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  “Catch me at lunch.” The last thing he wanted to do was reveal his less than stellar weekend to the entire garage, which consisted of three other mechanics who all looked more than eager to hear about his date too.

  “Come on, J.T. Just give it up, man, and tell us if you finally got some on Friday night or not,” Coop bellowed across the busy garage.

  “Yeah, come on, J.T., it’s been six months since your last date, man. Any longer and you won’t know how to use it anymore,” Hank Dodge added roughly, the ex-military mechanic offering his unsolicited opinion from under the lifted car he was working on.

  Shane Mitchell, the very tall, younger newbie mechanic, couldn’t help but add his two cents worth. “From what I heard, the dude never knew how to use it in the first place.”

  Not to be left out, Tom Melinski, the only married mechanic, chimed in, almost as if he were taking Josh’s side. “Give the guy a break. With Josh’s looks, it’s gotta be hard to snag a woman.”

  Josh gritted his back teeth together. It was the usual Monday morning crap like it had been for the last ten years; working in the same dingy, cold garage, inhaling exhaust and oil fumes, while all the guys dished out a ton of bull.

  “Obviously you guys didn’t get any if you need to hear about my weekend,” he threw back, feeling ornery.

  He was answered with the usual chorus of denial and boasts from all the guys about how sex-filled their weekends were, while he diligently ignored them and helped himself to coffee over in the corner. He thought they were finally over digging into his weekend. But as usual, his buddy Cooper was unable to help himself.

  “Come on, J.T.—just put us out of our misery and tell us if you got some on Friday night,” Coop pleaded again, laughing along with the rest of the guys.

  Josh finished loading his coffee with a ton of sugar and cream and turned to blast all the guys again. “Hold your horses, you bunch of asses. All right, do ya want me to give it to you straight up or with all the details?”

  ****

  Amber jumped at the rough sound of Josh Craig’s voice as it boomed loudly through the murky, dirty auto repair garage. She’d obviously timed her visit at the most embarrassing moment possible. It sounded like all the men were waiting with baited breath to hear the sex-related details of the man’s wild weekend.

  Lucky me.

  She squirmed inwardly, not sure what to do. Clearly, since he’d already seen her, there was no turning back. So she resolutely planted her bland courtroom smile on her face, walked into the busy garage, and hoped for the best. At the same time, she cautiously sidestepped around a red-tiered toolbox and gingerly stepped, with her expensive Furla pumps, over numerous power cords and air hoses strewn across her path.

  “Details about your Friday night?” she questioned. “Well, I guess that depends on whether your date was short and sweet or long and sour?” She walked further into the building, noting that Josh was actually red faced, while the rest of the blue-uniformed men laughed at her smart comment.

  “Hey, Amber.” He grinned sheepishly at her as she approached. “What brings you in here this morning?”

  “Well, besides getting an instant replay on your weekend activities,” she teased, smiling helplessly since he looked so adorably humiliated, “I need my car fixed. Something is wrong with the front end. It’s making a loud clunking noise when I turn to the right.”

  She watched as he grabbed another shop towel and wiped his still greasy hands. “What kind of car?”

  “It’s a Mercedes 320 C class.”

  “I’m not sure, but I’m thinking that sounds like a tie rod that may need some work, or maybe a ball joint.”

  She nodded and listened intently to his diagnosis. “Do you have time to work on it today?”

  “Yeah, sure. We can probably get to it after lunch.” He walked over to a messy service desk heaped high with rumpled paperwork and thick, heavy-looking auto parts books. Behind the counter were various haphazardly filled shelves containing car parts, more paperwork, and an old chipped coffee mug full of pens, along with the typical pro-hockey girly cheerleader calendar. He turned the appointment ledger around and glanced down the column for Monday. “No problem, I can even do it myself this afternoon. You got a way to get to work?”

  Oddly enough, as he turned to look at her, she found herself holding her breath while experiencing a wild, x-rated burn through her whole body. At the same time, a hot, sweaty, tingly feeling shot down her spine—which was totally the most bizarre reaction to have.

  Me and J.T. Craig?

  The man was already covered in dirt and grime at eight in the morning and looked like he’d had one too many last night, but the feelings were there all the same. And she couldn’t deny that he sort of looked hot and sexy this morning, despite the fact he hadn’t shaved and was wearing his name stitched on his grease-streaked uniform shirt.

  “Amber?”

  “Oh—a ride to work? Yes, my assistant Brook is outside waiting for me,” she blurted out, mentally shaking herself.

  “Great. It’ll be ready for you by five tonight. If it’s anything more than what I told you, I’ll call you at work and clue you in. And I’ll send the bill to your office, if that’s okay? So we’re cool?”

  She swallowed hard and tried to stay focused on the man’s words, but for the life of her she was having a devil of a time, since all she could think about was how incredibly tall he seemed and how sexy his big, brawny neck and shoulders looked.

  “Cool, then…right, send the bill to my office and I’ll see you at five o’clock,” she echoed stiffly, handing him the keys while schooling her features. She stood for a moment like a wooden statue, then finally ordered herself to turn and walk out, mechanically pulling open the service door. After she’d cleared it, she released a long-held breath from her lungs and at the same time told herself to grow up. Josh Craig was Marc and Stacy’s mechanic friend, and she’d spent the last year oblivious to his presence.

  But if that was the case, why was she suddenly salivating over the man?

  Because I’m sex starved.

  Because I’m tired of the same old dating routine.

  Because he always gives me that deprived caveman look, the same one I’ve been ignoring for the past year, and now it’s starting to grow on me.

  She pulled open the car door of her assistant’s green Ford Focus and slid into the passenger seat, willing the unexplained and downright scary feelings to evaporate as fast as they came.

  I seriously need to find a boyfriend, and quick.

  “Everything set?” Brook asked, starting the car engine before she pulled out of the parking lot of Fred’s Auto Repair.

  She glanced over at her younger, red-haired, fashionable secretary and was tempted to shout, Hell no! I’ve just had some kind of weird sex fantasy about some grubby hungover mechanic. But instead she clamped her mouth shut on the subject of J.T. Craig and just murmured “yes” under her breath.

  While they drove through the leafless tree-lined streets leading to her law firm, as she toted her things inside her brick office building, and still yet as she pretended to look over her first case of the day, the same thought replayed in her mind: how Josh Craig had looked so sexy and intriguing this morning.

  It was positively weird. Creepy. Scary.

  I’m totally losing it. All due to the fact that her date on Friday night had left a bad taste in her mouth, at least where polished, fast-track, ambitious business-types were concerned. Her ill-fated, two-timing date had finally opened her eyes to the possibility she would never find a man to fall in love with, marry, and have a family together. Not on this planet, anyway.

  She pushed away the case file in front of her and instead turned in her cream-colored leather desk chair. She stared absentmindedly out her law office window, not really seeing any of the blustery November side street view. With her personal office situated towards the back of the building, she had exclusive viewing rights to the always serene side street, which o
n busy work days only managed a few cars passing and the occasional foot traffic—unlike the front of the building, located on one of Cedar Point’s busy main streets. Yet this morning she found herself easily distracted by the quiet, snow-flurried view as she pondered not only her recent dead-end dates, but her birthday coming up in just a few months. Thirty-one. Didn’t I just turn twenty-five? Hadn’t she promised herself back then she’d be madly in love, married to a nice, dependable guy, with an adorable baby on the way by the time she was thirty?

  Not that my single status is from lack of trying.

  Painfully, she conceded to having already singlehandedly scoured the Detroit suburb of Cedar Point, Michigan for every unmarried, successful, business-minded male who was available. The dismal results of her potential husband search? She couldn’t come up with one guy who could commit to anything more than coffee or drinks after work. Or if I’m lucky enough, dinner. They were the kind of men she met with the help of friends or through work—lawyers, bankers, investment brokers, all handpicked and meeting the criteria of her ideal husband: fast-track overachiever, financially secure, model citizen, appropriate background and education. Her dates easily met her expectations. Only she hadn’t factored in one important attribute: an interest to get married. Forget about silly relationships or getting involved and committed—these guys were all about themselves. At least the ones she kept going out with, who left her feeling decisively cold towards any man in a three-piece suit.

  So what was she supposed to do now? She’d already passed her projected timetable, and besides that, she wanted what other women seemed able to achieve—a relationship with a man. How hard is that? She was educated, smart, resourceful, but couldn’t seem to figure out how to find an honest, dependable, lets-be-friends-and-lovers kind of man, who ultimately wanted what she did—love, marriage, and babies. Hopefully in that particular order.

  It was no secret that ever since her childhood, the quaint, old-fashioned idea of falling in love, marriage, then finally babies had been planted in her stubborn head. No doubt due to the fact her childhood consisted of five foster homes, which created an unstable home life until she turned eighteen and set off for college. Still, the desires and longings were there all the same, even after all these years, for what she’d never had as young girl: a permanent life, a family to love, a stable home to share with a dependable, successful man who loved her. Am I asking for too much?

  She sighed heavily and watched a pair of cardinals perched in one of the birch trees outside her office window. Naive. That was it. She was being totally naive to believe there was still a man left on this planet who’d want a traditional marriage and family life like she did. Not that she had anything against being a working woman. Granted, she loved her profession as a defense attorney, but after countless years of defending the same old criminals, bad guys, and not-so-reputable business professionals, she seriously found herself wanting to turn her briefcase in for a diaper bag.

  She turned away from the window and the few snowflakes filtering down and reluctantly pulled the case file back towards her, trying in vain to concentrate on the client’s information as a sudden flash of Josh Craig replayed in her mind. It was a treasonous image of him leaning on the bar at The Brick Station Friday night, looking definitely hot, hunky, and even somewhat dependable.

  Come on. Mr. Right? Never in a million years.

  Although she had to admit—again—how sexy he looked all cleaned up in that black suit coat, white shirt, and those faded jeans that fit him so well. She also couldn’t complain about how he’d taken the time to shave and had his always unruly black hair trimmed and combed, which was kinda sweet and adorable when she thought about it.

  Stop it right now! The man is just bad news and definitely not in the running for husband material. Get real. The guy could never support a family, since he can barely take care of himself from day to day.

  “Good lord, was your date that good or that bad last weekend?” Stacy proclaimed, walking into the modern and stylishly decorated law office, while at the same time observing her best friend’s odd expression.

  Amber pushed away her very private, sexy-scary thoughts of Josh Craig and instead glanced up from her legal brief to see Stacy Haines. Cute, blonde, and perky, this morning the woman was dressed in a smart tailored gray vest and crisp white shirt, along with matching flare-legged trousers, and looked more like a lawyer than an interior designer.

  “Please don’t ask. Next question.” She redirected the topic and closed the case file with a snap before pouring two aromatic coffees from the expensive fine china set her assistant had placed on her desk earlier. A little perk that Brook provided every morning.

  Stacy laughed a married woman’s been-there-done-that giggle, tossed her coat onto one of the beige leather client chairs, and perched herself on Amber’s glass-topped desk before she accepted a delicate china cup of steaming French Roast. “Okay, next question. What did Josh’s date look like?”

  Amber shifted uneasily in her comfortable, high-backed chair. “Josh Craig? How did you know I ran into him on Friday night?”

  “He was at the house yesterday watching the football game with Marc, and he mentioned that he ran into you at The Brick Station,” Stacy relayed, swinging one leg back and forth as she did.

  She raised a brow in query. “Did he say anything about my date?”

  “Nope, and he didn’t say anything about his either, even though I poked and prodded him every chance I got,” Stacy admitted with a wide, gleaming grin. “Now it’s time for details, woman. I need the 411 on his date so Marc and I’ll have something to talk about at dinner tonight.”

  “What makes you think I paid attention to him and his date?’

  “Come on, Amber, you’re female. I know you did.”

  She smiled reluctantly. “Oh, all right, I was sort of watching them across the dining room when my date and I finally got around to having dinner. But remember, you didn’t hear it from me.”

  Her BFF dramatically crossed her hand over her heart. “I swear never to reveal my source.”

  Pinned down, Amber straightened the pens lying on her desk into a uniformed line before picking up her cup of coffee, reluctant, but still hopelessly giving in. “Okay…well, she was pretty in a blonde cheerleader kind of way, bouncy, very happy, had a fondness for gum, and could talk nonstop right through their entire dinner and while downing one too many ‘Sex on the Beach’ cocktails.”

  Stacy’s ever-present smile fell from her face. “Oh, no wonder the man didn’t want to talk about it.” Genuine sympathy echoed through her soft voice. “The poor man—it’s been months since he went out with anyone, and that’s all he could come up with? And he’s such a nice guy too: sweet, hardworking, cute. He definitely has lots of potential with the right woman. I just don’t understand why he can’t find someone nice to date. Obviously he’s been going out with the wrong kind of female. He needs someone a little more mature and grounded, yet spontaneous and fun, who would be willing to overlook his gruff exterior or at least be willing to polish him a little…someone like you.”

  Amber sputtered on her mouthful of French Roast and clanked her silver-banded china cup back onto the matching saucer. Josh Craig? What is it with that guy? “Earth to Stacy! I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Josh Craig and I are so incompatible it’s like we’re completely different species. I doubt we could even mate and reproduce.”

  Stacy responded with her usual soft, girly laugh. “That’s good, Amber, I’ll have to remember to tell that one to Marc,” she quipped, taking a sip of her own coffee. “But seriously, what’s wrong with the man?”

  She quirked a delicate brow at her friend. “How much time do you have?”

  Stacy grimaced back. “Can you tell me you’ve met anyone better in the last year?”

  She shrugged; her friend made a good point. “No, I guess not.” She couldn’t lie, especially since Stacy already knew all the depressing details of her dating life. “But that
doesn’t mean I’m ready to take on someone like Josh Craig.”

  Brook Spencer poked her head in the door, momentarily stopping the conversation. “You finally met someone? Like someone normal?” she blurted out breathlessly, her crystal blue eyes wide with amazement. “Sorry for the interruption, but I couldn’t help but overhear from my desk when you mentioned a man. Just please tell me this guy doesn’t play racquetball or have a fake tan like the last two dozen men you’ve gone out with.”

  She made a face at her nosy assistant. “Could you make some more coffee, please?”

  Brook rolled her eyes in reply before she disappeared out the door.

  “So come on—tell me one bad thing about the guy,” Stacy challenged, smiling over the flighty assistant’s comments.

  Amber tilted her head and didn’t even have to think twice. “The man is ambivalent to the world going on around him, has no ambition whatsoever, continually has his butt parked on a barstool at Hugo’s, always smells like motor oil, and just this morning when I dropped my car off to be repaired, I caught him boasting to all the guys about his hot date. Granted, he looked nice the other night, almost civilized with his hair cut and clean clothes on, but this morning it was right back to bleary eyed, scruffy, with his clothes already greased up by eight a.m.”

  “Really, don’t hold anything back,” Stacy mocked, crossing her arms in front of herself. “Did I ever tell you I hate it when you go all lawyer on me?”

  Amber conceded with a shrug. “All right, maybe that was too rough. I admit the guy is really nice, funny, and actually looked kind of good Friday night, but other than that I can’t see any redeeming qualities in him.”

  Stacy eyed her knowingly. “Is that so?” she baited, looking way too smug. “Apparently you haven’t been looking hard enough. Or maybe you haven’t been looking in his direction at all.”

  She quirked a brow in annoyance at her well-meaning friend. “As of eight this morning, the guy is my mechanic. That’s the extent of our relationship, and I’d like to keep it that way, thank you.”