Free Josie Day Is Coming Home by Lisa Plumley Page B

improve that much.”
    Josie let it sit there. She had a perfectly good sulk
happening and Luke was ruining it. It occurred to her that now that she was
leaving, she didn’t have to maintain an employer-handyman relationship with
him. She could flirt all she wanted.
    “Bike, huh? I love cyclists. No wonder you have such
great muscular thighs.”
    His lips quirked. “Must be all that pedaling.”
    “What’s so funny?”
    “I ride a Harley.”
    “Oh.” Her image of him changed. She pictured Luke
on a rumbling bad-ass motorcycle, the wind in his hair and the sun glinting
from his sunglasses. In her imagination, he looked good. Really good.
Apparently she was as susceptible as the next girl to the allure of the stock bad
boy.
    Her bad boy reached over and popped the top of the Styrofoam
container, unperturbed by its close proximity to her lap. Josie wished she
could say the same thing. The smooth slide of Luke’s fingers against her thigh
as he steadied the Styrofoam left her rattled. She possessed none of his
physical easiness—and, all at once, every ounce of the awkwardness that dance
had been meant to train out of her.
    Greasy, salty aromas wafted from the take-out box. Luke
pinched three French fries in his fingers and, companionably, offered them to
her. Josie shook her head.
    Wow, he looked good. Even while eating filched French fries.
His face fascinated her. The angle of his cheekbones, the deep color of his
eyes, the shape of his mouth. This close, she could see whisker shadow
darkening his jaw—could almost feel its scratchy texture. It made Luke look
rough and ready. Sexy. Dangerous.
    Catnip to a lifelong rebel like her.
    “Ever been on one?” he asked.
    “A motorcycle?” Abruptly switching her focus to
the pile of French fries in her lap, Josie grabbed one. She munched it while
she considered motorcycle riding. “Not yet.”
    “Hmmm.” His assessing expression settled on her.
“Most people just say no. Or they look horrified. Like somebody asked them
to lick pavement.”
    “So?” Hmmm. Was that a cheeseburger in there?
    “So you said, ‘Not yet.’” Seeming
interested in that, Luke chewed a few more fries. He splayed his hands on the
porch and studied her. “I might have finally found my dream girl.”
    His half-teasing, half-cynical delivery wasn’t lost on her.
    “Sorry. I could never live happily ever after with a
man who bogarts the French fries.” She burrowed deeper into the crispy
pile, realizing exactly how hungry she really was. “Hey, there is a
cheeseburger in here!”
    Happy, Josie maneuvered the sloppy burger out of the
container with both hands. It smelled divine. She took a bite.
    “Mmmm.” Suddenly, she couldn’t get enough.
“Yum.”
    Bemused, Luke watched her. “You looked like an
‘everything on it’ kind of girl to me. I got ketchup, mustard, relish, lettuce,
tomato, mayonnaise, pickles—”
    “ Lots of pickles. Perfect!”
    She munched her way through half the cheeseburger. It could
have been hotter or less greasier, but to Josie it was the tastiest thing she’d
eaten all day. She didn’t know how Luke had known she was craving this, but she
was glad he had.
    “You’re not one of those girls who orders salad on a
date, then,” he observed, reaching in the paper sack for a napkin to give
her. “You eat real food. I like that.”
    “Are you kidding me? I hate salad. It’s
so…healthy.” She shuddered. “Seriously. If salad were actually good ,
would people have to put all that stuff on it? Dressing and croutons and bacon
bits? No, they’d wouldn’t. I say, skip the salad and go straight to the bacon
bits.”
    “Interesting theory.”
    “I’ve got a million of ‘em.” Happily, Josie took
another cheeseburger bite. This was nice, actually. Friendly. With Luke she
felt comfortable, even while swabbing up a ketchup drip. “Mmm-mmm.”
    “Good?”
    “Delicious.”
    “Good.” Luke paused. “Luanne says you’re a
stripper.”
    “Gaaack.”