He needed a little time to come to terms with tying himself to her forever. And it would be forever. No strings just wasn’t going to happen.
Tyler rolled silently out of bed, the lion’s instinctive need to stay with her warring with his all-too-human wariness of commitment. Wariness won.
Finding his clothing in the dark seemed an impossible task, so Tyler shifted to his feline form, the feel of his fur a comfort to his restless thoughts, though the senseless circles of his reservations chasing one another around his mind were no quieter in this form.
He padded quietly to the door and nosed it open, batting it shut behind him with the flat of his paw, the well-oiled hinges never making a sound. He leapt off the porch, concentrating on the bunch and spring of his muscles and the feel of the earth beneath his paws as he landed. He wove through the compound, paws silent on the dusty ground. The garage loomed unlit in the darkness, a black box against the starry sky.
He’d locked it behind him earlier and his keys were back with his clothes, but he’d left his “back door” open. He circled the building to the rear where the loft window was open wide, high above the ground.
Gathering himself, Tyler crouched and sprang to the roof of the nearby parts shed. The corrugated metal rang dully like a muted tuning fork even though he tried to land softly. From there he leapt into the oak tree that shaded the area, timber groaning and creaking ominously under his weight. Lions were among the heaviest cats and the high branches bowed and cracked as he ran lightly across them and launched himself across the space to the open window.
He tucked his body tight, trying for an aerodynamic grace that his bulky cat form naturally lacked. His front legs and shoulders made it through the open window, but the ledge caught him hard on the ribs and his back paws scrabbled against the exterior siding for purchase. He muscled his hindquarters through the window and flopped onto his belly on the cement floor of the loft, panting softly.
Not the best secret entrance, but the height of the window discouraged the cubs from trying it.
Tyler shifted back to a form with opposable thumbs and pulled on the spare coveralls he kept stashed in the loft. His bare feet were silent on the metal stairs leading down to the garage bay.
The world made more sense when he was elbow-deep in engine parts.
The shop had always been his refuge. He could take something run down and cast aside and bring it back to life. He could keep everything moving smoothly, all the pieces interacting together just as they should. There was justice in that, satisfaction and worth.
Tyler knelt next to the engine he was rebuilding, and his brain fell into silence as he concentrated on his task.
The other side of the bed was empty and cool when Zoe woke. With the first few rays of dawn streaming in through her window, her fears of the night before seemed ridiculous.
They’d had sex. Nothing earth shattering in that. For the life of her she couldn’t think why she’d been so paranoid. Why she’d been so stupidly convinced they wouldn’t be able to keep things no strings.
Zoe rolled out of bed and grabbed a pair of jeans and her snug Bigger in Texas T-shirt, propelled by the urge to talk to Tyler. She wanted to smooth thing over with him and make sure they were still on the same page. Make sure he hadn’t read anything—accurately—into her awkwardness the night before.
She hurried down her porch steps, following the scent trail Tyler had left. She was so tuned to his scent, she probably could have found him even after a rainfall, but the morning was dry and hot, the sun already gearing up for an early summer scorcher, and his scent remained fresh.
She wove between the buildings, grateful there was no one about this early to see her. The garage bays were all closed when she arrived, the main door locked, but his scent circled the building before disappearing and there wasn’t another trail leaving. He had to be in there.
“Tyler?” Zoe called, tapping on the metal door. She smoothed her palms over her hips and fidgeted, agitation bubbling up inside her.
This was stupid. For all she knew he was sleeping in there. She’d seen a cot in the loft. That didn’t explain why he would have gone to the garage rather than back to his own place…unless he was trying to avoid her. He’d expect her to check his place first, wouldn’t he? Was he hiding from her?
Zoe hated this insecurity. She felt like such a girl. She reminded herself that she was here only to make sure he knew they were still no strings.
Which, now that she thought about it, was a really freaking stupid reason to be here. Dammit. What had she been thinking?
She took a step back, pivoting on her heel, when the door creaked open behind her. “Zoe?”
Shit. She turned back, a fake smile plastered on her face. “Tyler. Hey.”
“Were you looking for me?”
Yes, because I was being a total freaking moron. “Yeah, I…” Shit. She needed a reason to be looking for him. What the hell kind of reason could she make up?
“Is this about the clothes?” he asked. “I was going to come back for them. I just needed to work on some stuff.”
For the first time, Zoe noticed he was wearing a pair of greasy grey coveralls open to the waist rather than the clothes he’d worn to her place. She hadn’t even noticed that he’d left them behind. She latched onto his excuse eagerly. “Yeah. Your clothes. But you look like, you know, you found some.”
And damn if the man didn’t look edible in the uniform of his trade. The shapeless coveralls seemed to accentuate the breadth of his shoulders and the large, capable size of his hands. Hands that had been all over her body only hours ago.
“You wanna come in? I’m about done here.”
Did she want to come in? Why did that question seem like the Riddle of the Sphinx? This was a casual visit, right? She wasn’t asking for strings if she accepted his invitation to go into the garage. The garage where they’d hooked up only yesterday—but also where they had first discussed the no-strings plan. There wasn’t anything hidden in his invitation. He was a guy, for fuck’s sake. They didn’t see the minefields in conversations that chicks planted there. They could still talk without having it complicate their sexual relationship, couldn’t they?
“Zoe?”
Oh, Jesus. She’d been standing there gaping at him. “Yeah. Yeah, sure. I’ll come in.”
Tyler opened the door wider and she slipped past him, reminded of when she’d let him into her place only hours earlier. But if she hadn’t put her mark on her house, the garage was all Tyler. His scent saturated every surface, but even more than that, the neat efficiency and small, personalized touches made it a space that was uniquely him.
“How long have you been the pride mechanic?” she heard herself asking, even though she’d sworn she would keep things light and impersonal.
“Seventeen years.” Tyler wandered over to a sturdy table where a mass of unidentifiable metal cluttered the surface. She trailed along behind, careful not to touch anything.
“You never met Tobias,” Tyler commented as he picked up a piece and adjusted it in some mysterious way. “Cranky bastard. He was my mentor, taught me everything he knew about cars and then sent me to trade schools to learn more. He used to run the garage, even when he could barely lift a wrench anymore, but he retired when I was eighteen and handed it all over to me. He died…I guess it was five years ago now.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He was eighty-six years old and he died with the help of a box of Viagra.” Tyler grinned fondly. “I wouldn’t be too sorry.”
“Eighteen’s pretty young to be responsible for keeping the whole pride in wheels.”