I grinned. Then I crawled to him and gave him my mouth but I started doing it by kissing his.
Though it ended up somewhere else.
Then that led to something else and that something else was what made Tack able to get away with ordering me around at work.
I went through the door to the garage and searched the huge space with my eyes as I walked down the stairs. I spied Tack standing beside the cherry red car.
My eyes ran over it. It was gleaming. It was old but in a way where it got more badass and awesome as time went by. The color was righteous. The shape sleek and kickass.
Bottom line, it was cool as all hell.
Tack watched me walk to him and after I rounded the hood to get to the side he was on, his arm moved and he underarm threw a set of keys to me. My hand shot up automatically to catch them and I stopped moving.
“Mustang,” he stated loudly to be heard over the noise in the garage. “1967 Eleanor Fastback,” he continued like that meant something to me which it didn’t until I stood standing beside what I was guessing was one.
“It’s cool, Kane,” I told him the truth and also did it loudly.
“It’s yours, Red.”
I blinked, blood seemed to rush quickly through my entire system but mostly through my head and my legs started shaking.
“What?” I breathed.
He read my lips and I knew he did because he responded.
“Your car is solid, decent, you got a lot more miles before it’ll start givin’ you headaches,” he declared. “But it isn’t you.”
“Me?”
“Wild and sweet, can both snarl like a bitch or purr like a kitten.”
My hand flew out, I leaned down and pressed my fingertips into the hood of the kickass Mustang my man just gave to me and I did this to hold myself up.
“You can’t give me a car,” I informed him.
“No? Weird. Just did.”
I stared at him then asked, “Is this because of the dogtags?”
His head jerked to the side. “Babe, seriously?”
Truth be told, that was a stupid question. He’d been working on that car for ages. When he decided to give it to me, I didn’t know. I just knew it wasn’t this morning.
I looked down at the car.
Seriously, it was kickass.
So who cared when he decided to give it to me?
“Just gave you a car, Red, you got nothin’ for me?” Tack asked and my eyes went back to all that was him. Kane “Tack” Allen standing in faded jeans, a tight white tee, tats visible, hair messy, goatee overlong, stubble on his cheeks he didn’t bother shaving that morning, lines radiating out the sides of his eyes, eyes that were so blue they could be used on a color wheel.
God, he was beautiful.
Every way he could be.
“Yes,” I replied. “I have something for you.”
Then I turned and in my tight skirt, on my high-heeled pumps I walked back to my office. Once there, I dropped the keys to my new car on my desk, closed the blinds and locked the front door. As I was locking the front door, Tack came through the door to the garage. Once he was through, he put his hands to his hips. I moved to him, my eyes never leaving his, his chin dipping down so his wouldn’t leave mine. I got close, reached beyond him and locked that too. Then I snapped the blinds on that door closed.