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force into the sink and splashed droplets on his belly and the thin line of dark hair that circled his navel and disappeared beneath the waistband riding low on his hips.
    Nate had lived alone in this house, his grandparents’ house, since the day he’d moved back to Lovett full-time to work with his father and Uncle Billy at Parrish American Classics a little over a year ago.
    Suds dripped from his chin as he slid the washrag to the back of his neck and across his shoulders. For the first fifteen years of his life, he’d lived in Seattle. He’d been born and raised there by his mother and stepfather, Steven Monroe. After his stepfather’s death, his mother had moved them back to Texas so he could get to know his biological father, Jack Parrish. He and his dad had adjusted to each other easily, but he’d never quite adjusted to Lovett. Not the small town. Not the gossip. Not the dry heat.
    He rinsed the cloth beneath the cold tap water. When it had come time to choose a college after graduating from high school, he’d naturally chosen the University of Washington. He’d lived in Seattle for six years, returning to Texas on holidays and in the summer to see his family. He loved Seattle, but Nate discovered he was a Parrish like his dad and uncle. Oil ran through their veins and he loved the smell of 15W–50. There was nothing like a fully restored American beauty. Nothing turned Nate on more than a 427 big block vibrating the pavement. Nothing like four-barrel carbs, flat open and chewing up the road, to make him hard.
    Soap stung a cut under his chin and he leaned at the waist and stuck his head beneath the faucet. Cold water ran over his head and down his cheeks. The ’66 Cadillac in the driveway made him hard. Real hard, and if Holly Ann wasn’t in Dallas for the summer, he wouldn’t mind tossing her on the Coupe Deville’s big trunk and testing out the suspension. He’d set her between the glossy red fins and step between her open thighs. She’d tilt her face to his and he’d kiss her mouth as he had sex with his girlfriend of one year.
    The chilly water on the back of his neck felt good after working under Cadillac, and he paused to let it run through his hair and down his temples and the welt on his forehead. Of course, Holly Ann probably wouldn’t go for it. She didn’t like grease and dirt and outdoor sex.
    The girl in the white dress in his driveway probably wasn’t the kind of girl who’d go for it, either. Not that he was interested, but she looked like one of those good girls. The kind that didn’t like to get messed up. The kind who teased guys with red polish on her toenails and red shoes that made her legs incredibly long. The kind who wore a white dress that the sun shone through and outlined her inner thighs clear up to the V of her crotch. Between the sunlight and those big sunglasses, he hadn’t seen much of her face. Her legs were memorable, though.
    He felt around for the cold tap and turned it off. She was probably melting out there, but it wasn’t his fault. He’d told her to come inside. He was sweaty and grimy and needed to clean up before he looked for his mother’s photos. She’d worked hard to establish her name, and the last thing she needed was a set of black fingerprints on the white studio folder. And since he was washing his hands, he figured he’d wash the rest of him, too.
    He ran his hands over the back of his head and down his face. It was probably best the girl stayed outside anyway. Holly Ann wouldn’t appreciate it if he invited a girl into his house, and while he’d begun to question his relationship with her, he had to respect the year they’d been together.
    Nate blew the water from his lips and straightened. He shook his head like a dog and sent droplets across the kitchen and down his back. There had been a time in his life when he would have already stepped out on Holly Ann, but Nate was not a cheater. Not these days. He’d learned a long time ago that