DIRTY THOUGHTS
a Mechanics of Love novel
by Megan Erickson
available now from Avon Impulse
Some things are sexier the second time around
Cal Payton has gruff and
grumbly down to an art...all the better for keeping people away. And it usually
works. Until Jenna Macmillan—his biggest mistake—walks into Payton and Sons mechanic
shop all grown up, looking like sunshine, and inspiring more than a few dirty
thoughts.
Jenna was sure she was
long over the boy she'd once loved with reckless abandon, but one look at the
steel-eyed Cal Payton has her falling apart all over again. Ten years may have
passed, but the pull is stronger than ever...and this Cal is all man.
Cal may have no
intention of letting Jenna in, but she's always been his light, and it's
getting harder to stay all alone in the dark. When a surprise from the past
changes everything, Cal and Jenna must decide if their connection should be
left alone, or if it's exactly what they need for the future of their dreams.
Excerpt: CHAPTER ONE
Cal Payton sighed and
braced himself as the opening guitar riff of “Welcome to the Jungle”
reverberated off the walls of the garage. Sure enough, several bars later, his
brother, Brent, began his off-key rendition, which didn’t sound much different
from his drunken karaoke version.
Which, yes, Cal had heard. More times
than he wanted to.
He growled under his breath. Brent kept
screeching Axl Rose, and if Cal wasn’t stuck on his back under this damn
Subaru, he’d be flinging a wrench at Brent’s head. “Hey!” Cal yelled.
There was a blissful moment of silence. “What?”
Brent’s voice came from somewhere behind him, probably in the bay next to him
at the garage.
“Who sings this song?”
“Are you kidding me?” Brent’s voice was
closer now. “It’s Guns N’ Roses. The legendary Axl Rose.”
“Yeah? Then how ’bout you let him sing it?”
There was a pause. “Fuck you.” His
brother’s footsteps stomped away. Then the radio was turned up, and Brent
started singing even louder.
Cal blew out a breath and tapped the socket
wrench on his forehead, doing his best to tune out Brent’s increasingly loud
voice. Cal vowed to buy earbuds and an iPod before he murdered his brother with
a tire iron.
He turned his attention back to the
exhaust shield he was fixing. The customer had complained of a loud rattle when
his car idled. Sure enough, one of the heat shields covering the exhaust system
under the car was loose. It was an easy fix. Cal used a gear clamp to wrap
around the pipe of the exhaust system to prevent the shield from making noise.
It didn’t necessarily have to be done,
but the Graingers were long-time customers at Payton and Sons Automotive. And
they always sent those flavored popcorn buckets at Christmas. He and Brent
fought over the caramel while their dad got the butter all to himself.
He finished tightening the hose clamp
onto the pipe and then banged around the exhaust system with the side of his
fist. No rattle.
He slid out from under the Subaru and
patted it on the side. He squinted at the clock, seeing it was almost quitting
time. Their dad, who owned half of the shop—Cal and Brent split ownership of
the other 50 percent—had already gone home for the day.
Cal put away the tools he’d used,
purposefully ignoring Brent as he launched into a Pearl Jam song. Cal rubbed
his temple, wiping away the bead of sweat he could feel rolling down his face.
The back room had a small table and a refrigerator, so Cal made his way there
to get a water.
In the summer, they kept the large doors
of the garage open, but the air was thick and humid today. The American flag
outside hung like a limp rag in the still air.
Cal wore coveralls at work and usually
kept them on to protect his skin from hot exhaust pipes and any number of sharp
tools lying around. But as he walked back to the lunchroom, he stripped his
upper body out of the coveralls so the torso and arms of the clothing hung
loose around his legs. Underneath, he wore a tight white T-shirt that still
managed to be marked with grease and black smudges from the work day.
In the back room, he grabbed a bottle of
water from the refrigerator and leaned back against the wall. After unscrewing
the cap, he tilted it back at his lips and chugged half the bottle.
After the Graingers came to pick up their
Subaru, he was free to head home to his house. Alone. That was a new luxury. He
used to live with Brent in an apartment, and it was fine until he realized he
was almost thirty years old and still living with his younger brother. He was
tight with his money, which Brent teased him about, but it’d been a good thing
when he had enough to make the deposit on his small home. It had a garage, so
he could store his bike and work on it when he had free time. Which wasn’t a
lot, but he’d take what he could get. If his father would quit dicking him around
and let him work on motorcycles for customers here, that’d be even better. But
Jack Payton didn’t “want no bikers” around, ignoring the fact that his son rode
a Harley-Davidson Softail.
Cal’s phone vibrated in the leg pocket of
his coveralls. He pulled it out and glanced at the caller ID. It was Max, their
youngest brother. Cal sighed and answered the call. “Yeah?”
“Cal!” Max shouted.
“You called me.”
“What’s going on?”
“Workin’.”
“You’re always working.” Max huffed.
Cal took another sip of water. “That’s
what people do.”
“Hey, I work.”
“You play dodgeball with a bunch of
teenagers.” Cal knew Max did a hell of a lot more than that at his physical
education teaching job at a high school in eastern Pennsylvania, but it was fun
as hell to get him worked up. Cal smiled. One of the first times that day.
“Hey, I had to hand out deodorant and
condoms to those teenagers this year, so don’t give me that shit,” Max said.
“Condoms?”
“Yeah, they’re kinda liberal here,” Max
muttered.
“Huh,” Cal said, scratching his head.
They sure never handed out condoms in school when he was a teenager.
“Anyway,” Max said.
“Yeah, anyway, what’dya need?”
“How do you know I need something?”
“Why else do you call?”
“I want to hear your pleasant voice?”
Cal grunted.
“I just wanted to know if you had any
plans for your birth—ouch!” There was rustling on the other line, some mutters,
and a higher-pitched voice in the background. Then Max spoke again. “Okay, so
Lea punched me because she said I’m doing this wrong.”
Cal smiled. Lea was Max’s fiancée, and
she was a firecracker.
“We wanted to come visit you and take you
out for your birthday. All of us.” Max cleared his throat. “And you can bring a
date too. If you want.”
A date. When was the last time he’d introduced
a woman to his family? Hell, when was the last time he’d had a date? “The five
of us should be fine.”
“So that’s okay? To celebrate? I mean,
you’re turning thirty, old man.”
Cal let the old man comment roll off his
back. “Yeah, sounds good.” He paused. “Thanks.”
Max seemed pleased, chattering on about
his neighborhood and how he was enjoying being off work for the summer. Cal
drank his water and listened to his brother ramble. Max hadn’t always been a
happy kid. Cal had tried his best after their mom left the family shortly after
Max was born. Their dad was pissed and bitter and immersed himself in working
at the garage. So as the oldest brother, Cal scrambled to hold the reins of his
wild brothers.
He hadn’t done such a great job, he
didn’t think. His brothers survived in spite of him, not because of him, he was
sure. Brent was still a little crazy, and it had taken Lea to straighten Max
out in college. Cal tried not to dwell on his failure and instead appreciated
that at least they were all alive and healthy.
It was why he valued his own space so
much now. His alone time. Because he’d been a surrogate father at age six, and
he was fucking over it.
Although, by the time he hung up the
phone with Max and slipped his phone back into his pocket, he had a warm
feeling in his gut that hadn’t been there before his brother had called.
He was flipping the cap of the water in
his fingers and finishing the last of the bottle when Brent poked his head in
the back room. “Hey.”
Cal raised his eyebrows.
“Someone’s asking for you.”
Cal tossed the empty bottle in the trash.
“The Graingers?”
“Nope, they just came and got the Subaru
and left. This is a new customer.”
Cal threw the empty bottle in the
recycling bin, turned off the light to the back room, and followed his brother
out to the garage. “We’re closing soon. Is it an emergency? Are they regulars?”
He pulled a rag out of his pocket and began to wipe his dirty hands. He thought
about washing them first in case this customer wanted to shake hands.
Brent didn’t answer him, didn’t even look
at him over his shoulder.
And that was when a small sliver of
apprehension trickled down his spine. “Brent—”
His brother whirled around and held his
arm out as they walked past a Bronco their dad had been working on. “I think it’s
better if you take this one.”
Cal squinted into the sun and when his
eyes adjusted to the light, her legs were the first thing he saw. And he knew—he
fucking knew—because how many times had he sat in class in high school staring
at those legs in a little skirt, dreaming about when he could get back between
them? It’d been a lot.
His eyes traveled up those bare legs to a
tiny pair of denim shorts, up a tight tank top that showed a copious amount of
cleavage, and then to that face that he’d never, ever forget as long as he
lived.
He never thought he’d see Jenna MacMillan
again. And now, there she was, standing in front of his garage next to a Dodge
Charger, her brunette hair in a wavy mass around her shoulders.
Fuck.
Okay, so admittedly Jenna
had known this was a stupid idea. She’d tried to talk herself out of it the
whole way, muttering to herself as she sat at a stop light. The elderly man in
the car in the lane beside her had been staring at her like she was nuts.
And she was. Totally nuts.
It’d been almost a decade since she’d
seen Cal Payton, and yet one look at those silvery blue eyes and she was shoved
right back to the head-over-heels in love eighteen-year-old girl she’d been.
Cal had been hot in high school, but
damn, had time been good to him. He’d always been a solid guy, never really
hitting that awkward skinny stage some teenage boys went through after a growth
spurt.
And now . . . well . . . Cal looked
downright sinful standing there in the garage. He’d rolled down the top of his
coveralls, revealing a white T-shirt that looked painted on, for God’s sake.
She could see the ridges of his abs, the outline of his pecs. A large smudge on
the sleeve drew her attention to his bulging biceps and muscular, veined
forearms. Did he lift these damn cars all day? Thank God it was hot as Hades
outside already so she could get by with flushed cheeks.
And he was staring at her with those eyes
that hadn’t changed one bit. Cal never cared much for social mores. He looked
people in the eye, and he held it long past comfort. Cal had always needed
that, to be able to measure up who he was dealing with before he ever uttered a
word.
She wondered how she measured up. It’d
been a long time since he’d laid eyes on her, and the last time he had, he’d
been furious.
Well, she was the one who’d come here.
She was the one who needed something. She might as well speak up, even though
what she needed right now was a drink. A stiff one. “Hi, Cal.” She went with a
smile that surely looked a little strained.
He stood with his booted feet shoulder
width apart, and at the sound of her voice, he started a bit. He finally
stopped doing that staring thing as his gaze shifted to the car by her side and
then back to her. “Jenna.”
His voice. Well, crap, how could she have
forgotten about his voice? It was low and silky with a spicy edge, like Mexican
chocolate. It warmed her belly and raised goose bumps on her skin.
She cleared her throat as he began
walking toward her, his gaze teetering between her and the car. Brent was off
to the side, watching them, with his arms crossed over his chest. He winked at
her. She hid her grin with pursed lips and rolled her eyes. He was a
good-looking bastard but irritating as hell. Nice to see some things never
changed. “Hey, Brent.”
“Hey there, Jenna. Looking good.”
Cal whipped his head toward his brother. “Get
back to work.”
Brent gave him a sloppy salute and then
shot her another knowing smirk before turning around and retreating into the
garage bay.
When she faced Cal again, she jolted,
because he was close now, almost in her personal space. His eyes bored into
her. “What’re ya doing here, Jenna?”
His question wasn’t accusatory. It was
conversational, but the intent was in his tone, lying latent until she gave him
reason to really put the screws to her. She didn’t know if he meant, what was
she doing here at his garage, or what was she doing in town? But she went for
the easy question first.
She gestured to the car. “I, uh, I think
the bearings need to be replaced. I know that I could take it anywhere, but . .
.” She didn’t want to tell him it was Dylan’s car, and he was the one who had let
it go so long that she swore the front tires were going to fall off. As much as
her brother loved his car, he was an idiot. An idiot who despised Cal, and she
was pretty sure the feeling was mutual. “I wanted to make sure the job was done
right, and everyone knows you do the best job here.” That part was true. The
Paytons had a great reputation in Tory.
But Cal never let anything go. He
narrowed his eyes and propped his hands on his hips, drawing attention to the
muscles in his arms. “How do you know we still do the best job here if you
haven’t been back in ten years?”
Well, then. Couldn’t he just nod and take
her keys? She held them in her hand, gripping them so tightly that the edge was
digging into her palm. She loosened her grip. “Because when I did live here,
your father was the best, and I know you don’t do anything unless you do it the
best.” Her voice faded. Even though the last time she’d seen Cal, his eyes had
been snapping in anger, at least they’d showed some sort of emotion. This
steady blank gaze was killing her. Not when she knew how his eyes looked when
he smiled, as the skin at the corners crinkled and the silver of his irises
flashed.
She thought now that this had been a
mistake. She’d offered to get the car fixed for her brother while he was out of
town. And while she knew Cal worked with his dad now, she’d still expected to
run into Jack. And even though Jack was a total jerk-face, she would have
rather dealt with him than endure this uncomfortable situation with Cal right
now. “You know, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’ll just—”
He snatched the keys out of her hand.
Right. Out. Of. Her. Hand.
“Hey!” She propped a hand on her hip, but
he wasn’t even looking at her, instead fingering the key ring. “Do you always
steal keys from your customers?”
He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow
at her. There was the smallest hint of a smile, just a tug at the corner of his
lips. “I don’t make that a habit, no.”
“So I’m special, then?” She was flirting.
Was this flirting? Oh God, it was. She was flirting with her high school
boyfriend, the guy who’d taken her virginity, and the guy whose heart she’d
broken when she had to make one of the most difficult decisions of her life.
She’d broken her own heart in the
process.
His gaze dropped, just for a second, and then
snapped back to her face. “Yeah, you’re special.”
He turned around, checking out the car,
while she stood gaping at his back. He’d . . . he’d flirted back, right? Cal
wasn’t really a flirting kind of guy. He said what he wanted and followed
through. But flirting, Cal?
She shook her head. It’d been over ten
years. Surely he’d lived a lot of life during that time she’d been away, going
to college, then grad school, then working in New York. She didn’t want to
think about what that flirting might mean, now that she was back in Tory for
good. Except he didn’t know that.
“So, you think the bearings need to be
replaced?” Cal ran his hand over the hood. From this angle, all she saw was
hard muscle covering broad shoulders, shifting beneath his T-shirt.
She shook herself and spoke up. “Yeah, it’s
making that noise—you know, that growl.”
He nodded.
The only reason she knew was because she’d
spent a lot of weekends and lazy summer afternoons as a teenager, lying in the
grass, getting a tan in her bikini while Cal worked on his car, an old black
Camaro, in his driveway. She’d learned a lot about cars and hadn’t forgotten
all of it. She wondered if he still had that Camaro.
“Want me to inspect it too?” Cal was at
the passenger’s side door now, easing it open.
“What?”
He pointed to the sticker on the
windshield. “I can do it now, if you’d like. You have to get it done by end of
next month.”
She opened her mouth to tell him sure,
but then she’d have to give him the registration and insurance card, and then
he’d know it was Dylan’s car. “No, no, that’s all right.”
He frowned. “Why not?”
“I just . . .”
He opened up the passenger’s side door
and bent inside.
“What are you doing?” She walked around
the car, just as he pulled some papers out of the glove box. She stopped and
fidgeted with her fingers, because he’d know in three . . . two . . .
He bent and tossed the papers back in the
glove box. “I’ll have it for you by end of the day tomorrow.” He started
walking toward the office of the garage.
He had to have seen the name, right? He
had to have seen it. She walked behind him. “Cal, I—”
He stopped and turned. “Do you need a
ride?”
“What?”
“Do you need a ride . . . home, or
wherever you’re going?”
She shook her head. “I’m going to walk
across the street to Delilah’s store. She’ll take me home.”
His gaze flitted to the shop across the
street and then back to Jenna. He nodded. “All right, then.”
She tried again. “Cal—”
“You picking it up or your brother?”
The muscle shift in his jaw was the only
indication that he was bothered by this. “I’m sorry, I should have told you . .
.”
He shook his head. “You don’t owe it to
me to tell me anything. You asked me to fix a car—”
“Yeah, but you and Dylan don’t like each
other—”
That muscle in his jaw ticked again. “Sure,
we don’t like each other, but what? You think I’m going to lose my temper and
bash his car in?”
Uh-oh. “No, I—”
He shook his head, and when he spoke
again, his voice was softer. “You didn’t have to keep it a secret it was his
car. I’m not eighteen anymore. I got more control than I used to.”
She felt like a heel. And a jerk. She
wasn’t the same person she was at eighteen, so she shouldn’t have treated Cal
like he was the hothead he’d been then. “Cal, I’m so sorry. I—”
He waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it,
Sunshine.”
That name—it sent a spark right through
her like a live wire. She hadn’t heard that nickname in so long, she’d almost
forgotten about it, but her body sure hadn’t. It hadn’t forgotten the way Cal
could use that one word to turn her into putty.
He seemed as surprised as she did. His
eyes widened a fraction before he shut down. “Anyway”—his voice was lower now—“we
close tomorrow at six. Appreciate it if you’d pick it up before that.” He
jingled the keys and shot her one more measuring look, and then he disappeared
into the garage office, leaving her standing outside the door, her mind
broiling in confusion.
She should have known Cal Payton could
still knock her off her feet.
About the Author:
Megan Erickson grew up in a family that
averages 5’5” on a good day and started writing to create characters who could
reach the top kitchen shelf.
She’s got a couple of tattoos, has a
thing for gladiators and has been called a crazy cat lady. After working as a
journalist for years, she decided she liked creating her own endings better and
switched back to fiction.
She lives in Pennsylvania with her
husband, two kids and two cats. And no, she still can’t reach the stupid top
shelf.
Praise for MEGAN
ERICKSON
“A super sweet, extra sexy second chance romance
that will have you laughing out loud and needing a minute to cool off. Dirty
Thoughts is right!”
— Jay Crownover, New York Times bestselling author
“Megan Erickson ratchets up the romance and sizzle in her sexy new series. The Mechanics of Love will rev readers’ hearts.”
— Jennifer Ryan, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author
“Megan Erickson writes hot, hot, HOT stories packed with emotion and humor. You’re going to want to read everything she’s ever written!”
— Sophie Jordan, USA Today bestselling author
— Jay Crownover, New York Times bestselling author
“Megan Erickson ratchets up the romance and sizzle in her sexy new series. The Mechanics of Love will rev readers’ hearts.”
— Jennifer Ryan, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author
“Megan Erickson writes hot, hot, HOT stories packed with emotion and humor. You’re going to want to read everything she’s ever written!”
— Sophie Jordan, USA Today bestselling author
TOURWIDE GIVEAWAY
Where to buy DIRTY
THOUGHTS
HarperCollins
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