Tangled Desires (Wattle Creek #3)

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‘Till I Collapse - Eminem Ft. Nate Dogg

T he smell of oil and grease hits me the second I step into Joe’s Auto.

Michael and I, we’ve been around it for as long as our memories serve. Joe waltzed into our lives when we were teens and roped us into working here. Taught us every bloody thing about cars, bikes, fuck, even lawnmowers. Now, my brother and I could change a set of tyres blindfolded and not even break a sweat. The boys here?

A loud, rowdy bunch. Everyone’s got their hands dirty, cranking out work while the radio blasts the latest shit that’s topping the charts. But me? I wouldn’t change a damn thing... Well, maybe just one.

Anywhere that involves Imogen.

Lately, it feels like everything’s revolving around her. I can’t get her out of my head—she’s fucking stuck in there. Been there since the first time I saw her. That day in Xavier’s pool, what—six, seven months ago now?

I remember it clear as day. I was messing around with some shit, not really paying attention, when I noticed her. She was there, sitting by the pool with the same attitude I’ve seen from her since—cutthroat, eyes full of fire, like she didn’t give a damn about anyone or anything. She never gave me the time of day, not once. But it didn’t matter. I was hooked the second I saw her. She had this thing about her, this presence. The way she carried herself, like she had everything under control and was too good for the rest of us. I hated that I couldn’t get close, but fuck, I couldn’t stop thinking about her then.

I still can’t now.

She isn’t some sweet little thing, like the women I usually go for. No, Imogen’s fierce. She’ll burn you with a look if she feels like it. Back then, she barely acknowledged me, and I respected the hell out of her for that. And now, well, now she’s in my head, giving me that look. You know the one—half “you’re an idiot” and half “come closer so I can ruin your life.”

An obsession that, even if you pried at it with pliers, it wouldn’t budge.

I don’t know how the hell to make it stop, but I think I’m beyond wanting to. I’m here, knee-deep in engine grease, surrounded by the roar of revving motors and clinking tools, but all I can think about is her. I look around, wondering where Michael is. Loving to stir the shit out of him, I start calling his name. “Michael?” When he doesn’t answer, I call out louder, “Michaellll.”

“What?” His voice comes from around the rise of the shop, and he appears in front of the open garage, cigarette dangling from his lips. He’s got a frown on his face as he glares at me.

“What? Don’t look at me that way,” I chide.

“You’re fucking annoying, that’s what.” A shit-eating grin spreads across my face.

“Come help me with this Beamer,” I say, waving him over. The piece of shit isn’t cooperating. It’s been having electrical issues, and the owners brought it in twice before. Wipers aren’t working, and its turn signals have shit themselves. Michael takes a long drag on his cigarette, squinting at me. After a beat, he flicks it away and strolls over, muttering under his breath.

“You really know how to ruin one’s break, don’t you?”

“Quit bitching,” I retort. “This thing’s been a pain in my ass all morning.”

“Says the one bitching about this car. Idiot.” He smirks, rolling his eyes. I pause for a second, weighing up who rolls their eyes more—Michael or Imogen. Doesn’t take me long to figure it out. Definitely Imogen.

We pop the hood and dive into the mess of wires and circuits, but something feels off. The engine’s running fine, but there’s a trail of coolant leaking onto the lift.

“Great, just what we need,” I mutter, eyeing the puddle.

Michael slides underneath the lift, his movements smooth as he checks it out. I crouch down next to him, peering over. “You see anything?”

He grunts, poking around. “Yeah, there’s a crack in the radiator hose. Should’ve known this bastard would cause trouble.”

I let out a long breath, rubbing my forehead. “Fucking hell. That explains the smell.”

He slides back out, wiping grease from his hands. “Told you this car was a ticking time bomb. We’ll need to replace the whole hose.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, because it’s never simple, right?”

Michael smirks, already rolling the car off the lift. “You really thought it would be?”

“You’re the one who jinxed it.” I give him a look.

Michael shrugs, unphased. “Happens every time. Let’s just get this shit sorted.”

We get to work, stripping out the old hose and prepping the new one. I hand him tools as we move in sync. The garage fills with the sounds of metal scraping and coolant splashing, but we get it done. Once it’s swapped, I start the engine and check for leaks.

“Good as new,” I say, watching the coolant levels stabilise.

“Would’ve been quicker if you didn’t keep fucking around.”

“Yeah, yeah. But we make it work. Solid team, Mikey boy.” I laugh, elbowing him. “Let’s check the circuits now.” We work quickly, Michael pulling out the old fuse and sliding the new one into place. As soon as it’s in, he turns the key. The engine roars to life, and I flick the wipers on. They move smoothly across the windshield, the turn signals blinking perfectly in rhythm.

“Let’s get this thing out of here before it decides to fuck up again.”

I can’t stop the grin from creeping up. Took a bit longer than I’d hoped, but hell, it’s running like a dream now. Another one ticked off the list. “What’s next?” I ask.

Michael nods to the clock. “Lunch, if you can manage to keep quiet for five minutes.”

I laugh. “No promises.”

As I rip through my sandwich, Imogen’s face flashes into my brain again. It’s like some kinda gut instinct, always knowing when she’s close. Even though I’m so in over my head, part of me doesn’t care.

Fuck it. Let the chaos come; I’ll take whatever she’s serving.

I shove the last bite of my sandwich into my mouth and I glance at the time—2:5. Isla’s supposed to swing by soon to grab a part for Xav’s canopy. Xav had called last minute, but hell, I’d do anything for him. He’s like a second brother to me, along with his brother, Bradley.

Eminem’s Business starts blaring through the shop’s speakers, and I can’t stop the grin spreading across my face. Fuck, I love this song. The beat’s like a shot of adrenaline straight to the chest. I tap my foot, singing the words, getting lost in it.

Michael glances over at me. “Do you have to sing?”

“Yes, I do,” I reply, grinning. “Eminem, mate. Best rapper in the game.”

“You’re a dork, you know that?”

“Damn right.” I laugh, tossing the last bit of my sandwich in the bin. I jump up and grab the part from the shelf, setting it on the bench for Isla.

I hear the hum of a car pulling up outside. I wipe my hands on my jeans again for good measure and head toward the front of the shop. As I step out, I catch sight of Isla rounding the car, but what really hits me like a freight train is the sight of Imogen getting out of the passenger seat, that delicious scowl of hers in full force. My pulse skyrockets.

Well, well, well... guess my gut instincts aren’t half-bad, after all. Didn’t expect to see her this quick, but you’re not gonna hear me complain.

“Isla.” I nod in greeting.

“Hey, Harrison,” she replies with a wave.

I flick my eyes over to Imogen, who’s looking at me like she wants to kill me, that scowl tight on her face. “Hey, Immy,” I say, dragging the word out.

Her eyes narrow. “It’s Imogen .”

“I know. But Immy sounds better, don’t you reckon?”

“I don’t.”

“How’s your little bundle of joy?” I ask, nodding toward Isla’s car.

Isla grins like a proud mum. “She’s great. With Xavier’s mum. Grace just got her down for a nap. She’s been restless all morning.”

My thoughts drift for a second. Kids? Never really crossed my mind before. But the idea of having my own—yeah, that sends a chill down my spine. How the hell could I be good enough for something like that? After everything? No fucking way. But then I think about it—what if I could? What if I could be the kind of guy who could do the dad thing? It’s a fleeting thought, but it sticks with me for a second.

Maybe I could do the dad thing.

Imogen stays quiet, her eyes darting between Isla and me, that scowl still firmly in place. I can’t help but grin wider, knowing exactly how much I get under her skin. It’s a thrill, really.

“Glad she’s getting some rest. You must be relieved.”

Isla nods. “Absolutely. Thanks for getting the part ready, Harrison.”

“Anytime,” I say, waving them inside. “I’ll grab it for you now.” The girls follow me in, and the familiar smell of oil and metal hits me. Just as I’m handing the part to Isla, Michael strolls out from the back.

“Hey, Isla. Hey, Imogen,” he says with a wave. Both of them wave back. I pull a face, acting all wounded.

“Oh, so Mike gets a hello, but not me?” I ask Imogen.

Isla chuckles, but Imogen just shrugs. “Maybe he’s more likeable.”

I roll my eyes, grinning. “Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

Michael starts chatting to Isla about Callie and Xavier, the conversation flowing easy. I barely register the words—nah, I’m too busy watching Imogen. There’s something about her presence that makes the whole shop feel a little lighter; even if she’s scowling. She’s pretending not to notice me watching, but I can see right through her. She’s just as aware of me as I am of her.

How can I not stare? She’s got on a tight black tank top that hugs her curves just right and a pair of ripped jean shorts that accentuate her long legs. Her tank top is doing amazing things for her rack, and I’m fighting the urge to not just stare at them. I should stop before I get a fucking hard on.

Her bright blonde hair is styled in those signature loose curls, cascading down her shoulders like a golden waterfall. She’s fucking sexy, with that whole untouchable, ice-queen appeal that drives me crazy.

“So, what are your plans for the evening?” Michael asks, leaning against the counter, breaking me out of my thoughts.

Isla sighs. “Hopefully, I’ll have the little one down in time to relax and spend some time with Xav.”

Michael nods. “And what about you?” He turns to Imogen.

“Nothing much. Might hit up some drinks, don’t know yet.” She waves her hand dismissively.

My curiosity is now very piqued. “Oh yeah, with who?”

She puts a hand to her hip, her eyes challenging. “None of your business.”

One of the boys in the back lets out a low whistle, but I’m not deterred. I want to know who she’s seeing tonight—and why the fuck it isn’t me.

“Come on, Immy. Spill.”

Isla suddenly blurts out, “Oh, she has a date tonight. Isn’t that right?”

Imogen’s eyes go wide, and she smacks Isla’s arm, her face flushing. “Isla!”

Isla realises she’s stepped in it too late; a frown is already pulling on my face. “A date? With who?”

Imogen avoids my eye contact. “Again, none of your business.” The shop goes quiet, everyone watching the exchange. The tension’s thick, but I can’t help myself.

“Come on, Immy, who’s the lucky guy?” Isla flashes me an apologetic smile, but I’m already too deep in it. The thought of her with someone else doesn’t sit right. I need to know. Even if it’s none of my business.

Her jaw tightens, and she looks ready to throw something at me. “Why do you care?”

I shrug, trying to play it cool. “Just curious.”

She turns away. “Well, stay curious. You’re not getting an answer from me.”

“I know almost everyone in town.” Lies . “I’ll find out sooner or later. So you might as well just tell me.”

Imogen’s refusal to answer me only fuels my irritation. The silence between us stretches, and the thought of her meeting up with another bloke does not sit well in my stomach.