Melody
Of course,the moment I’m ready to print something, I realize I’m out of paper. Damn! I pound my fist against the table and resign myself to the fact that I’m going to have to hit the office supply store so that I can print out the first quarter of my book and do some self-editing before I move forward. With a sigh, I hop in the shower and throw on some clothes. I even take a moment to put on some mascara and lip gloss for good measure. Hell, I’ve even been having my groceries delivered—leaving the house today is sort of a grand occasion.
I give Esme a little pat on the head, grab my keys and purse, and make my way out front to where my car is parked. I should’ve brought a sweater. The slight chill in the air causes goosebumps to rise on my bare arms. I shake the thought away; if I go back inside now, I may give up on this adventure and end up taking a nap and waiting until tomorrow to do the one chore on my list today.
It’s funny how a looming deadline can turn you into a Grade-A procrastinator. But my agent is expecting the first part of this novel tomorrow, and that’s the only thing that’s got my feet moving in the right direction. Sometimes I think it’d be easier to work at a grocery store, but the truth is—I’m sure they have their fair share of bullshit to deal with, as well. Working with the general public can be a real beast.
I hop in my car and turn the key in the ignition. My eyes widen when nothing happens. Stumped, I try again and still… nothing.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I say. My heart rate picks up, and I try again, hoping that some sort of magic will take over and start my car. When the familiar click fills the air once more, I rest my forehead on the steering wheel.
Why? Why is this happening to me?
I’m about to call the whole thing off and actually call the supermarket to ask if they need anyone when Creed’s front door swings open. In his destroyed jeans, t-shirt, and a flannel rolled up to his elbows to show off his vibrant ink; he nearly takes my breath away. He locks his door, then heads to the street.
I squeeze my eyes tight, knowing what I have to do. Never one to enjoy playing the role of damsel in distress, it looks like history is repeating itself. I’m going to have to ask Creed for a jump.
My breath catches in my throat when I think about what it would really be like to get a jump from him. His rock-solid body pressed against mine, pinning me to the wall while his hands explored every inch of my body. I squeeze my inner thighs together to stop the tingling.
Get a grip, Mel! One thing at a time.
Before I can change my mind, I hop out of the car and swallow my pride. I let out a deep breath and cross the boundary between our houses. As soon as he meets my eyes I force myself to wave. Oh man, if only I were better at natural human interactions—such is the life of an introvert.
“Hey there,” I say, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.
“Hey there, yourself.” A crooked smile plays on his lips and the whole jumping me instead of my car scenario floods my mind once more.
“Melody,” I say, pointing to myself to refresh his memory.
“How could I forget?” His eyes dart down to my breasts. When I look down, I notice my stiffened nipples are poking against my shirt. I knew I should’ve brought a sweater.
“I really hate to bother you—“
“You’re not,” he says before I can finish my sentence.
“Well, I might be.” The wind blows a strand of hair into my face, and I bat it away. “Do you know anything about cars?” I let out a long sigh, praying that he does.
“A little. My dad was a mechanic.”
“Really?” I say, eyes widening with hope. “Well, I can’t seem to get it started.”
“Let’s take a look.” He crosses in front of me and leads the way before I can give him any more information. I watch his tight ass as I follow him to my car. He turns around, and I avert my eyes before I’m busted, thank God. “Does the engine turn over at all when you turn the key?” He must sense that I have no idea what that means. “You probably just need a jump.”
…and there’s that fantasy again.
“Let me pull my car up to yours just in case.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“I was on my way out anyway,” he says, his blue-green eyes sparkling in the sun. I nod, and he disappears into his garage. I’m suddenly overcome with nerves. Being around anyone right now is enough to make me break out into a cold sweat, but Creed’s presence sends shivers up and down my body. How can one man be so freaking hot? Add the fact that he’s a tattoo artist, and…
I stop the thought in its tracks.
Exactly, he’s a tattoo artist who’s probably used to women who are down for whatever and love to go out. He’s just being a good neighbor. Thinking that he’s doing this for any other reason than that is delusional thinking on my part.
Creed pulls his Mustang in front of my car, nose to nose. He heads back over in my direction, holding out his palm. I slap it, giving him five.
“No,” he says, and his lips spread into a wide grin. “I need the keys.”