Page 13 of Down & Dirty (Holden Cove #1)

CHAPTER 13

CORY

Bruce: The lack of headlines would normally unnerve me, but considering everything, I’ll take it as a good sign my Google Alert has been quiet on you.

Cory: Glad to hear it.

Bruce: Really? Surprised to hear you, of all people, say that.

Cory: Letting the dust settle, that’s all.

Bruce: You are still planning to unveil your wholesome girlfriend eventually, right? We needed to clean up your reputation, not lose it altogether.

Cory: Yes. We’re getting there.

Bruce: Get there faster.

Cory: The curiosity about my absence is just as good.

Bruce: Not to Harmsch it’s not.

I ’d been sitting on a stool at my kitchen bar trying to remember the last time a woman had cooked for me—or I’d cooked for her. And I couldn’t picture it. It might have been Cass. But the possibility that it had been that long ago was depressing, so I shoved the idea from my mind and focused on appreciating the view before me.

And what a view it was.

Skylar was in a short sundress the color of the goldenrod that used to line our driveway in Maine every summer. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun—all but a single section that had slipped loose at the base of her neck. It hung down between her shoulders, swishing back and forth as she moved around my kitchen like some sort of lure, dancing against her skin, just begging to be brushed aside and replaced with a set of warm lips...

Whoa. Where the hell did that come from?

I’d obviously gotten more used to Sky’s physical presence the last few weeks. Between our dinner dates and the way we interacted more freely at the office, things had warmed up considerably between us. But for the most part, I’d managed to keep my head out of the gutter.

For the most part —you can’t blame a guy for indulging in a few errant thoughts when a woman was as beautiful as Sky, and shaped like she was molded from your every fucking fantasy.

But when she’d touched my arm at the garage that morning, it was like the air had shifted. It wasn’t like anything I’d felt before, and it caught me off guard. And then when she offered to come here, that sensation only grew stronger. I realized just being around her, no show to put on, sounded fucking amazing. These were not developments I’d anticipated when we started all this, but I didn’t hate them. Far from it .

“Do you have any spices? I forgot my oregano.”

I slid off the stool, moving a bit more gingerly after my fall on the course today. I’d done plenty of stretching and taken some pain meds before Sky came over, hoping to conceal how much my back had tightened up.

“Do I have spices? What kind of home-ec drop out do you take me for?”

Sky’s laughter pinged off the bare walls. “As if you ever cook in this kitchen. I bet the local delivery joints have you on a schedule.”

I pulled open the drawer I kept all my spices in, waving a hand Vanna-White-style over the numerous tiny bottles. I flashed her an arrogant grin as she rolled her eyes.

“The only thing I get delivered is Thai food. And that’s only because I’ve never figured out how to keep those damn noodles from sticking together.”

Sky grabbed the oregano and shoved the drawer closed with her hip. “I don’t believe you. Mr. Flash and Fancy getting his hands dirty on chop meat is just not an image I can conjure.”

I leaned my shoulder into the fridge to watch as she did just that, sprinkling the bowl of meat on the counter with the herbs and breadcrumbs she’d brought and then combining it all with her hands.

She hadn’t told me what she was making, but when she showed up with fixings for spaghetti and meatballs, I nearly fell over. I hadn’t had homemade Italian in years, and knowing her mom was one hundred percent gave me high hopes for the masterpiece I was about to enjoy.

Truthfully, she could have brought over stuff for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and I’d have been happy.

When she cracked two eggs and dropped them into the mixture I reached for the shells and tossed them in the trash.

“I might not have your skills, sweetheart, but I try.” She glanced up at me, amused. “I’d even try for you sometime, if we decide to do this again. ”

It was a long shot. I was half expecting her to get pissed at me partway through dinner and leave before we’d finished. Although, maybe that wasn’t giving either of us enough credit. Things had smoothed out considerably, and this evening was a perfect example of that. Maybe we were becoming friends...

“I think I’ll stick with take-out,” she tossed back as she bent to put the sheet of meatballs in the oven. “Food poisoning isn’t how I see myself going out.”

“Suit yourself. If you don’t want to sample my delicacies, that’s your loss.”

Sky turned back to me with rounded eyes, her mouth hanging open in a wide smile. “I’m a lady, sir. I’ll be keeping your delicacies well away from my mouth.”

The subtle charge of the room changed. It was a joke, and a bad one. But the way Skylar held my gaze for a second longer set off an alarm in my gut. A low warning of ignition. There weren’t supposed to be any sparks between us, but if we kept up this kind of shit, there might be.

Because as much as we were talking about her mouth on me, suddenly the only thing in my head was my mouth on her. On all of her. Every goddamn inch of perfect soft skin.

I swallowed, shaking my head as I reached for the bottle of wine I’d pulled out. I needed to do something with my hands.

Clearing my throat, “You said red, so I hope a malbec will do?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Sky brushed the hair from her face, before she began cleaning up, swiping the sponge across the counter.

“I got that,” I said, nudging her out of the way, and taking it from her hand. “Cooks don’t clean.”

“Oh, okay.” She seemed surprised, but then again, I guess in her house, Micah wasn’t likely to be much of a help.

“Here,” I said, offering her a glass of wine. “Relax while I take care of this.”

Sky settled into my spot at the bar, taking a quick sip of wine. “This is good.” She reached for the bottle and snapped a photo of the label. “Should I expect it to cost the equivalent of my car payment?”

I genuinely didn’t remember where I’d gotten that bottle, let alone how much it cost. But the comment reminded me why Sky was here in the first place. And that she regarded my lifestyle as foolishly excessive, if not worse.

“I don’t really have extravagant tastes, Sky. Look around. This place is no Taj Mahal.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the sparse living room. “It could certainly use some warming up. Maybe a few spider plants.”

“So, you don’t think I’m too self-centered to neglect house plants? I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You would,” she muttered under her breath before taking another drink.

I leaned heavily into my hands, my face level with hers across the counter. “This place might lack a homey feel. I’ll give you that. But I’m not here often. Maybe it would benefit from a woman’s touch.” I winked at her, and her cheeks tinged pink in the most adorable way. I had never seen a woman so full of sass, and yet so easy to blush.

“If that’s you asking for help, I’m here to support this first step in your recovery,” she laughed, spinning on the stool and hopping down. “Some throw pillows on the couch. A few coffee table books. You could turn this place around in no time.”

“Motocross manager, actress, mom, and now interior decorator. Is there anything you can’t do?”

Sky’s smile slipped. “There’s plenty.”

“Such as?” I wasn’t trying to pry, but I was curious about her. Growing more curious by the day. I wasn’t sure I’d ever met anyone like Sky before, and I didn’t like seeing the way the light in her eyes had just dimmed.

“Well,” she sighed, landing heavily on my couch. “I can’t do a cartwheel, and that has always really bothered me.”

Grabbing my wine off the counter I went into the living room to join her. “I’m being serious. You’re certainly more than capable of running your brother’s show, but sometimes I get the sense it’s not your dream job.”

“I don’t mind helping Ronnie,” she said before her expression fell, a wistful sort of longing on her face.

“There’s a pretty massive gap between ‘don’t mind’ and actual passion.”

Sky raised her eyes to meet mine, the bright, clear blue piercing right through me. “Is that what drives you? Passion?”

“Of course. Riding is the one thing I was ever good at. I never would have stayed in it this long if I wasn’t where I belonged.”

The words sounded right, but the way my chest felt heavy after I said them warned that their truth was fading. Racing had been the only thing I was good at, but I didn’t do it out of passion anymore. I did it because I wasn’t sure what other options I had. I’d turned to motocross when I had nothing left to lose because everything I cared about had been ripped away from me. Chasing the adrenaline high had been the only way to feel...anything in an otherwise dark and hollow time. But after a decade, that rush was almost impossible to find, and the money was all I seemed to be chasing.

The light filtering through her wine glass splintered into a rainbow that fanned out across her thigh. She was staring at it, spinning the glass and making the rainbow dance.

“Well, I guess you’re luckier than me. I’ve never really felt like that.”

I’d always told myself that the relationships I’d had the last ten years had been fine. They’d been easy and mutually beneficial. But hearing the sadness in Sky’s voice, and feeling my heart start to pound with some unquenchable urge to take it away, made me realize how wrong I’d been. Me and those women had gotten along fine, sure. But we’d never been real with each other. Not once. And for the first time, that felt like a mistake. Like a loss.

I gave her a slanted smile. “It’s a good thing you’re still cane- free and sporting not a single grey hair,” I said, leaning forward as if to look for some.

Jerking away from me she ran a hand over her head, her scowl fierce. It was a relief to see the spark of fire back in her eyes. “I’m not too old, I get it. Stop looking at my hair like that.”

“I was just checking,” I laughed, settling back and drinking my wine. “So, you’ve got time to figure it out.”

She held my gaze, her cheeks hollowing as she rolled a mouthful of wine around her tongue before swallowing. “What about you? What comes next?”

Ouch . Serves me right for leading us into ‘real conversation’ territory. This woman only ever went for the jugular.

I shoved off the couch, heading to the kitchen as if I was going to check on the sauce or the meatballs or something. Not knowing what to do once I got in there, I topped up my nearly full wine glass just to buy some time.

“I’ve still got plenty of motos left in me.” I shrugged at her over the bar. “No need to worry about that yet.”

The silence that stretched between us was almost as unbearable as if she’d argued with me, pointing out all the ways I was already past my prime and risking more than anyone should in a career that was never going to last anyway.

I was staring down into my wine glass when she slipped silently into the kitchen. She slid behind me to get to the stove, her hand skating across my lower back, as if she needed to move me out of her way. It was innocuous, harmless. But the subtle touch quelled the riot pressing against my ribs just enough to drag in a breath.

“Good thing you never crashed on your head,” she said, her eyes raising to meet mine with a knowing glint. “You need that pretty face to keep you and your shoe collection flush.”

That was the thing about Sky. She pushed and poked and pissed me off plenty. But she also seemed to get it when I didn’t want to spar anymore. When she’d hit a nerve, but knew not to push it further. And no one offered a casual out in a conversation quite like this woman.

It was on the list of things I was starting to dig about her. A list that was growing by the day.

Especially since she had no idea how on-the-mark her comment had been.

But I wasn’t about to let my dread of the future derail a chance to enjoy the stunningly gorgeous woman in front of me.

“My shoe collection is a hazard of the job, sweetheart. I have a reputation to uphold, remember?” My remark elicited the eye roll I was expecting before she turned to the oven to actually check the food I’d pretended to.

“So pretty, yet so shallow. What a shame.”

A laugh huffed out of me as I dodged the hot sheet pan in her hand. “I knew you thought I was pretty. You’re not as good at hiding it as you think.”

As she spun, a section of bangs fell into her face. She tried to move it with a couple of harsh breathes, but they kept landing back in her eyes. I reached out, carefully tucking them behind her ear, the persistent urge to find some excuse to touch her getting the best of me.

Skylar eyed me from the side, the corner of her mouth quirking up. “If I’m so transparent, hot shot, what am I thinking right now?”

I licked my lips, the taste of the red wine lingering as I studied her profile. The tendril of blond hair that had tempted me earlier was dipping just between her shoulder blades and my fingers itched to reach out and wrap it around them.

“That I don’t have real plates for us to eat off.”

Skylar closed her eyes as a laugh burst free. “No. I think you’re overly consumed with appearances and impressing people with surface level accomplishments, not that you’re a frat boy.”

Her comment stung, but not as much as it once would have. And that was in part because I didn’t believe she still felt that way. At least not entirely. Sky wouldn’t be wasting her time cooking for someone she regarded so harshly. But clearly, I still had work to do if I wanted her to see me as much more.

“Okay, so what were you thinking then?”

She stopped turning the meatballs to look my way. “That if you don’t like my mother’s meatball recipe, we might never be able to see each other again.”

Reaching over her head for the plates in the cupboard, I set them on the counter, my grin spreading wide. “Impossible.”

“Because they’re going to be good or because you’d refuse to stop harassing me no matter what?”

I was inclined to tell her both, but instead I grabbed a meatball off the platter and popped it in my mouth before realizing it was still too hot. I sucked at the air to cool it as Sky shook her head with a laugh. Swallowing it down, I licked my fingertips, my eyes locked on hers.

“Impossible because I’ve never met a meatball I didn’t like. I’m a meatball connoisseur.”

She rolled her eyes at me again, but seemed satisfied enough with that answer to let it go, which was good because if she pressed me further, I wasn’t sure how many other lies I could come up with. I just knew I couldn’t tell her the truth; that I knew I’d like the meatballs because they were made by her.