applications, or so Molly had claimed. Lori had studied hard and spent her free time working in Love’s Garage. Quinn had no idea what had happened to her after that, except that she’d gone to Boston College on a full scholarship, then come home when her dad was injured.
And now she seemed like a typical female mechanic, if there was such a thing.
Wandering into the living room, Quinn let his architect’s eye take in the lines of the fifties construction. Nothing had been changed since the original build as far as he could tell. He wasn’t even sure the walls had been painted since then. Certainly the decor hadn’t been updated. Nothing here, absolutely nothing, gave him any clue as to who Lori had become.
Ancient bowling trophies crowded the mantel above the moss rock fireplace. A lamp made from a bowling pin sat on an unremarkable oak table. The couch was frat-house chic.
This was her father’s house, plain and simple. But her father had died over a year ago. Was it grief that kept her from making the place her own? Quinn raised the dusty blinds on one of the small windows and found a view of the garage yard. The sad sight burned through his stomach. He could see why she kept the windows closed.
A creaking floorboard alerted him to her presence, and when he turned, Quinn forgot about old decor and broken-down cars. Her jeans and tank were gone, replaced with white capris and a flirty little red shirt that showed off her shoulders. She chewed on her lip and tugged a few brown curls into compliance. He let his eyes slide all the way down to her bare feet…and bright red toenails.
“Nice toes,” he said stupidly, and watched them curl against the carpet. Clearly he needed to finish the beer. Who the hell told a girl she had nice toes?
When she’d had enough of him staring at her feet, Lori spun for the kitchen and opened the oven. “Another few minutes,” she muttered. “I’ll make the salad.” By “make,” she apparently meant “get out the bag” because she cut open a plastic bag and dumped the salad into two bowls while Quinn smiled at her back.
Her shoulders were straight and beautifully pale, brushed by shiny, bouncy curls as she moved. He caught her profile as she went back to the fridge for salad dressing and couldn’t help but lose himself in the careful line of her throat and chest. Her breasts were small, but they rose in a graceful curve that drew the eye. No wonder she wore that baggy outfit at work. The men in her employ would get nothing done if she showed up like this.
“Do you want to go to The Bar after dinner?” he blurted out.
Her head popped up and she frowned. “Why?”
“Because I didn’t bring any wine.”
“And you think they’d have good wine at The Bar?”
Well, she had a point. The place was so old and crusty it didn’t even have a real name. “To Aspen then,” he corrected. “There’s a great wine bar on Hopkins Avenue.”
“Did you talk to Molly today?” Lori suddenly demanded.
“I—”
She cut him off by slamming the dressing bottle onto the counter. “Damn it, I told her I didn’t want to date you!”
Quinn wondered if the air conditioner had just kicked on with a vengeance. All the pleasant warmth of the evening vanished in an instant and left him in the freezing cold. “Really?”
“Yes!” Lori ran her hands over her face, then shook her head before she met his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Quinn. I’d love to date you, honestly, but that’s not what I’m looking for right now.”
Now he was confused. That sounded a lot like, “It’s not you, it’s me,” except that they’d never even gone to lunch. “I see,” was all he could say.
“I can’t believe this,” she muttered.
“Look, I just wanted to take you out for a drink, and maybe we could—”
“Whatever she told you, I am not going to use you for sex.”
The imaginary air conditioner switched off. So did his brain.
“Not that I wouldn’t love to!” she went on. “But it’s really about random, meaningless fun, not dating. I’m not in a good place for dating right now. I’m sorry you were dragged into this. She just won’t drop it.”
“Who?” he rasped.
“Molly! What did she tell you to get you over here?”
Quinn clutched the beer bottle tighter, feeling the smooth glass press his skin, grounding himself so that he could make his brain work. “Molly hasn’t called me in weeks.”
Though she’d been reaching for her own beer, Lori’s hand froze just an inch from the bottle. “Excuse me?”
“I’m not quite sure what you’re talking about.”
Her hand fell away to hover near her side. “That doesn’t…No. Why would you be here if Molly hadn’t called?”
Maybe she wasn’t as smart as he’d always thought. “Lori, I came over to ask you out. Period. It’s not that complicated.”
“Oh.” The pink started right at the skin just above her shirt and floated inexorably higher, past her collarbones, then up her neck to her jaw. Her cheeks flamed redder than the rest of her skin. “Oh, God. Are you sure?”
“Very sure. But what were you saying about using me for sex?”
Her body tilted slightly to the left, then the right. Alarmed, Quinn was moving toward her, meaning to grab her elbow and help her to a seat, but the oven timer went off and the sound snapped her straight.
She moved stiffly to the oven, grabbed a hot pad, and in a moment she was standing at the counter, staring down at a perfectly roasted chicken and a loaf of hot bread. “Okay,” she said to the poultry. “Okay.”
“Lori—”
“No, just…Let’s have dinner. I’m sorry there’s not more. I was just going to have a salad and…Oh, Jesus.”
Quinn let silence fall, utterly unsure of how he should proceed. His thoughts were ping-ponging back and forth, running into each other like drunk kids in a mosh pit. When Lori moved, grabbing plates to set the table, he jumped on the opportunity to give them both time and took her beer and the bottle of dressing.
Sex. Lori Love wanted sex.
He grabbed the salads and carried them over while Lori brought the chicken.
No dating. Just sex. Nothing else.
He watched her hips as she hurried back to the fridge and let himself imagine. Sex. With Lori. The images came easy and quick.
Once the food was served and all the busywork ran out, they both lowered themselves slowly into chairs and looked anywhere but at each other as they dug into the salad.
Though he’d never been into meaningless sex, Quinn wasn’t above liking the idea of it. And, actually, it would solve one of the more serious problems in his life: he was a terrible
