Apples & Oranges (The This & That Series) Read Free Page B

practically sang next to his dark olive skin.
    Demo, proprietor of Triple D’s Garage, was a bonafide Mediterranean stud. Not that I ever dated the work-by-the-sweat-of-his-brow type. My mother called dating men like that “slumming it,” but I wouldn’t go that far. I just didn’t find the rough hands, scarred skin, covered in sweat thing to be hot. No, I usually stuck with doctors, lawyers and executive types. The kind that wore suits made out of Italian wool and drove cars as nice as mine or better. The kind who spent their days immersed in paperwork and strategy meetings, not axle grease and transmission fluid.
    Hey, I’m not stupid. I knew it was shallow, but the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, I supposed. Squaring my shoulders, I turned my attention away from the horny kid and onto his buffed up relative. Maybe sticking with the guys in suits was overrated. Candace always said her ophthalmologist husband, Brian, was at his hottest when he was mowing the lawn shirtless. Maybe she had a point. Slumming it couldn’t be that bad when guys like this were up for grabs.
    I’ve got a Greek wedding to cater this summer. Maybe I can score a recipe for dolmades out of this. Work it, girl.
    “Hi, Uncle Demo,” I said, sticking out my hand. I added a wink for good measure. “I’m Marisol Vargas.”
    He pulled a stained grey rag out of his back pocket, and for a second I thought I was going to wipe off his hands before shaking my hand. But then he plucked a wrench off of the bumper of the Honda and started polishing it. “ Demetrious Marcos Antonopolous.”
    “ Demetrious… Anan… pop… oh lous?” I grinned cheekily.
    “ Antonopulous.” He said it like I was a moron for being confused by his freakishly complicated surname. Then his brow furrowed even more.
    The fire in my belly fizzled. I sure hoped he wasn’t in charge of public relations for Triple D’s, otherwise they’d be closed by the end of the month. “That’s quite a mouthful, Demetrious.”
    “Demo.” His tongue did that rolly-thing that made the name sound delicious. But his mouth was still pulled into a disapproving frown. That scowl was most undelicious.
    “Uh, okay.” I stammered on my words.
    “How’s that pickup coming?” He turned his frosty glare to his nephew. “Clint will be here for it in twenty. You gonna have it done in time?”
    Trey’s chest puffed up. “‘Course.”
    “Then why don’t you stop ogling the lady and get back to it.”
    Trey turned back to the truck engine and muttered, “Yes, sir.”
    Demo’s focus landed back on me, and a shiver wriggled its way up my spine. I couldn’t be sure if it was from being turned on or just a reaction to the frigidity he was exuding. “I’ll get your car tomorrow.”
    “Okay, thanks...oh.” My shoulders dropped. “Wait. What?”
    Demo’s dark eyes rolled. Or almost rolled, as he seemed to be struggling to keep his disdain at bay. “I said I’d get your car tomorrow.”
              “But it’s in the road.” I said dumbly.
    “Is it pulled over on the shoulder?” He dropped the wrench into a nearby metal tool box, and it landed with a loud bang.
    “Well, yeah, but—”
    “Then I’ll get it tomorrow. Or tonight, if you’re lucky.” Tucking the rag back into his back pocket, Demo used his boot to move the creeper underneath his legs. “Leave the keys on the desk and call around noon. Should have an estimate by then.”
    “Are you joking?” I peered out the garage doors to where a bright blue and white tow truck was parked across the lot. “Why can’t you hop into that truck right there and get it?”
    Demo started to squat back down onto the creeper. “Busted hose.”
    “So it doesn’t work?” I snapped.
    “It will once I get to it.”
    I started to tap my foot. “Come on. I’ve got to get back to work.”
    Demo stood back upright, and leveled me with a steely gaze. “Sorry.”
    Growling, I pulled my checkbook out of my purse.