Love Unrehearsed
Page 124
I hadn’t felt so free in such a long time. I kicked water back at him. When he bent for his own handful, I kept kicking and splashing, until he was sufficiently drenched.
Ryan straightened, glared down, and said,
“You’d better run.”
I took off through the rain, running only the length of the neighbor’s yard barefoot in the street before I got tagged and scooped up off the ground.
Ryan was smiling as he carried me down to the corner where the street storm drain was overflowing. The rain was coming down so hard, the water was flooding the street.
“We used to play down here,” Ryan said, walking with me pressed to his chest. “Me and Nick. Ricky Beidler used to live in that house over there. We’d get into all sorts of trouble.”
He set me down in ankle-deep water.
That’s when the serious splashing started.
Water soaked into my bra, trickling down my back.
“That all you got, Christensen?” I kicked, sending a blast of water at him. He laughed, tossed his wet hair back, and grabbed me around the waist, sitting me down on my ass in the water. I squealed again when cold water flooded down my butt crack.
Ryan plopped down, sitting next to me in the stream. “Come here,” he ordered low, snagging me by the armpits to haul me across his lap.
The rain was slowing down but it could have been hailing for all I cared, being in his arms next to the curb in the street, sitting in rushing storm water. Ryan wiped the matted hair off my forehead, tilting his neck down to kiss me.
There was no denying that look of love in his eyes; that gaze that said a million words.
I wrapped my arm over his shoulder, sliding my hand up his wet neck and into the tangles of his hair, feeling his kiss and all its meaning down into my bones.
We were the only two people in the world.
Sitting in the street.
In a small stream.
In the rain.
And just like that, my gorgeous man replaced bad with another slice of great.
It was almost one o’clock the next afternoon when I heard Ryan’s mom, Ellen, huff for the thirty-second time—or was it the thirty-third? I was on my laptop at the kitchen table and Ryan was outside working on his car and ignoring his mother’s desire for him to keep a scheduled feeding time.
I made a silent deal with myself that the next huff would get me moving and sure enough it did.
“Ask him if he’s ready for a sandwich,” Ellen said in a rush, making sure I carried her message out to the garage.
I silently added “Yes, mother” to my
“Sure. No problem.”
I found Ryan, or should I say Ryan’s legs and khaki cargo shorts, which were riding very, very low on his hips and exposing all sorts of tight flesh and happy trails of hair.
He was on his back underneath the front end of his Shelby, and by the streaks of grease on his very sexy, low-riding khaki cargo shorts, I guessed he was changing the oil. The guy had $29 million but was too much of a guy to pay someone to change his oil. God love him and all of his humbleness.
I tapped his foot. “Hey, hot, sexy mechanic. How’s it going under there?” Ryan curled up enough to grin at me. “Going good.”
The sight of him with dirty, grease-stained hands, a smear of it on his plain white cotton V-neck tee and one on his forearm, and some tools in his hands added to his sex appeal.
“You’re looking so delish under there; I might be tempted to have you change my oil, too. What do you think?”
That earned me another smug smile. “I think you need more than your oill changed, ma’am. I’m thinking you’ll need a tune-up and a lube job as well.”
“At a minimum!” I joked. “And a buffin’
and a waxin’ too.”
“Keep up with the dirty innuendos; you’re making me hard.”
“Keep up with the hot, dirty mechanic act and I may just do you out here in the driveway.”
That earned me a few eyebrow waggles.
“Your mom is having a slow meltdown because you haven’t eaten yet today. How long until you’re finished?” There was no way he’d be able to hold a sandwich with all of that motor oill on his hands so no sense making him something to eat until he was cleaned up.
He groaned. “Doesn’t she have anything better to do? I’ll eat when I’m hungry. I’m still full from last night.”
I was just about to give him a comeback when his cell rang. It was sitting on a towel next to an opened bottle of Gatorade.
“Grab that, would ya? Who is it?” I crouched down and picked it up, tilting the screen so I could see it in the bright sun.
Ryan straightened, glared down, and said,
“You’d better run.”
I took off through the rain, running only the length of the neighbor’s yard barefoot in the street before I got tagged and scooped up off the ground.
Ryan was smiling as he carried me down to the corner where the street storm drain was overflowing. The rain was coming down so hard, the water was flooding the street.
“We used to play down here,” Ryan said, walking with me pressed to his chest. “Me and Nick. Ricky Beidler used to live in that house over there. We’d get into all sorts of trouble.”
He set me down in ankle-deep water.
That’s when the serious splashing started.
Water soaked into my bra, trickling down my back.
“That all you got, Christensen?” I kicked, sending a blast of water at him. He laughed, tossed his wet hair back, and grabbed me around the waist, sitting me down on my ass in the water. I squealed again when cold water flooded down my butt crack.
Ryan plopped down, sitting next to me in the stream. “Come here,” he ordered low, snagging me by the armpits to haul me across his lap.
The rain was slowing down but it could have been hailing for all I cared, being in his arms next to the curb in the street, sitting in rushing storm water. Ryan wiped the matted hair off my forehead, tilting his neck down to kiss me.
There was no denying that look of love in his eyes; that gaze that said a million words.
I wrapped my arm over his shoulder, sliding my hand up his wet neck and into the tangles of his hair, feeling his kiss and all its meaning down into my bones.
We were the only two people in the world.
Sitting in the street.
In a small stream.
In the rain.
And just like that, my gorgeous man replaced bad with another slice of great.
It was almost one o’clock the next afternoon when I heard Ryan’s mom, Ellen, huff for the thirty-second time—or was it the thirty-third? I was on my laptop at the kitchen table and Ryan was outside working on his car and ignoring his mother’s desire for him to keep a scheduled feeding time.
I made a silent deal with myself that the next huff would get me moving and sure enough it did.
“Ask him if he’s ready for a sandwich,” Ellen said in a rush, making sure I carried her message out to the garage.
I silently added “Yes, mother” to my
“Sure. No problem.”
I found Ryan, or should I say Ryan’s legs and khaki cargo shorts, which were riding very, very low on his hips and exposing all sorts of tight flesh and happy trails of hair.
He was on his back underneath the front end of his Shelby, and by the streaks of grease on his very sexy, low-riding khaki cargo shorts, I guessed he was changing the oil. The guy had $29 million but was too much of a guy to pay someone to change his oil. God love him and all of his humbleness.
I tapped his foot. “Hey, hot, sexy mechanic. How’s it going under there?” Ryan curled up enough to grin at me. “Going good.”
The sight of him with dirty, grease-stained hands, a smear of it on his plain white cotton V-neck tee and one on his forearm, and some tools in his hands added to his sex appeal.
“You’re looking so delish under there; I might be tempted to have you change my oil, too. What do you think?”
That earned me another smug smile. “I think you need more than your oill changed, ma’am. I’m thinking you’ll need a tune-up and a lube job as well.”
“At a minimum!” I joked. “And a buffin’
and a waxin’ too.”
“Keep up with the dirty innuendos; you’re making me hard.”
“Keep up with the hot, dirty mechanic act and I may just do you out here in the driveway.”
That earned me a few eyebrow waggles.
“Your mom is having a slow meltdown because you haven’t eaten yet today. How long until you’re finished?” There was no way he’d be able to hold a sandwich with all of that motor oill on his hands so no sense making him something to eat until he was cleaned up.
He groaned. “Doesn’t she have anything better to do? I’ll eat when I’m hungry. I’m still full from last night.”
I was just about to give him a comeback when his cell rang. It was sitting on a towel next to an opened bottle of Gatorade.
“Grab that, would ya? Who is it?” I crouched down and picked it up, tilting the screen so I could see it in the bright sun.
