Chapter 2 #2
That gets me the tiniest twitch at the corner of her mouth, not quite a smile so much as a hairline fracture in the armor she keeps so carefully in place, and I feel it land like a win anyway.
She sets the bottle down and crosses her arms, shifting her weight onto one hip as she studies me, tipping her head.
It’s the look of someone still deciding what box to put me in and realizing I don’t quite fit in any of them.
“So, Jax… are you going to stand there all day, or do you actually ride the thing you brought in?”
“Ride it. Love it. Occasionally talk dirty to it.” I lift a shoulder in a shrug. “Theo pretends not to hear.”
“Poor Theo.”
“Poor me,” I correct, leaning into the counter like this is a conversation I’ve earned. “He doesn’t get my humor either.”
“Maybe because it’s not funny.”
“Oh, it’s funny.” I point at her, unable to help myself. “See? You’re fighting a smile right now.”
“I’m fighting the urge to kick you out,” she fires back.
I grin wider, knowing exactly what I’m doing at this point. “Same thing.”
She shakes her head, muttering something that sounds a lot like idiot, and moves past me toward a shelf stacked with filters and parts bins, close enough that I catch myself turning to track her without meaning to.
“Need help with anything?” I ask, following her with my eyes instead of my feet. “I’m tall. Strong. Devastatingly charming, caution label and all.”
She glances over her shoulder, unimpressed in a way that feels practiced. “Yeah. I need you to move two feet back and stop hovering.”
“Ouch. Brutal.” I step back exactly one foot and stop. “Compromise?”
She shoots me a look, undeniably amused. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet.” I spread my hands, confidence settling back into place where it belongs, “still here.”
Raine snorts, then reaches for a box on the shelf like she needs something solid to anchor herself, dropping it onto the workbench with a loud thud before digging through it.
Her hands move fast and precise, brushing her fingers over parts like they already know what they’re looking for.
I don’t even bother pretending I’m not watching since my attention keeps snapping right back to her no matter where I try to put it.
“You planning to stare holes in me all day?” she asks, still focused on the box, like she’s daring me to deny it.
“Depends.” I shift closer, elbows finding the edge of the bench without asking permission. “You planning to pretend you don’t like it all day?”
She cuts a glance at me that feels more like a warning shot, but there’s something flickering underneath it that she shuts down just as fast. “You’re delusional.”
“Confident,” I counter, tilting my head and smiling like this is familiar ground. “There’s a difference.”
“Delusional with confidence is still delusional.” She pulls out a part wrapped in wax paper, inspects it, then tosses it back into the box with a quiet click before reaching for another. “You don’t get points for persistence, Jax. You just get annoying.”
I lean in a little more, close enough now that I catch her scent when she shifts, and the fact that she hasn’t told me to back the hell up yet feels like information. “Funny thing is, I don’t feel annoying.”
“You wouldn’t.” She unwraps the next part and fits it against a bracket, movements slowing just enough to be careful, her tongue pressing briefly against her cheek as she lines up the screws, which is distracting in a way that feels personal even though I know it isn’t meant to be.
“You always this mean to paying customers?”
“Only the ones who show up without a real problem.” She tightens the first screw, then the second, steady and methodical.
I let a smile creep in, because that sounds like an invitation whether she intended it or not. “Who says I don’t have a problem?”
That finally makes her stop. She looks up at me then, wrench still in her hand, eyes narrowing as she weighs the question like it might actually matter. “Do you?”
“Yeah.” I let the space hang between us, watching the way her focus sharpens instead of pulling away. “Pretty mechanic with cyan streaks stuck in my head.”
Her expression stays neutral, but her eyes give her away for half a second before she locks them back down. “Cute.”
“I thought so.”
She brushes past me toward the back, close enough that I catch the heat she’s been carrying all shift, and reaches for a socket set hanging on the rack. Without thinking, I turn with her, because apparently my legs never got the memo that this is where I’m supposed to leave.
“You ever take a day off?”
Her answer floats back over her shoulder, dry but not annoyed. “Do you ever shut up?”
“Not when the conversation’s this good.”
“This isn’t a conversation.” She doesn’t slow as she says it, doesn’t tell me to move either. “It’s me ignoring you and you refusing to notice.”
“Semantics.”
She glances back then, and there it is again, that split second where exasperation gives way to something brighter before she reins it in. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Admit it’s entertaining, though.”
Her mouth twitches, betraying her before she can stop it, and she drops into a crouch beside a bike frame like work is the safer option. She lines up the socket and pulls, muscles in her arms flexing as her tattoo shifts with the motion.
“You know,” I say, unable to help myself, “most guys would be intimidated.”
She flicks a glance up at me, eyes distant and curious in equal measure. “Are you?”
“More like turned on,” I admit, easy and honest, feeling that at this point pretending is pointless.
The socket slips, clinking against the floor as she straightens fast, and she shoots me a look hard enough to peel paint. I just grin wider.
“You don’t quit, do you?”
“Not when I’m having fun.”
“Glad you’re entertained.” She reaches for the fallen socket and stands, brushing her hands together like she’s done with this. “Now go entertain someone else.”
“Not a chance.”
She exhales hard through her nose and tightens the bolt again like the metal personally offended her. “You’re like gum on a boot.”
“The good kind,” I add easily, shifting my weight as I watch her hands work. “Sweet. Lasts forever.”
Her laugh slips out this time, short and huffed, and she tries to kill it by clearing her throat and turning away. “You are an idiot.”
“Progress,” I reply, pleased enough to feel it in my chest.
She shakes her head, but there’s color in her cheeks now, faint and stubborn, and she knows it. She finishes the bolt, straightens, and wipes her hands again like she’s resetting herself. “Seriously, Jax. Don’t you have a job?”
“Yeah. Bartender at night.”
“Then shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
“Can’t.” I tilt my head to the side a couple inches. “Too busy thinking about a certain mechanic.”
Her eyes flick up, quick, and I feel the hit land before she can bury it. She turns away before I can press, heading back toward the counter like distance might help.
I trail after her, not letting up for a second. “What? No comeback?”
“Not everything needs a comeback.”
“That sounded like a comeback.”
She coughs, like she nearly laughed and is mad about it. “You’re impossible.” She grabs a clipboard, scribbles something fast, and slaps it onto the counter. “Sign this.”
I lean down, skimming the mess of handwriting. “What am I signing?”
“That I fixed your bike. Liability.”
“Liability?” I put a hand to my chest again, wounded on principle. “Don’t you trust me?”
“No. Not at all.”
That one actually stings, but just a little.
“Good answer,” I admit with a shrug as I grab the pen and sign anyway.
She pulls the clipboard back, slides it into a cabinet, and then looks at me like she’s waiting, like she knows I’m not done yet. She’s right.
I think she likes it, though.
“So, Raine.” I lean my hip against the counter again. “You fight, you fix, you terrify. What do you do for fun?”
She blinks once, expression unreadable. “I fix. I fight. I terrify.”
“Sexy answer.” I inch closer without crowding her. “But you’re dodging the question.”
“That is the answer.”
I grin and push just a little. “So no hobbies? No knitting? No stamp collection?”
“I collect idiots who won’t leave my shop, apparently,” she fires back, brow arching, but there’s no real bite behind it.
“Lucky me. First in the collection.”
“First to get thrown out,” she corrects, her gaze dropping away for half a second like she’s stopping a smile before it can finish forming.
I glance around the shop, dramatic. “I’m not seeing any security. You’d have to do it yourself.”
“I would.”
“And I’d let you.” I drop my voice just enough to make the intention obvious.
Her eyes narrow, not angry, just unimpressed that I think permission factors into this. “Like I’d need you to.”
“No.” I almost laugh as the image plays out in my head. “You wouldn’t. You’d just beat my ass.”
She holds my stare a beat too long, then breaks it by grabbing her water bottle again. She takes a sip, sets it down with a snap, and leans back against the counter opposite me, eyes bright in a way she’s definitely not acknowledging. “You think everything’s a game, don’t you?”
“Only when there’s a prize worth winning.”
“And I’m what?” she asks, watching me carefully. “The prize?”
“You’re the challenge.” My grin turning into something more focused. “Prizes are easy. You’re not.”
That earns me silence, not the irritated kind but the thoughtful kind, and she studies me like she’s deciding whether I’m full of shit or just accidentally honest.
Finally, she shakes her head. “You really are annoying.”
“Yeah,” I admit, the grin sliding back into place. “But you'll learn to love it.”
She pushes off the counter and heads back toward the bike frame. “Get out of my shop, Jax.”
“Was that an invitation to come back?”
“No.”
“Sounded like one.”
“Then you need your hearing checked.”
“Only if you’re the one checking it.”