Loner by Harloe Rae Page 0,9
wide chest to match. Even through his shirt, I can tell he’s not hurting in the muscle department.
When he turns toward me, the ground beneath my feet tips, and I nearly stumble. My belly flips and twirls, landing in a curtsy. I fan my face to chase off the flames. This cloying heat isn’t doing me any favors. But there’s no way this guy is hot enough to give me heart palpitations. Those ridiculous flutters have been dead since the aftermath with Millie’s sperm donor. I’ve never been much for denying the obvious, though.
The stranger’s outward appearance is more than appealing, but his scowl is enough to cool my feverish mood. The expression he’s shooting at me vibrates animosity. Geesh, he needs to take it down a notch or ten. I don’t focus on his demeanor for long as he stalks toward me. The rest of him is too distracting.
His hair is on the longish side, shaggy ends of black strands brushing the lobes of his ears. It’s difficult to tell if the length is due to not giving a shit or trying to fit the biker vibe. Most likely the former, based on everything else he’s oozing.
The rest of his features are also dark, popping against his tan complexion. Thick slashes of ebony over burnt hazel eyes. A thick dusting of stubble covers his square jaw. I imagine the rasp that coarse scruff leaves behind is positively decadent. He’s quite mesmerizing, and I’m definitely staring.
My thighs clench beyond my control. I’m suddenly very aware of how long my so-called cobwebs have been collecting. That must be the reason for my extreme reaction. Josey put these wild ideas in my mind. She’s going to get more than an earful from me once I manage to get through this spectacle.
I shuffle forward to meet him between our vehicles. Motor oil, sweat, musk, and gasoline stick to him like a second skin. He smells like a bad boy wrapped in a double dose of trouble and danger. Instinct and attraction have failed me enough that I know to keep my distance.
He gives my car an assessing glance. “Got a flat?”
I sigh at the grizzly grate of his voice. Good grief. “Yeah.”
“How about the tools to fix it?”
“That’s a negative.” I tack on a smile to lighten the static zapping between us. If anything, the electric charge cranks higher. He makes no show of interest one way or another. Am I alone in these feelings?
He crosses his arms, biceps flexing with the shift. Is that for my benefit? “Did you call someone?”
“Not yet.” I spy the familiar style of his shirt. “Are you a mechanic?”
“Yeah.”
I wait for him to add more. He doesn’t. Cool. “At a shop in town?”
“I own it.”
“Would I know the place?”
He scoffs. “Doubt it.”
“Why’s that?”
“I don’t do cars.”
I blink at him. “Excuse me?”
“Bikes only.”
I give him a slow once-over, trying not to judge. There’s no harm in having a bit of fun. “As in bicycles?”
His expression turns more frosty. “Motorcycles.”
A grin curves my lips. “Ah, gotcha. Do you have a name?”
“Sure do.”
What is it with this guy? Calling him resistant is being generous. “Care to share?”
“Not really.”
“And why is that? Introductions are polite.”
“Never been known for my manners.”
“Well, I’m Keegan.” I offer him a hand to shake.
He just stares at my open palm, letting another grunt loose.
Stomping my foot feels like an appropriate reaction to his childish behavior. “Oh my Lord. Tell me your name.”
“What’s it matter?”
“Because.”
He rakes through his hair. “Crawford. Most call me Ford.”
I roll the word on my tongue. It fits the package, and I appraise him under a new scope. “Like the truck?”
“No, like short for Crawford.”
A sting sizzles up my neck. “Sorry I asked.”
“Likewise.”
I wait a beat, for what I’m not entirely sure. Maybe his friendly alter ego will show up. “Well, thanks for stopping. Can you lend a hand?”
“Maybe.”
It’s becoming quite clear calling a local garage might be faster. I reach into my pocket, ready to continue where I left off.
A shadow looms over my screen. “In a hurry?”
I peek up at Crawford from under my lashes. “Are you trying to keep me around?”
His laugh is drier than the grasslands in July. “Hardly.”
Crawford’s special brand of surliness is so heavy that a fog descends around us. I’m well aware he’s trying to repel me with his nasty ass attitude. This man is full to the top with piss and vinegar. Lucky for me, I’m fluent in decoding the asshole dialect. Kill ’em with