Page 14 of For the Record
McCoy appeared in front of her, taking a long swig out of a steel canister. A thin sheen of perspiration coated her soft features, and where there wasn’t sweat, there were grease marks. A black bandana was tied around her neck, further adding to Sawyer’s assumption of her cowboy obsession. She had industrial piercings in both ears, and small spacers occupied her lobes. The disconnected undercut was freshly shaven, and the top half of her chestnut brown hair was plaited down the back of her head today. McCoy wasn’t so much pretty as she was handsome, Sawyer decided, with rounded cheekbones and black eyeliner that purposely drew attention to her striking green gaze. Hints of a tattoo flashed under her coveralls as she placed a hand on Sawyer’s shoulder.
“I was hoping I’d see you again.”
Sawyer stepped back, brushing McCoy’s touch off. She didn’t know a lot about cars but could safely assume engine oil came out of clothes about as well as cooking oil did. And she was wearing one of her favorite Veronica Beard blazers today. She straightened, temporarily glancing at her shoulder where the mechanic’s touch still lingered, before refocusing on McCoy. She got straight to the point. “Have you ever worked on a McLaren P1?”
Sawyer waited, watching the wheels turn in McCoy’s brain until her exquisite gaze lit up. The expression on her face was priceless. “Worked on … no.”
That was good to know. Sawyer needed to consider that McCoy may be too inexperienced for a car like the McLaren.
McCoy’s devilish smile was back, alerting Sawyer of an incoming word vomit of playgirl bullshit. “Does this mean you want me, after all?” she gushed, looking every bit like an all too eager puppy starving for her attention. How the younger woman could somehow come across as a confident flirt and desperate at the same time was a mystery. And she wore everything she felt clear as day on her face. Sawyer found it rather fascinating if she were being honest.
Her gaze was scrutinizing as she waited for McCoy to realize her slipup. When she did, her eyes widened to impossible depths as she spluttered, “T-to give a quote, I mean. Not likewantwant me. Unless—”
Sawyer held up her hand, halting McCoy mid-ramble. A niggle of amusement threatened to rise to the surface. “Be at my house tomorrow morning by eight and we’ll talk. Not a second later. Oh, and McCoy?”
McCoy blinked up at her, her cheeks flushed. “Yes, Mistre … S-Sawyer?”
Sawyer’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before she got herself under control. Her nostrils flared as she gestured to McCoy’s septum ring. “You have a glob of grease headed up your nose.”
Chapter 8
McCoy
“And then I said—”Coy paused mid-story to swig back a mouthful of beer. All eyes were on her at the table, each one of her friends in varying degrees of absorption into her recap with Sawyer that morning. She thumped the table with her palm for added effect. “I said, ‘You wantmeto work for you after you all but kicked me to the curb last week? Dream on, you cold, unfeeling, un … beautiful bitch.’”
An odd mix of a choke and snort of laughter came from Abi, and Coy turned to look just as beer shot from her nose.
“Gross,” Coy complained with a laugh. “What, you don’t believe me?”
“Not for a second,” Krystal said, laughing too.
“I can’t speak for everyone, but you lost me somewhere between dream and unfeeling.” Taunya gave Coy a dubious shake of her head, but a broad grin was plastered on her face.She reached across the table to squeeze Coy’s arm. “Babe, you’re way too sweet to ever say that to a woman or anyone else with tits and a vulva.”
“I could have said it,” insisted Coy, although it lacked fervor. The truth of her interaction with Sawyer was ten times more embarrassing. How she’d eagerly welcomed Sawyer to the shop after being dismissed was humiliating. Coy prided herself on giving and receiving the same amount of respect, and yet, when Sawyer spoke of the car like she hadn’t been a complete bitch just the week before, Coy had lapped it up like the golden retriever Abi joked she was. There was just something about Sawyer that made Coy lose all sense.
One, she smells amazing. Like blackberries, spring rain, and … pastries?Coy wondered if that was an official perfume. If it wasn’t, it should be.
She sipped her beer, one arm casually draped over Abi’s shoulders, and listened to her friends discuss their partners. For once, Tess hadn’t joined Abi, and Coy was secretly grateful to have the fab five reunited for the evening. She glanced toward the bar where Sloane was busy behind the counter and did a double take as Naz’s tall frame came into view. Her second closest friend, and the only one who enjoyed the strip clubs like she did, was perched on a bar stool chatting to Sloane. Sloane appeared to be at least half listening as she made drinks, and that alone piqued Coy’s interest. From the day they’d met, Sloane had thought Naz was an obnoxious flake. What could they be talking about?
Abi squeezed Coy’s arm, drawing her attention back to the table rather than whatever game Naz was trying out on her sister. “You okay?”
Their eyes met, and Abi must have read something in Coy’s because she slipped her hand in hers and tugged. “Come pee with me.”
“Abs, that’s not exactly a group activity,” Coy protested but followed her out of the booth, regardless. Abi still held her hand, and the pair got more than a few looks from customers as they crossed the pub. One person, who Coy had seen quite a few times talking to Frankie, narrowed her gaze on Coy as they passed. They would no doubt run to Frankie, claiming Coy was having sex in the bathroom. Coy rolled her eyes at the thought. She’d had about all she could take today of dominant women.
Thankfully, the restroom wasn’t busy, likely because everyone was getting ready for Monday night’s slam poetry. Abi turned to face Coy the moment they were alone by the vanity. “Okay, now talk to me, playgirl.”
Coy winced at the nickname her friends had dubbed her for as long as she remembered. It wasn’t meant to be a dig, but tonight, it sort of felt like one. Was her playgirl label the reason Frankie had never trusted her enough to let down her many protective walls? Hell, Sawyer had practically called her that herself. To be fair, Coy had approached Sawyer in a club with the intention of giving her one night she’d never forget. In the past, it was all Coy had ever promised her lovers. It had suited her fine, but now?
A gush of air left Coy’s lungs. “I dunno. I guess I’m noticing things I never have before,” she admitted, peering into the mirror at Abi’s reflection. It was easier to discuss heavier things when she wasn’t actively looking someone dead on. She studied Abi’s outfit, appreciating how the dress accentuated her curves.
Abi gave Coy a slight shove, joking, “Hate to break it to you, but you’ve been noticing me for years.”
Coy smirked. “But can you really blame me?”
“Not at all, I’m hot.” Abi fanned herself, and Coy snorted in amusement.
They were silent for some time, Coy gathering her thoughts and deciding what her issue was of late at the core. It all seemed to tie in with Sawyer somehow, and she said as much to Abi. “Itbothers me that she doesn’t like me. Especially since she’s all I can think about.” A sardonic laugh escaped, and she shook her head helplessly. “I don’t even know if she’s married, Abs. This woman is twisting me up, and I barely know anything about her. Just that she’s loaded, and she owns a French fusion restaurant not far from where you live.”