Home > Wallflower (Redemption #5)(4)

Wallflower (Redemption #5)(4)
Author: Jessica Prince

“Okay, then I’ll just”—Stone hooked his thumb over his shoulder—“get your car down to the garage so I can take a look at it. I’ll let you know what I find.”

“Okay, thanks.”

I didn’t dare move a muscle as I waited for him to round the hood of the tow truck and climb in. Once he pulled away from the curb and started down the street I let out a sigh of relief and oh-so-carefully started for the building.

“You sure you’re good, Willow?” Gage asked, looking me up and down from head to toe, assessing the damage.

“Yep. You guys can head back inside.”

“I got her. Go on in,” Lark ordered, coming to my side and taking hold of my arm.

The three men wavered for a second before finally turning and disappearing back into the building.

Once they were gone, I felt Lark look toward me, her eyes on the side of my face. “You need my help or do you have this?”

For some reason, I felt I could be honest with her. Lark and I weren’t necessarily friends, more like friendly, but since she started at Elite a few months ago, she’d gone out of her way to be nice to me, and the more I got to know her, the more I liked her.

“Please don’t let go of me,” I begged, clinging to her arm with a death grip. “If you do, I’m eating gravel for the second time in five minutes.”

She tried and failed to muffle her laugh as she guided me toward the building. “No problem, babe. I’ve got you.”

I did my best to walk normally as I asked from the corner of my mouth, “You think they’re still watching?”

“Nah. I’m sure they’re back in their offices.”

“Oh, thank God.” With the coast clear, I allowed my body to slump over and I finished the trek inside shuffling like a little old lady who needed both hips replaced.

She helped me toward the restroom and propped me up against the counter while she ran out to grab the first aid kit.

“On a scale from one to ten, how bad was that little scene out there?” I asked once she returned, placing the kit on the counter and flipping it open.

“Um . . .”

“That bad, huh?”

“It’s nothing you can’t come back from,” she assured me before waggling her eyebrows. “I mean, if you’re worried about how you looked in front of a certain hot, tatted mechanic.”

I let out a pained groan and covered my face with my hands. “Am I that obvious?”

“Stop that,” she said with a light giggle. Man, I wished I could giggle all cute and tinkling like her. Every time I laughed, I ended up snorting like a bull with a sinus infection. “It’s not as bad as you’re thinking. I only noticed because I’ve happened to be at your desk a few times when he’s come in.”

A sense of worry washed over me. “Do-do you think he’s noticed?”

She blew out a little raspberry as she worked on preparing everything she needed to fix the damage I’d done to myself. “Doubt it. Men can be pretty oblivious. All right, let’s see what we’re working with.” She took stock, starting with my lower half, spotting the holes in both knees of my slacks. “I hope you didn’t like those pants, because I think it’s safe to say they’re ruined.” Her top lip curled up in a grimace. “Although, maybe that’s a good thing.”

I looked down at the front of my slacks before returning my questioning gaze to her. “You don’t like my pants?”

“I’m sure they’d have been fine . . . if they weren’t two sizes too big.” She gave me a dry look. “You have the cutest little figure. I can’t understand why you hide it behind plain, ill-fitting clothes.”

I bit down on my lower lip, dragging my teeth over it as my mind began to race.

I was only a few weeks from my thirtieth birthday, a milestone, and what did I have to show for it? I was single and desperately lacking a social life. The few times I ventured out, I’d done it by myself because I didn’t have any girlfriends to call. The closest relationship I had was with my DVR. Hell, I was so pathetic that when I hit up the makeup counter at Sephora a few months ago—buying a ton of makeup I’d still yet to use—my bank had called to make sure my card hadn’t been stolen.

It was time for me to actually start living.

“I’ve never been really good when it comes to fashion,” I admitted quietly.

Lark looked up from dabbing the scrapes on my left knee with a peroxide-soaked cotton ball.

“To be honest, I’m not good with hair or makeup either. I’ve kind of failed at all that girly stuff.”

“Well, it’s not like you really need all that stuff anyway. You’ve got natural beauty.”

I let out a laugh that ended on an obnoxious sort. “Yeah, right,” I said with a roll of my eyes.

“I’m serious!” she insisted vehemently. “You’re adorable as hell. You just need a little confidence boost is all.” She waggled her eyebrows at me. “It’s amazing what a bit of makeup and some lacy undies can do to make a woman feel good in her own skin.”

“Do you think you could help me?”

Her head shot back, her eyes inquisitive as she looked up at me. “Help you to be more confident?”

“Well, I was thinking like a little makeover or something, nothing too drastic. I just need some help because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

She stood up, letting out a squeal of delight. “Really? Oh my God, absolutely! This is gonna be so much fun! I’ll have to call Aurora. She’ll definitely want in on this. She’s kind of a genius when it comes to all things girly.”

I’d met Lark’s best friend, Aurora, a couple of times when she swung by to get Lark for lunch. The woman was more than a little intimidating. Not only was she gorgeous like Lark, but she was also loud and had no problem telling you what she was thinking—whether or not those thoughts should be voiced for the general public.

But now wasn’t the time for me to tuck back into my shell. Standing there in the middle of the ladies’ room with scraped palms and knees and a throbbing hip, I made myself a promise.

Thirty was going to be the year for me. No more hiding, no more being a wallflower. I was going to get that life my sisters thought I was incapable of having . . . no matter how uncomfortable it may be.

“Sounds great. How about we start this weekend?”

 

 

Chapter Three

 

 

Stone

 

 

Cannon Banks came out of the first bay closest to the office, wiping his grease-stained hands on a rag as I finished backing the tow truck into the empty bay next to him and killed the engine.

When I first returned to Redemption, Tennessee several months back, the plan had been to stay only as long as it took to run my sister’s no-good, piece-of-shit ex off and make sure she was good before heading back to the home I’d made for myself in San Francisco.

I’d taken off when I was still pretty much a kid, barely old enough to drink, leaving my old life behind. It hadn’t been easy, especially in the beginning, but I’d shucked off the unhappy memories and started over somewhere new, somewhere where I wasn’t Carley Hendrix’s bastard son. Where I wasn’t known as the kid who used to get the shit beat out of him by his miserable drunk of a father before the prick finally did us all a favor and disappeared. I was sick and fucking tired of being looked at as Uncle Scooter and Aunt Caroline’s charity case: the poor kid who’d had to be taken in when his piece-of-trash mom finally bailed for good with some shithead she’d hooked up with in some dive bar.

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