Wait With Me (Wait With Me, #1)(10)

“And what do you drive?” I ask even though I already know the answer.

“An Indian motorcycle.”

I shake my head. “Why am I not surprised?”

He smiles, his teeth a brilliant white, and I sort of like that one sticks out a tiny bit farther than the others. “Am I that predictable?”

“More predictable than my old lady car,” I reply with a wink.

He smiles again, and I get those butterflies in my stomach that I painstakingly try to describe in different ways with every book I write. Stomach flips. Stomach somersaults. Fireworks in my belly. Wait, that last one is terrible, it sounds like diarrhea.

“Well, it’s nice to officially meet you, Mercedes. I’m Miles Hudson,” he says, taking my hand in his and shaking it gently. His palm is warm and dry and so frickin’ huge, I have to squeeze my thighs together because I feel like I may start emitting a fertility musk like an animal. “Now tell me why you’re really here.”

My head drops back onto the chair. This can’t be the end of the road. I’m not done with my book yet! I glance down at the lukewarm pizza under my chair. “Would leftover pizza keep you quiet?”

He purses those beautiful lips and looks down at my stash of barely touched food. “It might buy you some time.”

I smile excitedly and nearly leap off my chair to grab the goods. “Great, time is all I need.” I thrust the boxes into his chest, and he clutches them with a laugh.

“You’re serious,” he states with an incredulous look, his blue eyes flicking over every single feature of my overeager face as I plop back down on my chair.

“Super serious,” I reply, my eyes pleading.

He takes me in for a second, and I halfway regret only putting on mascara this morning. “Very well, Mercedes. I’ll leave you be, for now.”

He stands up to his full height, and I can’t help but notice the bulge in his jeans because it’s literally eye level with me. Not like a boner bulge, the kind of bulge that a man who’s well-endowed walks around with on an everyday basis. With those big hands and giant feet, it’s no wonder.

“See you around the water cooler, Miles,” I state brazenly as I tuck my earbuds back into my ears.

He looks at me with curiosity, but thankfully takes his pizza bribe and walks away. I use the opportunity to admire his backside and am not disappointed. The things I do for research purposes.





“You haven’t noticed a hot redhead in the comfort center, have you?” I ask my co-worker Sam, who’s seated next to me at our favorite downtown spot, The Pearl Street Pub.

“Nope. Never seen her. She was there today?” he asks, stroking his ginger-tinged beard.

“Yes,” I reply around a sip of my IPA. “And yesterday.”

“What was she doing?”

I shrug. “She was just on a computer.”

“What’s the problem then?”

“I don’t think she had a car getting work done at the shop.”

“So she’s syphoning free Wi-Fi? Call the cops, we’ve got a mooch on our hands,” he says sarcastically and gestures to the bartender for another round.

I shake my head in defense. “I don’t get a mooch vibe from her. It mostly feels like…desperation?”

Sam leans back and shakes his head. “Now it all makes sense. You have a fetish for desperate girls, bro.”

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do. You like to save them. Be the gallant protector, sweep in and guard them.”

“This girl drives a big ole Caddy. She does not need saving.”

“So she’s nothing like Jocelyn?” he asks, his eyes narrowing seriously on me.

“Dude, I’m done with Joce. Can we please stop talking about her?”

“Miles, you got dumped by your longtime sweetheart for a rich, ugly prick. That shit sticks with you forever.”

I growl and take a drink of my beer, trying hard not to squeeze the pilsner glass until it breaks in my grip. Jocelyn Vanbeek has wasted too much of my life already. Most twenty-something guys are sleeping with as many girls as they can while I spent the best years of my life obsessing over one girl. I was in a constant state of on-again, off-again hell with her for nearly a decade.

Now I’m thirty years old, and I’ve finally put that drama behind me. Never mind the fact that she’s married and a mother now.

I take a moody sip of my beer and turn in my barstool to take in the handful of female prospects for this evening. “God, I hate that Boulder is such a sausage fest. Why do we live here again?”

“Uh, cuz my uncle is the manager, and no other boss would put up with our shit.”

I smile and point out a hot brunette in the corner. “And maybe that?”

Sam shakes his head. “Making up for lost time—I get it. You do you, bro.” He claps me on the back, and I proceed to make my move.




The next day, like some sort of stalker, I have my eyes glued to the window that overlooks the alley behind the garage. I’m on tire changes all day, which is nice in a way because it’s mindless work. It’s a little time consuming, though, because I have to clean out the wheel wells and readjust the alignment, but I’m not complaining. It makes it easy for me to keep an eye out for Mercedes sneaking around.