Driver's Seat by Karla Doyle

Author:Karla Doyle [Doyle, Karla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Karla Doyle
Published: 2024-07-16T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Five

CAM

Not flirting with Isabel might be as impossible as not breathing. I know I’m sending her mixed signals. Hell, I’m sending myself mixed signals.

I might think she’s doing the same if she hadn’t looked me in the eye last night and told me she was flirting but didn’t mean anything by it because I’m her brother’s best friend. That’s how she sees me now, as a friend. A guy she can safely flirt or joke around with, knowing nothing’s going to come of it. Nothing is at stake. I’m no longer the man in her happily ever after scrapbook.

Except…if I’m her buddy, and she’s not interested in more, why’d she get so pissed off about me working to end to her after-hours hangouts? A beautiful, sexy, funny woman shouldn’t be spending her off-hours in an automotive shop. There have to be a dozen other things she could be doing. If it’s the lack of transportation that’s stopping her, I have the fix.

“Oh wow, it’s like time stood still while I was gone. This is exactly how I remember it looking,” she says as I turn off the busy, north-south street onto a narrow one that winds through what everyone to as old heights, even though the neighborhood isn’t that old or high. “How long have you lived in this part of town?”

“Five years. I bought an estate sale property that’d been on the market for a long time. It’s a tiny two bedroom and needs a lot of updating. But the detached garage is solid, heated, and big enough that I had room to install the old drive-on rack from the shop when we replaced it, and I can still park two vehicles comfortably.”

“Ah…there it is. The true selling point.” The smile on her face when I glance over nearly makes me jump the curb. “Why do you need old shop equipment in your home garage?”

“Because passion projects aren’t short term.”

Her soft sigh floats on the warm air coming through my truck’s open windows. “A lot of women dream of finding a man who will feel and talk about them the way you do about your vehicles.”

“And you’re one of them.” I laugh when she reaches across to punch my arm. “Don’t tell me you’re denying it. I’ve seen the scrapbook.”

She covers her face with her hands. “You remember that thing?”

“How could I forget? You showed it to me every chance you got.”

“What a maniac I was.” She shakes her head, the breeze from the open window making the ends of her shiny auburn hair dance. “But you were always really nice to me. Which only encouraged me, you realize,” she says, following it with one of those exaggerated evil laughs, just like her younger self used to make.

“Not going to lie, when you hit twelve years old and were still adding stuff to the scrapbook, I started to get seriously concerned.” I grin at her while making the last turn toward my house. “Like, restraining order concerned.”

“You’re not wrong, I was a little obsessed.

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