Chapter Three
Okay, Heather whoever-she-was, was interesting. Quirky. Inner nerd. Operated heavy equipment by the look of it which was kinda sexy, considering her flirty sunflowers and stringy sandals and waves of gorgeous hair which he realized wasn’t just mahogany, but streaked with both golden- and darker-chestnut highlights. And she was so damn earthy and happy. Crouched behind her now, all he wanted to do was lean in and catch that vanilla-almond on his nose again. But beneath it all, she had that spark of passion that made people curious to float in her sphere and absorb her sunshine, if they were lucky enough to catch her as she flitted by.
I’m curious.
Also, not my type.
“C’mon, Tie-Dye. I’ll give you a lift to the house.” He stood up. Distanced himself from the comfort of her smell and the striking silkiness of her hair.
He didn’t want to remain squatted, with Heather so close, knowing that she was on her way off to God only knew where once she had a ride sorted and a tow truck called. Women always moved on while he was stuck here standing still, manning up, just like Perfect Ty always did.
He paced toward his truck, giving her his back. He pulled up T.R.’s texts. He had a shit ton of repairs piling up. He owed it to his men to text back and get a move on. Thank God the kids were safe. Now, if only Seth could keep his ass out of trouble for more than a few days, that would be a miracle. Tween years, puberty, and increasing bitterness about his ex—their birth mother—was turning his once-sweet little boy into an angry ball of stress, and no matter what Tyler tried to do about it, it didn’t seem to make a damn bit of difference.
“I got a pile of stuff to do, but you can use my phone or my computer and make whatever calls you need. And, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck again, stretching it, wanting to rub away the sting of the glass. “If your roadside don’t hurry with a tow truck, I’ll bring my dually back to flip your ride so you can salvage your—
“Your back!” she gasped.
He froze. Relaxed. She couldn’t possibly be talking about his scar. He turned over his shoulder, checking his shirt. It was pock-marked and bloody, but still intact so she shouldn’t be able to see through it. But concern twisted Heather’s brow. Was she talking about the glass? It couldn’t be that bad. It stung, but it wasn’t agony.
“Just some cuts.”
She pushed to standing and jogged to him, grabbed his arms, twisted him back around. His arms erupted in heat spiking through him at her touch, shocking him with memories of rutting upon her.
“No, you need medical treatment. Is this from my truck?” she asked, picking at his shirt and smoothing tentative hands over the sensitive wounds.
He winced as the fabric, sticking to drying blood, was plucked free. “No big deal.”
“Yeah, that wince says no big deal,” she retorted.
He scoffed at her concern. Women weren’t concerned about him. They were convinced he could handle anything. “I’ll get one of my guys to fix me. Let’s get you taken care of first—”
“Oh, ‘’tis only a flesh wound,’ is that it?” she said.
Another chuckle rolled up his throat, and he furrowed his brow. Why the hell did he keep laughing around her? “That ain’t the way he says it,” Tyler teased. Teased! What the hell? Teasing was personal.
“See?” she squealed delightfully as if calling him out. “You called me a nerd, but I think I found my kindred friend in geekiness.” She poked his chest. “Also, not the point, Monty Python. Seriously, what is with guys and that stupid macho shit? ‘Oh, my carotid is spurting blood. I’ll slap a Band-Aid on it later,’” she said in a low, mocking male voice, before turning serious. “I’m so sorry! I never would have tried to get you to kiss me just now had I known—”
“Hey now, let’s not get crazy.” He placed a finger over her lips, silencing her, the corner of his mouth ticking up. “I would’ve kissed you if you’d gone for it like you did last night.”
*
He raked hishand through his hair as if he hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but Heart glared at him. Also, that remark niggled. He wouldn’t have kissed her either last night or today had she not initiated it. He didn’t kiss? His kiss begs to differ.
“You really ought to go to a hospital. Or at the very least, let me wash it out, and, seriously, what is your real name? Ty? Cowboy? Hercules?”
He grinned. “Hercules.”
She leveled a glare.
“I don’t give my name out to the ladies I hook up with.”
She smiled and rolled her eyes, feigning exasperation. “While I espouse your practice of anonymity under normal circumstances, let’s go out on a limb together and say that, judging by the last half hour or so, we might be beyond the one-and-done stage. So, I showed you mine, you show me yours.” She crossed her arms, that twist of her lips he really seemed to dig capturing his dark, chocolatey eyes again.
Also, it squished her cleavage together, and call her basic, but she loved how it grabbed a guy’s attention.
“I’m not just some faceless dude you picked up in a ditch?” His gaze dipped to said cleavage. She smiled victory.
“As one does,” she teased, with another haughty heavenward glance.