Читать книгу What Phoebe Wants - Cindi Myers, Cindi Myers - Страница 13

I HAD A HARD TIME KEEPING my eyes on the road on the way home that evening. I kept tilting my head to look in the rear-view mirror at the stranger who stared back at me. Oh, she had the eyes, mouth and nose I was used to seeing when I looked at my reflection, but she also had a gorgeous head of shiny, copper-colored hair. I smiled every time I saw this “other” me. Suddenly, my eyes were bluer, my skin looked creamier. And all because of a change in hair color. “Who would have thought?” I murmured, and forced my gaze back to the road. I couldn’t wait to show off my new look at work tomorrow. What would Jeff say?

I smiled, imagining his reaction. I was still smiling when an ominous clunk sounded from beneath the hood, followed by a horrifying grinding noise. I put on my blinker and steered onto the shoulder. The grinding grew louder and I shut off the engine and stared out the front windshield. A bitter odor wafted up through the air-conditioning vents.

A string of choice curses fought to climb up my throat, but what came out of my mouth was “OhGodohGodohGod.” I bailed out of the car and hurried to pop the hood. The acrid odor was stronger. Was it my imagination, or did the whole engine appear to be leaning to one side?

I backed away, eyeing the car warily. The urge to kick something was strong, but I’m superstitious about cars. I think they can sense when you’re upset with them, and mechanical failure is their chief way to get back at you.

Yeah, I know people say cars can’t think, but who says they don’t have intuition? The minute you begin to hate one, they know it and will make your life miserable.

I stomped to the shoulder and looked out at the traffic flying past. Someone would stop soon and maybe they’d have a phone I could use to call a wrecker.

A pickup sped by so close its tires slung gravel at me. A chorus of catcalls and whistles sailed toward me.

Cars honked. Men whistled. One made an obscene gesture. Another man yelled that he was in love with me. Women looked the other way. Some even changed lanes so they wouldn’t have to drive on my side of the road. But no one stopped.

So much for chivalry or Good Samaritans. I searched the shoulder for a good-size rock. The next idiot who made a rude suggestion was going to get it in the windshield.

I’d found what I thought was a good weapon when a black pickup slowed and pulled in behind me. “Thank God,” I said, walking toward the truck. “I thought no one was going to st—”

The door opened and a pair of long legs in tan slacks emerged, followed by a pair of broad shoulders and strong arms. I swallowed and grinned weakly. “Hello, Jeff. Imagine meeting you here.”

He took a long time looking at me, his gaze traveling from the tips of my pink-painted toenails to the top of my coppery hair. “I like it,” he said at last. “Very sexy.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant my new hair color or me in general, but I didn’t dare ask. “What do you know about cars?”

“A little.”

I followed him around to my upraised hood. He looked at it for a moment, then leaned in and wiggled something. Then he slammed the hood. “Broken motor mount,” he said.

“Is that expensive to fix?” Who was I kidding? Everything about cars is expensive to fix.

“Shouldn’t be too bad. How long have you had the car?”

“I just got it yesterday.”

“Then it should be under some kind of dealer warranty. I’d take it back to where you bought it.” He slipped a phone from his shirt pocket. “We’ll call a wrecker to tow it to the dealer.”

“Won’t they be closed?” It was almost seven.

“If it is, the wrecker driver can leave it in the yard and you can stop by tomorrow to arrange everything.” He punched in a number. “What’s the name of the dealer?”

“Easy Motors. Over on Alameda.”

He made a face, then spoke to someone on the line. “Ben? This is Jeff Fischer. I’ve got a friend here who has a Mustang with a broken motor mount. Can you tow it for her to an Easy Motors, over on Alameda?”

He gave the driver directions, then disconnected. “He’ll be here in ten minutes.”

“Thanks.” Now that the car was taken care of, it felt awkward standing here with him. Cars raced past, stirring up dust that blew back at us in a hot wind.

He took my arm and steered me toward his truck. “Let’s wait inside.”

The truck was clean and relatively new. It smelled of leather and Jeff’s cologne. I sat on the edge of the seat, next to the door and found myself imagining what it would feel like to lie back in that cool leather seat, with Jeff slowly undressing me….

See what kind of trouble hormones will get you into? I crossed my arms and my legs and wondered if Jeff would think I was strange if I asked him to turn up the air conditioner. The air in that cab was definitely too warm.

“So, Red.” He turned toward me, grinning. “Did I ever tell you I have a thing for redheads?”

My heart pounded. “Uh…what kind of thing?”

He slid his hand along the back of the seat, toward me. “I think they’re very…exciting.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not an exciting person.” But I was definitely getting excited. I squeezed my legs together and tucked my hair behind my ears. “So, did you finish installing the transcription system?”

His grin never faltered. “Don’t think you’re going to get rid of me that easily. I’m under contract to stick around and teach you how to use the new software.”

I swallowed hard, imagining hours spent in my little cubicle with Mr. Testosterone. “I’ve been a transcriptionist for years. What’s to learn?”

His eyes darkened and his voice lowered. “Oh, I’m betting I could teach you a lot.”

He moved a little closer. I couldn’t decide whether to scream or throw myself at him. Throwing myself at him was definitely winning out when a horn sounded behind us and a purple-and-black wrecker pulled alongside.

We climbed out of the truck and met the wrecker driver beside my car. He was a whip-thin man with long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail, his denim work shirt rolled up to reveal arms corded with muscle. “Hey, Jeff. How’s your old man?”

“Doing great, Ben. Thanks for coming out. This is Phoebe Frame.”

Ben nodded, then turned to the car. “You bought this from Easy Motors?”

I nodded. “I’ve only had it since yesterday, so it’s still under warranty—isn’t it?”

Ben made a noise that might have been laughter. “Good luck getting anything out of that bunch.”

I retrieved my purse and Ben hooked the car up to the wrecker. I started to climb in beside him, but Jeff pulled me back. “Ben can take care of it. I’ll drive you home.”

I didn’t think that was a good idea, but before I could say anything, I heard clanking chains and tires on gravel and Ben pulled out into traffic, my Mustang hoisted behind him like the catch of the day.

“Okay. Thanks.” At least driving, he’d have to keep his hands to himself. As for me, I could always sit on my hands.

“I’m starved. Let’s get something to eat.”

Eating was too much like a date. I was not going to date Jeff. “I really need to get home,” I said.

“You have kids?”

The question jolted me. “Uh…no.”

“Good.”

Good? “Why is that good?” Was the world infested with men who didn’t like children?

“It means you don’t need to get home. And everybody has to eat, don’t they?”

We ended up at a place called Pizza Junction, which combined Old West decor with Italian food in a sort of spaghetti Western theme. “You’ve eaten here before?” I asked as we made our way past bales of hay festooned with braids of garlic.

“It’s very good.” He slid into a booth and I sat across from him. “I recommend the Lariat Special.”

I ordered a Diet Coke and agreed to split the Lariat Special with Jeff. He apparently wasn’t a man who believed in small talk. As soon as the waitress brought our drinks, he looked me over and asked, “How long have you been divorced?”

I stripped the paper from a straw and wadded it into a knot, avoiding his gaze. “Six months. We were separated six months before that.” Anticipating the next question, and wanting to get it over with, I added. “We were married twelve years.”

“Was it your idea, or his?”

I had to hand it to Jeff; he had nerve. I imagined him tackling computer problems this way: find out everything you can so that you approach the problem armed with information. I could have told him these things were none of his business, but why bother? It wasn’t as if I had any real secrets to hide. “It was his idea. He said he didn’t want to be married anymore.” I swished my straw around in my Diet Coke. “He has a young girlfriend now.”

He took a long pull on his beer. “He’s crazy.”

“Because he left, or because he took up with a younger woman?”

“Both. What could a younger woman offer that you couldn’t?”

He sounded so certain of right and wrong here. So naive. “You don’t understand now, but one day you will. Of course, right now, younger women for you are in high school.”

He leaned back against the booth. “I’ve always been partial to older women.”

“Then go visit the nursing home.”

He grinned. “Touchy, touchy. You know what I mean.”

The arrival of our pizza saved me from having to find an answer to that. Jeff was telling me he was interested in me and I couldn’t deny the powerful physical attraction I felt for him.

As we worked our way around the pizza, I turned the conversation to safer topics. I found out Jeff owned the company that distributed the software I was going to be using, as well as a number of other medical and dental programs. He had a small office with a few employees and spent most of his time in medical offices, selling or setting up new systems.

“Is every office as much of a soap opera as ours?” I asked.

“Pretty much.” He looked thoughtful. “They’re mostly women, you know, so it’s always interesting for a new man to enter in to the mix.”

“I’d think you’d enjoy the attention.”

His grin returned. “Oh, I do. I certainly do.”

He managed to eat most of the large pizza, and there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him that I could see. I’d confined myself to two pieces and hoped all that cheese wouldn’t translate itself into an extra inch on my hips by Friday.

It was almost nine o’clock by the time Jeff drove me home. I sat against the passenger door, staring out at the dark streets and thought of all the times some boy had driven me home from a date in high school. I had the same feeling now, that sort of jittery, sick-to-my-stomach sensation, anticipating whether or not he would kiss me, and what I would do if he tried. You’d think, at my age, I’d be over that kind of nervousness, but apparently it had come back to haunt me, like post-adolescent acne.

I had my door open seconds after the truck turned into my drive, but Jeff was almost as quick. “I’ll walk you to your door,” he said.

He came around the truck and tried to take my arm, but I shied away. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing.” I fumbled in my purse, looking for my keys.

“You’ve been jumpy all evening. What’s your problem? What is it about me that you especially don’t like?”

“It’s not you in particular,” I said, and headed up the walk. “It’s just…I haven’t had the best of luck with men lately.”

“Not all men are jerks like your husband.”

I thought of Dr. Patterson and the man who groped me in the elevator. “Just most of the ones I know.”

I started to unlock the door, but he covered my hand with his own. “I’m not like them.”

I sighed. “You say that, but your mind works like theirs.”

“How can you say that? You don’t even know me that well.”

He was leaning very close, and his eyes were dark with a desire that both frightened and thrilled me. “I know you’re probably going to try to kiss me right now,” I whispered, any intention I’d ever had of refusing him vanished from my mind.

He took a step back and shook his head. “I don’t think so. The mood you’re in, you’d probably bite my lips off.”

He turned away and I sagged against the door. “Good night, Phoebe,” he called when he reached his truck.

When he was gone, I let myself inside. I told myself I’d talked my way out of a tight spot. After all, I really didn’t want to start anything with Jeff.

But the part of me that never lied wished I’d let him kiss me.