Flawless (Irresistible Attraction) by Grant Cat

Author:Grant, Cat [Grant, Cat]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Riptide Publishing
Published: 2013-04-19T16:00:00+00:00

Gil spent the next few days doing a tune-up on a balky Ferrari Enzo, which kept him busy enough that he didn’t have time to dwell on his date with Steve. Every night there was a new message on his voice mail, and every night he listened, then erased it.

What was he supposed to say? I’m sorry. It was a mistake. Things got out of hand. Or just tell Steve the truth, and brace himself for Steve’s fist slamming into his jaw—

Okay, that probably wouldn’t happen. Steve didn’t seem like the violent type. But the awful, inevitable betrayal in his eyes would hurt bad enough. Gil couldn’t face that—not again.

Friday morning he found a brown paper bag out by the front gate. He thought it was some drunk’s empties until he spied a note taped to the bag: Thanks for letting me stay the other night. Hope this helps. —C

Something heavy bit into his palm as he picked up the bag and peeked inside. Took a minute before he realized it was a fuel pump—a ’60s vintage Fiat fuel pump. He carried it to his car and tried it out. Not a perfect match, but close enough to make it fit. Now if he could only find—

Fuck, no. He wasn’t falling for another of Chas’s ploys. The part was probably stolen anyway. With a huff of disgust, he set the pump on the tool bench, then went back to tuning up the Enzo.

By the time the Enzo’s owner came by to pick her up that evening, Gil was way too tired to cook. So he pocketed his pay, put on his rain jacket, and walked up to Selena’s. It was busier than usual, but Selena found him a table near the window and brought a cup of coffee. He ordered enchiladas and tried to tune out the howling baby two tables over while he stared blankly outside—

And nearly jolted out of his chair when he saw who was coming down the sidewalk. “God, no,” he muttered, but that didn’t keep Chas’s gaze from meeting his—or stop him from entering the restaurant and heading right for his table.

He looked . . . not bad, actually. Freshly shaven, hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. He was wearing clean jeans and a denim jacket—hell, they looked almost new—and carrying another bag under his arm. “Hey,” he said. “I was just going down to your shop.”

Hard to miss his friendly—a little too friendly—tone, or the glance he threw at the empty chair. Hint, hint. “What for?”

“Nice to see you too,” Chas retorted. “Aren’t you gonna ask me to join you?”

“Why should I?”

“Because I’ve got something here you might want to look at.” He held out the bag.

“No, thanks. I already got your other present. Whose car did you take down to the chop shop for this one?”

Chas’s expression crumpled. “I didn’t steal it. Guys at the shelter hooked me up with a job at the salvage yard. Just got in a bunch of old junkers, including a ’63 Monomille.

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