Chapter 2
TWO
“We need at least three more vehicles for the auction next week.”
A groan escapes me as I tilt my head back, dragging a hand over my face before glaring at Cory across the table.
“What?” he snaps, matching my look. “We do.”
“Yeah, I fucking know,” I bite back. “But we just lifted a Porsche 911, so can you just chill the fuck out and have a drink?”
Cory narrows his eyes at me, and Mac huffs a laugh from my right.
“I’m with Alder on this one,” Mac says, lifting his beer to his lips. “It won’t take long for people to notice this car is missing. We need to lay low for a bit.”
I nod towards Cory’s untouched beer, and wait.
He hesitates, looking all twitchy and annoying, but finally picks up the bottle and takes a drink.
“Good boy,” I say.
“Fuck off.” He sneers at me, and I laugh.
“Alright,” Dom barks from the end of the table. He leans back in his chair and rubs a hand over his face.
And fair enough. It’s been a day. We spent nearly a week tracking that car out of Grand Falls—mapping the driver’s routine across the border in Maine, watching traffic cams, and waiting for the perfect gap.
Then we hit it clean with a decoy plate and tow truck.
And now we’re back in Fredericton with a shiny new Porsche ready to scrub and flip.
Because the Basin Kings always deliver.
“Kurt get any more info on next week’s buyers?” Mac asks me.
I shake my head. “He’ll have something by tomorrow. And I have leads too.”
Mac nods thoughtfully. “I know he’s your uncle and all, but… does it seem like he has you running point more lately?”
My eyes quickly dart to him. “I’m his VP. It’s my job to handle the shit he doesn’t want to deal with.”
But I have noticed. And with these auctions becoming harder to run, I get it.
“Plus, there’s nothing quite like tracking rich assholes and smoothing over Cory’s fuckups to really live the dream,” I add, leaning back and lifting my beer to my lips.
Cory’s eyes flash and he shoots daggers at me. But he stays quiet.
Such a good boy.
I chuckle, then let my gaze drift to the TV over the bar, half-watching sports highlights while the guys keep talking.
“Should we mod this one?” Mac asks.
“If you want to—” Dom starts, but I cut him off.
“We’re not modding shit,” I say. “It’s going to auction, not a damn car show. Scrub it, swap the VIN, clean up tech so it flies under scanners, then it’s done. Car’s probably already hot. No need to light it up more.”
The door to the bar creaks open, and a strip of golden evening light spills into the dim room. My eyes drop from the TV just as a guy walks past us, heading towards the back like he knows exactly where he’s going.
But I haven’t seen him here before. And we come here often.
And fuck, if I had, I would’ve already been all up in that. He’s fucking hot with his messy hair, cable-knit sweater, and messenger bag slung over his shoulder.
As he slides into the booth in the far corner, he disappears behind Mac’s broad shoulders. So I reach over and yank Mac back by the collar of his leather cut.
“The fuck?” Mac grunts, turning on me.
But I ignore him. I’m too busy watching sweater guy pull a stack of papers from his bag.
Mac follows my gaze, then chuckles. “A little too proper for you, don’t you think?”
I shoot him a glare, and Cory glances over his shoulder to get a look.
“Don’t know why you don’t just stick to the club girls,” Cory says, shaking his head. “They’re easy.”
“That’s rude,” I say, pointing a finger at him.
He shrugs. “It’s not untrue.”
Dom just shakes his head with a heavy sigh, turning to face the TV.
“They’re not easy. You just lose respect for them once they know what they want,” I say, my voice sharper than expected. “And anyway, I’ve been leaning more towards dick lately.” Then shift my focus back to the guy in the corner booth.
Mac blows out a breath. “Jesus.”
Cory just raises his eyebrows and turns back to Dom. “Anyway. Think we can use the Mustang’s ECU? It’s the same gen.”
“No,” I say, my attention flicking back to the table. “The Porsche’s firmware will fight it, and you’ll brick the system. We need an OEM pull from the same year.”
Dom nods, not taking his eyes off the TV. “Works for me.”
Movement draws my eyes back to the booth, where the guy is shrugging off his sweater, revealing a fitted white T-shirt that hugs his chest just right. His arms flex as he tosses the sweater beside him and takes a drink of his whiskey.
Nice.
“Alright.” I push up from the table, draining the last of my beer as I keep my eyes on him.
“For fuck’s sake, Alder,” Mac groans.
“Fuck off,” I mutter as I step away from the table and make my way towards the back booth. I flash two fingers at Sam behind the bar on my way, and he nods, grabbing a couple glasses to fill them with whiskey.
I slide into the booth opposite sweater guy, and I find myself staring into a pair of deep, stormy-blue eyes. They lock onto mine, and I hold his gaze, trying to get a read on him. But I see nothing.
Hm.
And the longer I stare at him, the more curious I get. He doesn’t look away or even fidget. He just waits me out, like he’s also testing me.
I knew I’d like him.
“What’s your favourite tree?”
His brow arches slightly.
Sam arrives at the table and sets two glasses of whiskey down in front of us. The guy doesn’t even flinch. He just calmly finishes the last of his drink and pulls the new one closer.
“Can’t say I have one,” he replies.
My jaw tightens, but I let it go. For now.
I break our eye contact and let my eyes travel over him.
He’s even hotter up close. His light brown hair sticks out in every direction like he’s combed it with his fingers, if at all.
And his stubble is in that sweet spot between lazy and intentional.
My eyes drift down the line of his defined arm to his hand, where his pen hovers over a page covered in… math equations?
I nod at the stack of papers in front of him as I take a drink. “Homework?”
The corner of his lips twitch, ever so slightly. “Marking exams.”
I reach forward and grab one from the top of his stack, reading the top of the page. Quantum Mechanics.
Damn.
Dropping it back onto the pile, I lean back and shake my head. “You’re a liar.”
His eyes squint a bit, but he doesn’t say a word. He just continues watching me.
I take another long, slow drink. But dude doesn’t slip.
“Everyone has a favourite tree,” I say in a low voice.
This time, he smirks. He drops the pen and leans back as his fingers curl loosely around the whiskey glass in front of him.
His eyes drop to my hand around my own glass, and I watch him as his gaze follows the lines of ink from my fingers, up my arm, and then lingers on the forest and wildflower tattoo that curls behind my ear and down my neck.
“So what’s yours?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Can’t tell you that yet.”
His eyes lift to meet mine. “Yet?”
I lean forward to rest my forearms on the table. “So, what has you drinking all alone in a shitty bar on a Thursday night?”
He gestures to the papers in front of him.
But I shake my head. “Even I know drinking while grading isn’t very… professorly.”
His jaw tics, and his eyes narrow slightly.
Interesting.
But still he stays cool, and takes a drink. Several gulps this time. “I do things a little differently, I suppose,” he says.
“I can see that,” I murmur, letting my gaze drift over him again.
His expression shifts, turning a bit curious as his gaze drops to the patch stitched over my chest. The one for the Basin Kings.
But he doesn’t say anything.
“How many exams left?” I ask.
He studies the patch a beat longer, then meets my eyes again. There’s nothing in them to give away how he might be feeling, as his finger steadily taps his glass. Then, he pushes the stack of papers aside.
I smile as I lean back again and take a slow drink.
He lifts his glass to his lips. “What if I’m not into guys?”
I shrug. “Never hurts to try. And your vibe says otherwise.”
He takes his drink, then lowers his glass to the table with a small nod. “You’d be right.” His eyes then flick towards my table, where Mac, Dom, and Cory are still deep in car talk. And I know what he’s probably thinking.
“They know,” I say, following his eyes. I glance back at him and let the corner of my mouth lift. “And for the record, I don’t discriminate.”
He huffs out a breath of laughter. “Fair enough.”
I lean in a little closer, looking deeper into his eyes. I still can’t see past his calm, closed-off exterior, but I’m intrigued. This quantum mechanics professor who drinks whiskey on a Thursday and is as cool as ice. He’s a puzzle… and I like puzzles.
But not tonight.
I drain the last of my drink and set the glass down. “So,” I say, my voice low and easy, “we done talking now?”
His lips twitch, and for the first time all night, I see something subtle spark behind his eyes. “What do you have in mind?”
I tilt my chin towards the door behind him. “There’s an office back there.”
He keeps his eyes on mine for a moment longer, then downs the rest of his drink in one smooth motion and slides out of the booth, heading straight for the office.
Yeah. I definitely like him.