Her skin sizzled with sudden anticipation half a second before someone walked up beside her and Frank said, “Figured you wouldn’t be able to avoid me here.”
“I haven’t been avoiding you,” she said as she pivoted to face him. “I’ve been busy.”
It wasn’t fair that she had to tilt her chin up just to glare at him while he stood with his hands behind his back, watching her like she was the most fascinating woman in the world. She was tall enough that, most of the time, she almost eye-level with whichever guy had decided to try her patience—which was exactly what Frank was doing. Oh, he might think he was flirting with her, but she was immune to his charm. Just because her Pinto’s passenger door didn’t squeak loudly enough to be heard four blocks away anymore didn’t mean she was softening to him. She was an ice block that the man couldn’t melt.
Then he did the grin thing, and she defrosted a little.
It was only a few degrees, but it was enough to make her breath catch and her heart speed up.
And when he leaned down so his lips were close to her ear?
Her heart went from ‘racing on Tatooine’ fast to ‘warp speed in the Millennium Falcon’ fast.
“Sounds like someone needs some help relaxing,” he said, his words brushing against the shell of her ear.
In an instant, she was so not-relaxed that she wasn’t sure she’d ever relax again. Her cheeks flushed. Her brain was going a million miles an hour and stuck in neutral at the same time. Every single nerve in her body was alert and zeroed in on Frank. The man was a menace, an absolute, without a doubt, menace.
“Lucky you,” he continued, his low voice curling around her as sure as a touch. “I’m very good at helping people relax.”
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Airhead: A Hartigans Totally ’80s Hot RomCom
The night in 1982 that changed everything…
There is no way I can resist avenging my sister’s broken heart by filling her cheating boyfriend’s bitchin’ DeLorean with extra buttered movie popcorn, a half-melted Snickers, and the contents of one shaken can of Tab.
There’s only one six-foot-six-inch problem. It’s not The Creep’s car. It’s Frank “The Airhead” Hartigan’s. Now he wants me to drive him to Harbor City to make up for trashing his ride.
On the outside, I’m all gag me with a spoon, but on the inside? Yeah, not so much. The truth is I haven’t stopped thinking about him since that night at Marino’s Bar when he rocked my world to the max—something that can’t happen again.
Frank Hartigan isn’t a guy you fall for if you want to keep your heart in one piece. Waterbury is littered with the broken hearts of the women who forgot that, and I am not about to join their ranks.
Fine. I’ll drive him around town, but that’s it.
No kisses.
No getting hot and bothered.
No toe-curling anything.
And no matter what happens tonight, my heart—and my panties—will for sure remain untouched.
