding a secret. “Wish it did sometimes.”
“You can control it.”
His breath huffed out. “The same way you can force yourself to let go and relax a little. It’s flat-out uncomfortable, right?”
She moved her gaze away. “Yeah.”
He pulled out, keeping his gaze focused on the road. “So, I’m being forced to do this play, which is hard for me and, to be honest, is really making me squirm. Maybe I just wanted to push you a little. Make you as uncomfortable as I am.” He lifted a shoulder.
“I see.” She met his eyes once more for a quick second, as serious as she’d ever seen him. Her heart melted, just a little. Her voice softened. “Misery loves company?”
He lifted his hat and ran a hand through his hair before settling it back on his head, keeping the wheel steady with his knee. “Yeah, I guess.” His hand gripped the steering wheel once more.
She had to toughen up—this was Turbo—and take advantage of his weakness. She pushed the softening feelings aside. “So, you’ll come to my house tonight after the library closes, we’ll work on your lines some, and then we’ll take your truck and you’ll teach me to do something dumb that is dangerous and makes no sense, and that will make you happy?”
He lifted a brow. “Maybe there’s a subset of people that thinks that plays are dumb and make no sense.”
She wasn’t giving him that point. Not yet. “At least they’re not dangerous.”
“I’ve heard of actors dying on set.” He tilted his head. “They could get so nervous that they give themselves a heart attack.”
She shook her head, laughing a little. “That’s a stretch. But I do see your point.”
He pulled into his house, a small blue ranch on a quiet, treelined street set back from the road. “It’ll just take me a few minutes to grab a shower. Come on in.” Unfolding his legs, he managed to unpack himself and squeeze out of her car.
She thought of just sitting in the car and waiting, but the little peek that she’d had under Turbo’s laughing exterior had left her wanting to know more. Not because she had feelings for him, but because she was curious. She got out and followed him down the walk and around the side of his house.
He opened the back door.
“You don’t lock your house?” The question was out of her mouth before she thought about it.
“Nah. There’s nothing worth stealing in here anyway.”
She blinked and took a second to swallow that before following him across the threshold and into his home. “But you do lock it at night before you go to bed, right?”
“No.” He paused halfway through the bare kitchen. “Why? It’s not like I carry my valuables around with me and put them on my nightstand before I go to bed.”
“But someone might come in and...hurt you.”
His brows furrowed, and his face registered true confusion. “Why?”
“Because there’s bad people in the world.”
“I know that.” He rolled his eyes and stepped back toward her. “But, come on. Just think about it with me for a minute. Do you think thieves or killers or whoever it is that you’re afraid of actually try the front door? You think they walk down the street, checking doors, and find one that’s open. Then they’re like, okay, this is the guy we’re going to kill tonight, cause his door’s unlocked. Seriously? I leave my door unlocked, and I’d bet a boatload of money that if anyone ever did decide to come into my house to hurt me or kill me or steal or whatever, they break in anyway. Bust a window or whatever. They’re not going to check the door first to see if it’s unlocked.”
Harris just stared at him. He had a point. “So you’ve thought about this?”
Turbo shrugged and grinned. “Nah. I seriously don’t want the bother of keeping the key. I made the rest of that up just now.”
Harris smiled and met his eyes, and it was like the sight of her smile electrified him. His eyes crinkled, and his grin became a full-on beaming smile. “Holy frig, it makes me feel good to see you smile,” he said softly. Then he shook his head, as though remembering who she was and where they were. “Make yourself at home.” He waved at the open area in front of her. “There’s water in the fridge and a couch right there. I’ll be back in a few.”
“Have you eaten?”
He stopped and popped his head back around the corner. His brows scrunched up. “No. I guess I haven’t.” He tilted his head. “I had two hot dogs yesterday morning when I fueled.”
“You were up all night, and you haven’t eaten since yesterday morning?” Maternal instincts that she didn’t even know she possessed kicked into high gear. “You need to eat.” She walked to the fridge and opened it. Empty. Not even a ketchup bottle. She spun around to face him. “How was I supposed to grab a water and sit on the couch when there is no water? What do you even have this thing for?” Maybe there was no couch, either. She hadn’t made it that far into his house.
“Came with the house. Faucet works.”
“Do you have cups?”
He dropped his hand from the wall and walked to the cupboard. A half-empty package of plastic cups and a stack of cheap paper plates were all that were in it. He pulled out a cup, turned the tap on, and filled it up. “Here you go.”
“Thanks,” she said, with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “So, you never eat at your house?”
He took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m in the truck all week. When I’m here on the weekend, I’m too busy thinking about other things to think about eating.”
“You don’t notice that you’re hungry?”
He shrugged. “Now that you mention it. But until you said something...no. I had other things on my mind.”
“I’d cook you breakfast, but...” She waved toward the empty refrigerator.
“It’s okay, Harris. It’s America. It’s pretty much impossible to starve to death. Even I’m not that resourceful.” He slapped the wall and walked around the corner.
Harris sipped her water, walked over to the arched doorway, and contemplated the living room. There was a couch. Not a book or paper or magazine in sight. Just...she wasn’t even sure what that was sitting in the middle of the floor. A big, black metal thing with pieces and parts lay scattered around a plastic sheet that covered most of the carpet.
Turbo considered himself resourceful. Interesting. Is that what one called it? She might have called him a prankster. Or...or what? Handsome. Funny. Unique. Definitely unique. In her experience, she’d never met a man like Turbo. Always laughing, always making other people laugh. His brain constantly in motion. ADHD for sure. She’d never really understood those little boys that came into the library and couldn’t be still or quiet. Yet, she’d bet the house that Turbo had been a little boy just like that.
He hadn’t turned out too bad.
Chapter 6
TYPICALLY TURBO DIDN’T pay much attention to his home or think about how it looked. He always had a million things going through his head—business plans, prank plans, people he wanted to see, and things that needed to be fixed or made. But today, as he showered, his thoughts were on his house. Or, more specifically, what Harris might be thinking of his house.
The bare kitchen hadn’t impressed her. Ha. She’d been shocked and dismayed by his empty fridge—when was the last time he’d even opened it? And by his bare cupboards. Probably normal people had a coffeemaker on the counter or his gram had a toaster and some containers with green lids. He wasn’t sure what was in them. Kitchen stuff. He had a stove, but he couldn’t say for sure if it even worked. He’d never tried to turn it on.
Man, she had to think he was pathetic. But the kitchen wasn’t the worst part of his house. He’d never even considered what she might think when she saw what he was doing in his living room. He hadn’t done much with it over the summer, but it was a project that kept him occupied after he’d visited the nursing home and played video games with DeShaun and a couple of other kids in the winter when it was too dark to do much else. He only needed about four, maybe five hours of sleep at night, and his mind ran too fast to lie in bed.
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