The Roommate Arrangement Page 50

  Everything in the background melted away. Just like that, all of my anger dropped away. He was right about everything—and the epiphany I felt in the kitchen freed me. They didn’t love me, but Will did. I didn’t have to worry about what they wanted, or if they approved of this or that. I didn’t have to see them ever again if I wanted. I was—free.

  As I watched his lips form those words. I couldn't quite believe it, and yet my body felt like it was soaring. Will didn't look away. That's why he came here. That's why he tolerated my parents.

  He loved me.

  And I love him, too.

  I couldn’t deny that warm feeling that swelled inside my chest when he smiled at me.

  “Okay.” I launched up on my toes and kissed his surprised face. He wrapped his arms around my waist and backed me against the car, stunning me with his lips. Suddenly giddy, I blushed as he leaned forward to kiss me again. I didn’t think I would ever get used to this.

  “Let’s go before your parents see us.”

  “Okay,” I laughed.

  He winked at me as he walked around to open his car door.

  “Will! I love you, too.”

  A look of wild happiness spread on his face. I don’t think I ever saw him look so ecstatic. He was still smiling when he got into his car.

  13

  I smiled to myself as I walked barefoot on the sand, my heels dangling from my fingers. The ocean roared beside me under a blazing orange sky. My bare shoulders shivered from the freezing wind that rushed over the icy water and my champagne-colored dress whipped around my legs.

  Next to me, William strolled with his shoes in his hands, looking like a GQ model in his tuxedo.

  “That was an amazing speech.”

  He flashed me a brilliant smile. “Yours was okay.”

  "Ass."

  He laughed at his joke and then sobered. "They only dated a year before marrying, right?"

  "Yeah." Looking behind me, I could make out Jessica in her huge, billowing wedding dress along with Luke in his dark suit. My eyes watered, and I wiped them.

  “Hey, what’s this?” Will halted as he stepped in front of me.

  “Oh, you know. I’m just sad that we’re all growing up.”

  And moving out.

  He slid his arm around my waist. “You’ll be moving in with me in the Marina and Pacific Heights isn’t that far, babe. You’re not losing her.”

  I sighed. “I know, it’s just—ah!”

  Icy water suddenly rushed over our bare feet, and I giggled as the wet sand gushed around my toes. Will laughed at me as the bottom of my dress was soaked and once again I marveled at how much he changed in a year. He laughed all the time. There was always a smile on his face—and Luke warmed up to him considerably. Nowadays, they were inseparable. Jessica and I joked that they were even closer than we were.

  He grabbed my hand once again, and I was surprised by how fast my heart beat. Every time he smiled at me, I felt butterflies soar.

  “You know what this reminds me of?”

  “What?”

  “Cinque Terre.”

  He smiled at the memory. “Yeah.”

  It was where I fell in love with him. It was where I saw the most incredible sights. Monterey had little in common with Cinque Terre. Whenever I saw the ocean, I thought about that brilliant turquoise and azure blue stretched out under a cliff of bright green vineyards.

  “You’ll see it again,” he said, noticing my look. “Maybe sooner than you think.”

  I grinned hard. It was my birthday in a few months. “Don’t spoil anything!”

  He held up his hands. “I’m not spoiling! I said, ‘maybe.’”

  Rolling my eyes, I squeezed his hand and planted a kiss on his cheek. “How’s WPF?”

  WPF was the acronym for the William Pardini Foundation, which he launched months ago when we finished the website. Jessica helped write the content. The launch was one of the proudest moments of my life.

  “It’s going awesome, and it’s all down to you.”

  I looked at him. “Will, come on.”

  “I would have never done it if you hadn’t pushed me.”

  “I did it because I wanted your body,” I ribbed.

  I yelped as he spun me around and held me to his chest.

  “Well, it worked.” He leaned over me and paused, looking more serious than usual. “I love you.”

  My passionate kiss ended any more idle talk and soon his hands were smoothing my shoulders and his eyes gleamed with the need to have me alone in our vacation rental on the beach. His gaze flicked toward it.

  “Let’s go,” I whispered in his ear.

  We ran down the beach, hand in hand.

  If you enjoyed this modern fairy-tale romance, please remember to leave a review on Amazon! Keep reading for the first few chapters of The Mechanic, a romantic comedy. Make sure to sign up for my newsletter for more information!

  Marriage and kids with him? You must be joking.

  Gage Carter is the poster boy for rude, rugged, and obnoxious. He’s the town’s mechanic. When he’s not giving me a hard time about my car, he’s mocking my city girl ways.

  He's a small town roughneck with a dirty reputation and a mouth to match. I'm a city girl. We go together like champagne and whiskey.

  People told me he was trouble. But that didn’t stop me from craving his filthy promises that make my blood pound for hours. Or having full body shivers whenever he says my name.

  This joy ride’s gone too far. Now we’re married—by accident—no less. The town’s most ineligible bachelor is my husband.

  Oh, and I’m pregnant.

  ——

  The last thing I need is a wife…

  Especially a high-maintenance one like Olivia Stewart. I’ve got no patience for a demanding, feisty city girl who thinks she can walk into my business and order me around.

  But now that I’ve tasted her, I can’t get her out of my mind. She may be a burr in my side but she’s as sweet as honey. When she’s not driving me crazy, she’s driving me wild.

  One problem: Some puffed-up rich boy from San Francisco thinks she’s his, and he’ll make my life hell if I don’t give her up.

  Good luck with that. I can’t be bought, and I’m not giving up my wife and baby.

  He wants a fight? This means war.

  Chapter One - The Mechanic

  Olivia

  Sun bakes the roof of my fifteen-year-old, blinding-white Toyota Scion. My eyes water at its brightness as heat beats down the back of my neck. The metal hull burns my fingertips as I give my faithful friend a gentle pat. Steam rolls from the closed hood.

  Sighing, I readjust my sunglasses and stare at the auto shop sign emblazoned in red retro font: CARTER & SONS AUTO REPAIR. I study the peeling paint on the building, unimpressed. A bell tinkles, and a glass door smudged with oily prints flies open.

  A man squints as he walks into the harsh sunlight. A wiry beard covers most of his face, and he wears a short-sleeve, button-up black shirt over a pair of baggy jeans. His bushy eyebrows lift in a show of surprise when he sees me standing next to my car. He promptly recovers, though, with a small smile and a nod of his head.

  “Hello! I’m Olivia. I called twenty minutes ago.”

  His smile widens, and he extends a tattooed arm. “Nice to meet you, Olivia. I’m Hank.”

  I shake his callused hand. He lets go quickly.

  “What seems to be the problem?”

  “I’m not sure. She was doing fine the whole trip, and then suddenly—boom.”

  “Boom? Like an explosion?”

  “Sort of.”

  My heart hammers against my chest as he walks around the car, and I shadow him like an anxious parent. He digs his fingers under the hood and pops it open. It yawns, belching steam into Hank’s face. He waves it off, and I lean over his shoulder. The twisted metal and series of pipes are an incomprehensible maze. I don’t know shit about cars beyond basic maintenance, but the grim look Hank gives me
after glancing into the bowels of my baby doesn’t bode well.

  My baby got me through high school and college. It saw me through a handful of boyfriends, road trips, sightseeing, and endless trips to the Stop-And-Save for York Peppermint Patties. I’ve cried, fucked, screamed, and sang within these metal walls. Everyone has their own version of a security blanket, and Sharon was mine.

  Blame my parents. They never let me have pets.

  And now, a couple hundred miles into my drive from San Francisco, Sharon decides to break down. At least she decided to die a half hour from my destination. It strikes me as poetic that the car crapped out just as I crossed the Fair Oaks city limits sign.

  Refusing to wince at the heat, I give the car another grateful pat. That’ll do, Pig. That’ll do.

  “We’ll need to run some tests, but first glance? Your engine is done.”

  My spine zips up as I face Hank, the throbbing pulse in my head, loud. “Done? What do you mean—done?”

  He raises his eyebrows. “It’s completely shot.”

  How’s that possible? “She’s only fifteen! You can’t seriously be telling me that I need a new car. I took really good care of her.”

  “That doesn’t change the facts. I don’t know what you want me to say. This engine is cooked.”

  “Well, can’t you replace it?”

  He lets out a sigh like he has better things to do than deal with me. “That’ll probably cost more than what this car is worth. You’re better off just buying a new one.”

  “I’m not buying a new car.”

  I don’t know what it is: Hank’s kindly gaze or the sad image of Sharon being towed to a junkyard or the general way my life seems to be falling apart lately. But a sharp pressure builds behind my eyes.

  Your fiancé cheats on you, and you get misty over a fucking car.

  Right. This is ridiculous.

  “I’ll ask the owner if he’s up for the job.” Hank gives me a sidelong look as he walks away and disappears into the auto shop.

  I watch his shadow rippling on the concrete. A man-shaped silhouette joins him, hands in his pockets. The Hank shadow gestures, and then both of them shrink as they walk forward. I picture a much older man slightly bent over with age, a stalk hanging out of his lips. The kind of guy who inappropriately flirts with female customers.

  Instead, the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen walks toward me. Hank returns with a much younger, shirtless mechanic. The sunlight gleams over his muscled chest and abs, the shadows under his muscles rippling all the way down to his hips. Oil runs in streaks down his tattooed skin, which is slightly red with the heat. A flannel shirt hangs from the back pocket of his dark jeans.

  He squints—or seems to scowl—as he listens to Hank talk. A short beard covers a strong jaw and his pouting lips, the bristles black. My God. He’s rugged and all man. And gorgeous. I must be dehydrated. Hallucinating. The ripples in the air from the heat somehow manifested into this mirage.

  He pauses mid-stride when his eyes cut at me. Warmth builds in my chest as he takes in my appearance, a smirk lifting the side of his Han Solo grin.

  What are you looking at?

  Hell, I know I must look ridiculous. Totally out of place. I actually dressed up for my four-hour drive to this middle of nowhere small town, Fair Oaks. His gaze lingers on my black pumps, ill-suited for this foresty place, and then it travels up my skinny jeans to the sweetheart tank top. My heart jumps when his intense blues meet mine.

  The two men walk to the car. Hank talks to the mechanic, who nods along and seems to be half-listening, half-staring at me. The mechanic walks with a sort of lithe grace that I’ve never seen on a big man.

  I can’t take my eyes off him. I swallow hard as he ducks his head under the hood of my car and leans over. His pants ride low enough to show a sliver of black briefs. For a moment, I’m mesmerized by the sight of his jeans stretched tightly against his ass. With both men’s backs facing me, it’s safe to stare. And I do.

  What the hell is wrong with me? I feel like some kind of perv, checking out the mechanic’s ass while his back is turned.

  He’s here to fix your car, not for you to drool over.

  Then he straightens, grabbing the red flannel shirt and wiping his hands. The owner dismisses Hank, who plods back into the garage. A sudden flush heats my neck as the mechanic gives me his full attention.

  “I’m Olivia.”

  He takes my proffered hand, his skin sliding like sandpaper in mine. “Name’s Gage. I’m the owner,” he says in a voice as rough as the calluses on his palm.

  The air freezes in my lungs as his warmth seeps into my veins. He’s close enough for me to study the intricate details of his many tattoos. God, he’s totally not my type, especially with those grease marks on his chest and arms. He’s dirty and smells like a combination of metal and manly musk. There’s no way he’s the owner. A businessman wouldn’t show up to work half-naked, unless the auto shop doubles as a Chippendale’s.

  “You’re the owner?”

  “Who were you expecting?”

  I’m still holding his hand. My cheeks burn. “Someone wearing more clothes.”

  There’s laughter in his eyes as he lets go of me. “I’d say I was sorry, but you don’t look too upset by it.”

  Usually arrogance doesn’t send a thrill down my spine. Is he flirting with me? Gage’s stare licks my skin as he stands way too close.

  “Where are you from?” he demands. “You’re definitely not from around here.”

  “Do the pumps give me away?”

  “The tight jeans, shoes, everything about you screams, city girl.”

  “I’m getting the feeling that you don’t care for city girls.”

  “I like them just fine, sweetheart. Especially when they’re dressed like you.”

  Sweetheart. My cheeks burn. If somebody back home called me that, I wouldn’t give him a minute more of my time. Except that I’m not outraged, right now. I’m interested.

  His eyes burn with the intensity of two small suns, lingering at the silver zipper dangling in the middle of my fuck me tank top. It’s unzipped just half an inch; enough to give anyone who cared to look a nice view of my tits.

  My whole face, I think, goes up in flames. The heat must be addling my brains.

  Whoa, Olivia. What the hell are you doing with this guy?

  The engagement ring in my pocket burns through my clothes. Mark cheated on me. It’s over. Isn’t it?

  “I—I need my car fixed.” Wow. Way to completely wuss out. He’s hot and you’re single.

  A feline smile spreads across his face, which seems to say, changing the subject already? “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. Everything was fine until I reached a few miles out of town. I heard a noise and there was a lot of smoke.”

  He gives the car a thoughtful look, his frown becoming more and more pronounced as he pokes around. Finally, he raises his head. Deep blue eyes narrow at me. “Well, looks like your engine is fucked. Did you skip oil changes or something?”

  “Hell no. I took care of my baby.”

  Gage points to the smoking engine. “Your baby wasn’t taken care of, sweetheart.”

  The condescending tone paired with his intense stare sends a jolt through my chest. Okay, now I’m pissed. “Back up, buddy. I am not your—”

  “See this?” he gestures toward a small box, brushing blue flakes off the lid. “That’s battery acid, and it’s leaking everywhere. Your battery should’ve been replaced years ago.”

  Shame bubbles up my throat at his scorn. “That’s not my fault.”

  “It is, though.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “I don’t mean to get your panties in a twist, but you should’ve known to replace the battery every four years.”

  This guy is unbelievable. “Why are you giving me such a hard time?”

  “‘Cause you’re calling your car your baby.” He points under the hood. “Look at this.”

 
I look at the incomprehensible maze, gritting my teeth. “I don’t know what I’m looking at.”

  “Your car is filthy. There’s battery acid all over the place. If there’s one thing that grinds my gears, it’s people who don’t take care of their cars.”

  I can’t believe I’m being chewed out by this asshole. Who the hell does he think he is? “I go to the dealership every year to get it checked out, and they never once told me to replace it.”

  He laughs, crossing his huge biceps over his chest. “Every responsible owner knows to change the battery. That’s on you.”

  “Are you going to fix my car or not?”

  He shrugs. “Maybe I won’t.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  Another dark look from him stills my breath. “At the very least, it would teach you a lesson.”

  Tendrils of white-hot heat wrap around my neck. “Or I just go to some other shop and you lose business to a competitor.”

  The catlike smile reappears. “You’re welcome to do that. The closest auto repair is thirty miles away.”

  And he turns around, throwing his flannel shirt over his shoulder as he walks off. I watch his boots crunch the concrete, my head pounding with the blazing sun. Hope fizzes out like the tail end of a firework. Rage billowing up inside me, I march after him and grab his upper arm.

  “Wait!”

  He moves with very little resistance into the circle of my arms, the smirk still tugging at his lips. There’s annoyance in his eyes, but heat as well. “What?”

  “You’ve got to do this for me.”

  “Actually, I don’t have to do anything.”

  “You’re being unreasonable! I’m a paying customer, for God’s sake!”

  “Don’t care.”

  I ball my hands into fists. “How could you not care about your business?”

  His gorgeous eyes roll into his head. “Do I look like I need much to get by? I don’t have to take on clients that piss me off.”

  “How many times do I have to say it’s not my fault?”

  “It’s not my fault,” he mimics my voice in a high-pitched tone. “God, you city people annoy me.”