Bayou Blues Read Online Free PDF Page B

corrected.
    “Hmm?” He’d stopped paying attention again.
    “My name is Genie. Eugenia, really. But…people, um…call me Genie?” Smooth. Dumbass.
    Wilder glanced at me. “I know your name, sweetheart. But that won’t stop me from calling you Princess.”
    I was about to tell him if he was trying to be proper, Princess wasn’t the appropriate form of address, Your Royal Highness was, but then I realized he wasn’t being polite. He was being condescending.
    I sniffed and hiked my bag higher on my shoulder, trying to come up with a witty retort to wither him in his place. Secret would have known exactly what to say. My sister was the master of the soul-crushing one-liner.
    After a much-too-long pause I said, “Wilder is a stupid name anyway.” I turned on my heel, hoping my pathetic rejoinder would at least get me the last word.
    Before I could get into the cab of the truck I heard him say loud and clear, “Whatever you say, Eugenia.”
     

Chapter Five
     
    The whole drive back we sat in tense, awkward silence. I was afraid to speak again because my foot had a tendency to wedge itself right in my mouth whenever I started saying anything. Wilder was no help. He was doing his best to project the air of a man who embodied strong silent type .
    Fine. Whatever. It wasn’t like I needed to talk.
    By the time we pulled up to the garage I was squirming in my seat, words bubbling up the back of my throat. He stopped at the front of the building and stared at me pointedly until I realized he was waiting for me to get out.
    “Oh,” I mumbled, feeling stupid for not getting his hint sooner. Of course, if he’d just said something, I could have bypassed the embarrassment stage altogether. My mental catalogue of reasons to not like Wilder was steadily outstripping his more…attractive qualities.
    I paced with barely constrained nervous energy by the garage door, not sure if I was supposed to go in or if I was meant to find my own way home from here. Wilder, from my short acquaintance with him, seemed like he might be the kind of man to make a stranded woman walk six miles by herself.
    I could have called Callum’s estate and gotten a ride from here, but then I’d need to explain why I hadn’t called them in the first place. I’d rather get a lift with a cranky stranger than tell my uncle over the phone that I’d been the target of an assassination attempt.
    Some things are better said in person.
    So instead of leaving I waited, assuming he’d come back for me even though he hadn’t said anything one way or the other.
    Plus the front door was locked.
    I hugged my purse to my chest and was almost convinced he wasn’t returning when the big garage door behind me gave a loud groan and lifted. Trying to hide my startled jump, I steadied my breath and schooled my features.
    “Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.
    Dammit. “You didn’t scare me.”
    “Sure.” A little twist of a smile again. I had no doubt he was making fun of me.
    My Dart was behind him, and another set of garage doors was open at the back of the shop, letting a warm breeze flow through the space. He’d parked his truck beside my car. The smell of engine oil and gasoline wafted out to meet me. It was a pungent, unmistakable scent, but one that was not altogether unpleasant. It made me think of road trips and outboard boat motors.
    A flat platform on wheels was next to a toolbox, and I suspected it was used for him to roll under the car to work on it. My only real exposure to mechanical work came from movies. I tried not to picture Wilder smeared with grease, his shirt sticky with sweat as he rolled out from under a car and said, The chassis will be good as new when I get my hands on it.
    I blushed.
    That fantasy had gotten specific awfully fast.
    I was not interested in Wilder Shaw. He was just one of those guys who’d been born with an incredibly distracting defect: he was too perfect. That face. Those lips. His stupid beautiful eyes. He was