7. 🍸 The Mustang

**KEKE**
My belly doesn’t flutter when I meet his eyes. I am too damn angry. This hippie has pushed me beyond my limit.
I swear, if he says one more negative thing… we are on.
And I am in it to win it.
Instead of firing back, like I figured he would, Justice gives me a sunny smile. Two dimples, deep enough for the tip of a toddler’s finger to fit inside, pop out and grab my attention. My focus is riveted to them.
*So damn gorgeous…*
“Where are you staying?” he asks, slightly tilting his chair.
Trying to act like his smile didn’t melt my anger is futile. I start gushing. Stumbling over my words like a love-struck idiot. “Um… well I uh... I thought I would find a hotel after I saw the kids.”
He jerks his head toward the bar stools. “That’s your stuff?”
“Yes, it’s mine.” I shrug in defense, unapologetic at the state of my belongings.
He is probably used to women rockin’ Gucci and Louis, not my bargain-bin finds that have seen much better days.
Justice turns his phone right-side up. Notifications fill the screen. Mostly missed calls.
Pretty boy is pretty popular.
A sharp pang lances my chest. I take a deep breath, dispelling the sting in one go.
It wouldn’t do to act on what I am feeling. I did so once, and what did I get? Nothing but heartache and trouble when I strayed from casual relationships into something I thought was deeper. Meaningful. It was stupid of me to—
Justice speaks, breaking off my thoughts. “The guys will be out of school in a few hours. There is a bed in the back if you want to get some rest.”
At his mention of a place where I can lay down and close my eyes, a bone-dragging weariness overtakes me. I nearly sag under its weight.
“There is also a sink where you can freshen up.” He stands, scoots his chair under the table, grabs my bag like it’s not heavy, and motions for me to follow. “Come on, I will show you.”
With his back turned, I discreetly sniff under my arms to make sure I don’t stink.
I mean why else would he mention “freshening up”?
Thankfully, I am good to go...but only just.
Justice is already through the door and halfway down the long hall. Here the floor is concrete, but the wood paneling follows us and keeps with the 70s stayin’ alive vibe.
In a small kitchen to the right, Sam is busy cutting up limes and lemons on a wooden cutting board. He looks up to give me a friendly wink as I pass.
I give him a chin jerk in response.
Further on the left is what I assume is a storage room. It is full of shelves housing bottles of liquor and crates of beer. Against the far wall, a large ice machine hums a surprisingly quiet tune.
Justice continues down the hall and steps into a room near the back door. Before I enter, my eyes gravitate to the window full of sunshine and the thing of beauty sitting outside.
My breath catches in surprise and awe. My body shudders in excitement.
In the alley is a ’68 Shelby Mustang, dark-blue with a white racing stripe down the center. In all the places I have lived in the world, a nice piece of American metal never failed to catch my eye.
On autopilot, I head outside, eager to run my hand along the surface of one of the coolest cars in the world. Once my hand touches the cool metal, still wet with rain, my weariness leaves me with my next breath of air.
“Beautiful,” I murmur.
Justice comes to stand beside me. The heat from his body warms me more than the sight of the car has done. “The kids like it a lot. They tell me it is badass...well at least Cameron does.”
I watch his reflection in the darkened windows, eager to see him even more than the inside of the car. “I have to agree,” I breathe out. “This is in pristine condition.”
“I did the body work,” he says with a touch of pride. “When I got her ready, I had her repainted.” He pulls the keys from his pocket and uses them to open the lock.
I like that his simple key chain, a silver disk, isn’t weighted down with a billion keys. My dad says the extra weight wears down the ignition switch.
Justice’s thumb brushes my hip when his hand reaches for the door. An innocuous touch that lights a fire from my toes to the top of my head. My quick jump to the side, brings out his dimples again.
Like before, I do my best to ignore how he makes me feel.
And fail when I can’t suppress my shudder of excitement.
Justice chuckles. “I can see you want to take her for a spin. Do you drive?
Thankful that he mistook my excitement for the car alone, I hasten to say,“Yes.”
And without further conversation, I slip behind the seat. The blue leather with the white center squeaks under my ass. Thank goodness there’s plenty of room under the steering wheel for my thighs to fit. That was never the case when on the rare occasion I drove in Asia.
Justice goes around the hood to get in via the passenger door. And yes, I do watch that long, muscular body walk.
Once inside the car, he points to the dashboard. His index finger has a thin scar starting at the knuckle. Curving to the side, it runs under his palm.
My hands itch with the need to reach out, flip his hand over and see where it ends.
Must be the jet-lag.
Under normal circumstances, my body wouldn’t be catching fire and my thoughts running wild over some man. It usually takes me forever to warm up to a guy.
Especially after Dubai.
Justice speaks, his deep voice killing the bad memories Dubai dredged up.
“I added a few modifications such as the Bose speakers, the stereo, and better air conditioning.”
Whatever he had done doesn’t detract from the original dashboard. The new items fit seamlessly. Like they were part of the original design.
The steering wheel is my favorite. Bad boy is a work of art. There is the traditional chrome at nine, three, and six with the outer rim a padded white leather with dark blue leather stitching. The center is a highly polished medallion and has the Mustang emblem on a blue and white background.
This guy spent some serious cash to do right by this classic. He must be rich.
Not that I care.
It is what he has inside that counts.
I learned that from my dealings in Dubai.
With a twist of the key, I start the engine. It purrs like a fat, contented cat. I close my eyes to the rumble it emits, and after a moment, I start to drive.