Chapter 7
Mia
I feel like I am doggie paddling against Niagara Falls. The pull of attraction coming off of Garrett makes me want to hop on his lap and tell him to show me everything. The wine is making my head fuzzy. I have hardly eaten anything today and the wine is going straight to my head. I resolve not to drink anymore and start in on my meal.
“Wow. This is excellent,” I tell him and mean every word of it. It isn’t fancy, but the seasoning is just right, and it is cooked to perfection. “Is cooking a mechanic thing too?” I let out a giggle and try not to, which makes me giggle more. I really shouldn’t have had wine before dinner.
He looks at me with wry amusement. “It’s more of an eating thing. I like to eat good food, and I don’t like to eat out all the time. Hence, I’ve learned to cook.”
“That makes total sense,” I say, trying to be serious.
“Are you drunk, Mia? Off one glass of wine?”
“No, not drunk. I just can’t feel my feet, but everything else feels very warm and fuzzy. And I do mean everything.” I give him a wink as I grab my glass and frown into it. Apparently, I had finished it without realizing.
“I think you’ve had enough of that,” he says with a short bark of laughter and takes the glass from me. He gets up from the table and returns a moment later with a tall glass of water. “So, you mentioned graduating earlier today. What are you studying?”
I take a drink of water and a bite of food, trying to make my mind function. I think I should probably be embarrassed, but I feel far too relaxed to put in the effort. Finally, I answer, “Business. I’ll have my master’s in a month, and if I’m lucky, get an internship. I really like the advertising, sales, and marketing side of things. I’m not as much into the numbers aspect of it. My accounting classes were painful.” I realize I am babbling. I take a few more bites so my mouth is occupied with something else.
“How old are you, Ms. Andrews?”
“Mia,” I remind him. “I’m almost 29. Got a bit of a late start on the whole college thing.” I don’t tell him why, though. He doesn’t need to know that. Nobody, not even my best friend, Cara, knows that. “What about you?”
“30, last month. Do you work while you are going to school,” he asks and looks genuinely interested. I don’t know why I find myself hoping that he is.
“Yeah, I’m the weekend manager for the Ladies’ Department at Dillard’s. It’s not the greatest, but it pays the bills.” I pause and then add, “Most of the time. Lately, I’ve been adding in dinners with strange men to make a little extra here and there.”
That gets a short laugh and I give him a smile. I’m surprised how comfortable I find him. The chicken, vegetables, and rice are soaking up some of the alcohol from the wine, and my head is clearer. I thought it was the wine that was making me warm and fuzzy. I’m beginning to think it might be more Garrett than the wine. If that’s the case, I’m in big trouble.
Dinner continues with idle chit-chat, mainly me talking about classes, work, and answering his general questions with general answers. It is an easy conversation on safe topics. I decline another glass of wine after our plates are clean. “I’ve got to be going soon. Let me help you clear up, though.”
The conversation has wound down in the last couple of minutes, and I don’t know what to do. Dinner is over. I have held up my part of the bargain. Technically, doing the dishes isn’t part of it, but it is polite. Truth be told, I don’t want to leave.
I leave my heels under the table. My head is clearer, but I have almost broken my neck twice already. No need to tempt fate further. I rinse, and he puts things in the dishwasher. He says to leave the wok for later.
“I’d be happy to show you the cars,” Garrett offers and it seems that maybe he isn’t in too big of a hurry for me to leave either.
“I’d like that. I will try to be properly impressed by your collection, but I warn you, I know nothing about cars.” I hope I don’t sound too eager. Now that the time to leave is here, I find that I am desperate to find some reason to stay.
“That, Ms. Andrews, is obvious from the condition of your car. Did you know that you are actually supposed to change the oil from time to time?”
Of course I knew that I was supposed to change the oil. I just didn’t have the money to spare on it. “It’s Mia and I give it gas, isn’t that enough?” I quip, hoping he won’t make me admit why I let it get in such bad shape.
“As long as you have kept the blinker fluid topped off, it will be salvageable.” He looks at me over his shoulder as he leads the way down the stairs.
I roll my eyes. As car-illiterate as I am, I know there is no such thing as blinker fluid. “Oh, of course, and I am always sure to top off the headlight juice too.”
That gets me another one of those deep chuckles that make me all warm and tingly. I love making him laugh. All of those razor edges soften just a little when he does.
His ‘collection’ is housed in a sprawling open garage that extends well beyond the dimensions of the house above. The painted concrete floor is laid out in a classic checkerboard and parked in a neat row are a dozen polished sexy muscle cars and 3 motorcycles. I glance over in the corner where the actual shop is located and cringe. My Camry is sitting there looking like an audacious weed in a flower bed.
I turn my eyes away and back go back to admiring the gleaming row of sleek steel machines. I recognize a Mustang, a Corvette, and a Camaro. The others all look powerful, fast, and classic, but their makes and models are a mystery to me. They make me think of the pictures in the office that morning, and I suddenly understand why beautiful women would lay half-naked on the hood and have their picture taken. These machines exude raw power. I know that if I were to slide behind the wheel and feel all those horses at my fingertips, my motor would be running too.
“Wow. They’re beautiful,” I say and lightly run my hand over the hood of the closest one. I’m amazed at how drawn I am to this machine. I’m gripped with a serious longing to drive it. “Can we take it out for a drive?”
Garrett gives me a broad, heart-stopping smile. “Not tonight, I’m afraid. It takes a bit of shifting to get this one out and driving one of these is most fun during the daytime. But, do you really want to?”
“Oh yes,” I sigh the words. “I really want to.”
I turn reluctantly away from the car, and suddenly, he’s there. His arm draws me up to him, and I automatically tip my face up to receive the kiss that I know instinctively is coming. His mouth is hot and hard and absolutely delicious. I open my lips and tentatively explore with my tongue. His tongue meets mine. I moan as we rocket past tentative and go straight for passion. I suck his lip and he pulls me tighter, crushing me to him. Finally, we break apart, both breathing fast and look at each other.
“Stay,” he says roughly. “Stay and submit to me tonight. I’ll fix your car for free.”
I try to get my heart rate under control. I want nothing more than to let him do whatever he wants with me. Submit has me scared though. Where did that come from? Fixing my car for sex has another connotation with it as well. Dinner for a discount is one thing. Sex for free car repairs can’t be described as anything other than prostitution.
“Look, Garrett,” I stammer and try to make my voice sound normal, “I don’t do one night stands and I definitely don’t trade my body for car repairs. Sorry, if I gave you that impression. I think I had better go.”
He doesn’t try to stop me as I walk past him, but I only get two steps when his voice makes me stop in my tracks, “Stay because you want to. Stay because you know that if you leave tonight, you’ll never stop thinking about what you walked away from.”
I stand frozen because he’s right. I want to know. My body is trembling, and my mind is a jumble. I don’t move when I feel him behind me. His mouth is whispering softly against my neck.
“Stay.” His breath is hot against the sensitive skin behind my ear.
My stomach flips, my pussy is wet and throbbing, and I hear myself answer, “Yes.”
Yep, I think dimly, definitely big trouble.