Amber with the spicy voice and hot lips that won't stop talking doesn't move off from where she stands. Thankfully, she's at a safe enough distance away for me that I can lower the car and activate the service bay vehicle doors. At that point, I hop into her car and back it out to the driveway. Despite how sexy she is, I'm not in the mood to be psychoanalyzed, and I'm sure as fuck not sharing my feelings with this mouthy, sassy woman.

“I tend bar on Fourteenth Street part-time, you know,” she tells me as I head back inside. “Only when they’re short-handed. It used to be my father’s side business. Anyway, the point is, serving so many customers, well, I have a sense about some of them...if they don't tell me everything to begin with.”

“I'm not one of your customers.” My voice is stiff bordering on rude, and dismissive as fuck. “It's the other way around.”

“You'd be surprised what people tell me when they have some alcohol in their bellies,” she continues, on our way to cash her out.

“That's different, a real estate agent working part time as a bartender.” I only mention it in the hopes that she'll back off prying into my personal life and focus on something else as I get behind the counter.

She stops on the other side, facing me. “Real estate broker. I’m a co-owner.”

“Then I can appreciate your taste in classic cars even more.” I nod but keep my focus on preparing her bill. Right up until she turns to face a chair behind her in the waiting room, and bends forward, digging around in her purse.

Fuck. That tight, black pencil skirt shows off the perfectly round shape of her ass. I'm hypnotized, and so fucking hard, I'm willing to let the last ten minutes slide. Ready to ride the fuck out of her. The groan that leaves my throat comes out with no warning, forcing me to mask it as much as possible by clearing my throat.

“It belonged to my dad,” she admits, her voice softening to a hush as she turns again to face me. I take her response to mean that she didn't notice the groan I made in appreciation of her full, firm ass. “He did the complete restoration years ago. It was his pet project at home. A labor of love, I guess you can call it. He did the entire restoration in the shed behind our garage where I grew up. It took him a good couple of years to finish.”

“Your dad must be a generous guy, giving the car to you instead of enjoying it for himself after all that work.”

“He is. He'd still have it now if it weren't for his age... and his health’s not like it used to be. Early onset dementia.”

“Sorry to hear.”

I hand her the printed invoice across the counter. The sadness on her face as she frowns gives her hazel eyes a greenish tint that wasn't there before.

Amber slides a credit card across the counter. “It's life. People age.”

Not all people. Some don’t make it past six years old.

I swallow hard at my own dire thoughts. My sweet Cara with her gorgeous red curls and bright blue eyes won’t ever grow up to have her own slice of life. She won’t finish school, go to college, find love, have a husband or make babies of her own. Her life ended before it barely got out the gate. I grit my teeth without intending to. If I could replace my little girl’s life with my own, I’d have done it in a heartbeat instead of walking through the rest of mine like an empty shell.

But looking at this woman as she shares what she’s going through with her father, I get her pain. Except she’s suffering a loss that may take years to reach its destination.

I can’t imagine which is worse.

A sigh escapes me as I reach out to accept Amber’s credit card. And I absently brush my rough fingers over the softness of her palm. The grief I’ve been mired in suddenly wanes with the spark of warmth that only comes from human touch.

Human touch with this sassy vixen who has her own sad story to tell.

Her eyes lift to meet mine, and without pulling her hand away, she gives me a sincere smile.

“It gets better, eventually,” she adds in the kindest, most compassionate tone. It’s a whole other side of her, compared to the attitude she walked in with.

“Possibly.” That’s the best I can offer given it’s been two years for me, and I’m yet to get past the all-encompassing grief. I shake my head and pass her card through the credit card machine on the counter. “This won’t be much longer.”




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