“If he calls,” Patti reminded her.

 “When he calls. Have some faith in your hotness!”

 Patti threw her hands into the air. “Fine, if he calls, I promise I will go out with him on one date.”

 “That’s all I ask,” Lynn sang. She blew her a kiss and disappeared inside.

 Great, Patti thought as she started the short walk back to her house. She’d just verbally contracted herself to a date with a man who had probably already forgotten her existence. At least that got her out of their agreement, but the more she thought about it, the more she wasn’t sure she was happy about it. It kind of stung to think that she could be forgotten so easily, but she refused to dwell on it. If he weren’t interested, then neither was she.

 As she stepped through the front door, she heard the faint buzz of her phone in her purse, and dug it out. She frowned, not recognizing the number on the caller ID. “Hello?”

 “Hi.”

 At the sound of his deep, smooth voice, Patti nearly melted into a puddle in the middle of the entryway floor. “Hi,” she said, her voice shaking. In the background, she could hear male voices and wondered where he was just then.

 “I’m at work, so I can’t talk long,” he said, getting straight to the point. “I was thinking dinner tonight, eight o’clock. Are you free?”

 Patti nibbled her bottom lip. A pit opened in her stomach as she thought about being alone with him, but Lynn’s words echoed in her ears, reminding her of their agreement. She’d never hear the end of it if she passed up his offer, not that she really wanted to anyway. The guy was ridiculously hot. Of course, she was going to go out with him! Still, she took a moment to pretend she had to think over her newly wide-open schedule.

 “Yeah, I think that should work out alright.”

 “Great,” he said with a smile in his voice. “I’ll pick you up at eight, then.”

 “I’ll be waiting.” Hanging up, Patti grimaced. Why did she say she would be waiting? The more she repeated the words in her head, the more pathetic they sounded. Collapsing into the recliner, she closed her eyes and considered the evening ahead. She’d be alone with Jon, in his car, expected to make conversation. Well, that was nerve-racking. Then she’d have to eat, which meant she had to order food. Where would he take her? What would she order? Definitely something without garlic, or onions. Nothing too sloppy either, like spaghetti.

 She was plotting out each move with lethal efficiency, when something occurred to her. She was getting all worked up for nothing. So what if she was going on a date with a hot guy? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t done it a million times before. They’d go out, eat, talk, and get to know one another a little, maybe a little touchy feely action, and that would be it. She’d have a nice evening out, and full stomach and she would move on with her life. As her father would tell her, she was making a mountain out of a molehill.

 She glanced at the clock. She had almost seven hours to kill before he showed up. Determined not to make a big deal out of it, Patti pulled herself from the chair and made her way calmly to her bedroom to change into her grease-stained shorts and tank top.

“Dag nabbit!” Patti shouted. She slid out from under the car, using her feet to guide her, and treaded back into the garage. The wrench fell back into the toolbox with a loud, metallic clang. Pinching her injured finger, she held up her hand to inspect the damage.

 It wasn’t as horrible as she thought it’d be. There was no bone showing or blood gushing, but there was a faint, feathered line marring the pink of her nail bed where it had bent back. “Damn, that’s gonna suck,” she muttered to herself. But not as bad as when Kyle showed up at her door earlier that afternoon.

 Shortly after hanging up with Jon, there was a knock at the door. She’d opened it to find a very annoyed Kyle. He’d shoved past her, heading directly for the bedroom where he’d stored the majority of his belongings, but she’d already beaten him to it.

 Retrieving a black canvass duffle bag from the hall closet, she dropped it on the floor in front of the open door and called out to him. The memory still tickled her pink. “Hey, looking for this?”

 “You already packed my stuff?” Kyle asked, gearing up for one of his hissy fits. “Great, what’d you do, cut holes in all my shirts? Dump a gallon of bleach on everything?”

 “I wish,” Patti had told him candidly, “but I didn’t feel like expending that much energy on worthless bullshit. I think I’ve done enough of that over the past eight months.” She looked him up and down meaningfully. Then, as he walked back toward her to retrieve the bag, Patti pulled her leg back and sent it sailing clear off the porch. “I suggest you follow suit before the same thing happens to your ass,” she told him, then smiled and waved as he stomped out the door, cursing up a storm.

 Asshole.

 Besides a pretty face and a hot body, what had she ever seen in him?

 It was all water under the bridge now, though, and Patti had far more important and interesting things to occupy herself.

 With her hands on her hips, Patti turned to assess her once pristine car. She’d ordered the parts and a few tools to help her repair the damage from the accident. They wouldn’t be delivered until sometime tomorrow, so she’d decided to keep herself busy by cleaning the spark plugs, changing out the filters, and giving her baby an oil change. A happy car meant a happy driver. Still, neither of them would be truly happy until she’d restored it to perfect condition, and that was going to take some time.

 She could have just handed it over to an auto body repair tech and let them take care of it, but she liked working with her hands. Plus, she couldn’t shake the memory of her father telling her to never let another person fiddle around under the hood. That went double for the body. Come to think of it, he’d probably meant that in more ways than one.

 Still, Patti held fast to the idea that she and her father, having built most of the car with their bare hands, were the only two people in the world who really knew how it worked. Now that he was gone, the responsibility was hers alone, and she refused to tarnish his memory by letting someone else tinker around with it. If anyone were going to screw it up, it would be her.

 After her date tonight, she decided that the week ahead would be designated to restoring the car. She’d already decided to opt out of any gathering her friends might invite her to, and to close herself off from the outside world for the rest of the week so she could focus all of her attention on the task at hand. Plus, being without a job was like taking an extended vacation. She had all the time in the world to dedicate to it.

 Granted, no one in their right mind would consider being wedged under a chassis and covered in grease a vacation, but then they hadn’t grown up in her household. Patti was practically born under a car, so it made sense that she felt at home under one.

 Returning to the box of tools, she selected a new wrench and the oil pan. Lying back on the creeper, she slid back under.

 As she let the pan fill with oil, Patti let her thoughts drift back to the accident. To a set of beautiful, intense blue eyes that melted her to her very core. She should be furious that Jonathon Bradshaw had caused her so much grief, but the only anger she could dredge up had absolutely nothing to do with her car and everything to do with the two women she’d seen hanging on his arm at the club.

 What was it with men who found the idea of having two women at once so appealing? Was it greed, or just a lack of security? She’d never seen the draw, and now more than ever, she found the idea of it completely repulsive. And yet, it wasn’t as if they were together. He was free to do whatever he wanted with his time, and who was she to judge anyway? It wasn’t like she was living up what was left of her youth. If she were wise, she would take a page out of his book and do something daring, like streaking naked down the beach on a Saturday. Not that it’d ever be an option for her, but still, it was an idea. She wasn’t adverse to having fun or being daring.