Chapter 25
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
REBEL
Benji’s hands come up to rest on my shoulders, giving them a squeeze. His friendly smile brings out a smile of my own.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, pleased. I’d enjoyed our conversation at the Kinsey’s luncheon, so it’s good to see him again.
He pushes up his glasses. “I saw a video of you joining the Lady Luck Society.”
“What?” I blink in confusion. “Oh, you mean the announcement on the Jumbotron?”
He nods.
“So you drove all the way here to congratulate me?” In the corner of my eye, I notice someone hovering around the food truck.
It’s Gunner. His pale blue eyes are glaring at Benji’s hands on my shoulders.
“I had business in town as well,” Benji explains, looking in the direction of my stare. He notices Gunner and his forehead furrows slightly.
“But how did you know I was here? ” I wonder.
“I stopped by The Pink Garage and your mechanic friend gave me directions.”
That makes sense.
My eyes stray to Gunner again.
He takes the both of us looking in his direction as permission to approach because he stomps over. My heart pinches at the stormy look on his face. When he’d held Gordie, he’d been so soft and sweet. It felt like I was seeing another side of him.
But there’s no sign of that Gunner now.
He swats Benji’s hand off and drapes his arm around my shoulders, marking his territory.
Benji’s lips tighten and he sizes Gunner up. He’s not as broad-shouldered as Gunner, but he’s fairly tall. I remember him mentioning that he played baseball in high school.
His past sports history is about as close as the two have in common. Benji has nothing on Gunner’s six-five height or his muscles hewn from constant hockey training.
I step between the two men, already smelling the testosterone battle on the horizon. “Gunner, this is Benji. Benji, this is Gunner Kinsey.”
“Kinsey.” Benji gives Gunner a tight smile.
Gunner’s hands fist at his side.
“Gunner is Carol Kinsey’s son,” I say. “She’s the chairwoman of the Lady Luck Society.”
Benji nods and immediately dismisses that information. Looking eagerly at me, he asks, “Now that you’re in the Society, I’m assuming you’re single?”
My eyebrows fly up.
Gunner’s eyes harden.
I lick my suddenly dry lips. “How’s your dad, Benji?”
“He’s good,” Benji says, looking like he wants to steer the conversation back to my relationship status. “My father hasn’t stopped talking about what you did for Scooby’s Nightmare. Every time we meet up, he hints at inviting you out as a thank you.”
“There’s no need for that.” I shake my head. “I was just doing my job.”
“Yes, but?—”
“Today’s not a social event,” Gunner clips. “If you haven’t noticed,” he gestures to the hockey players who are lifting a tall ladder out of the back of a truck, “we’ve got work to do.”
I turn to Gunner, frowning.
He pretends not to notice and speaks to me in a dark tone. “Rebel, we need directions on where to start painting.”
“Oh, right.” I nod at Benji. “I’m a little tied up today, but maybe you and I can meet up afterwards?”
Gunner makes an animal-like growl behind me.
Benji smiles and undoes the button at his cuff. “Why don’t I stick around?”
“Didn’t you say you came to town for business?”
“I’m flexible.” He rolls up the sleeve of his crisp white shirt. “You need more painters?”
“We’ll need all the help we can get. By the way, Gunner, Theilan said the paint truck came all the way from the city. Who donated that much paint?”
Gunner clears his throat and glances away.
Something in his expression makes me pause. Why does he look so guilty?
“Gunner, did you?—”
Benji blurts, “You should have told me about your community initiative, Rebel. I know a lot of wealthy businessmen who’d love to give to a worthy cause. Tell you what. I’ll make a few calls. Just tell me what you need and they’ll have it here for you by mid-afternoon.”
Gunner rolls his eyes.
I nod absently at Benji. “L-let’s head to the school first.”
Several of the hockey players are already mounting ladders against the school building. Max gestures to me and I’m grateful to leave Benji and Gunner behind so I can focus on the project at hand.
When I’m finished hashing out the details with Max, I get a text from April.
APRIL: Sorry, Rebel. A client’s expecting his car today and I ran a quick test and saw another problem. So sorry. I really wanted to be there by now.
ME: It’s okay. I’m the one who’s sorry for leaving you with all those cars in the bay.
APRIL: It’s totally fine. The rest can wait. I sent Chance ahead since this will take longer than I expected. As soon as I’m done though, I’m coming straight over.
I text my best friend a line of pink heart emojis.
The Pink Garage opens from Monday to Saturday and I hate that April is there, fixing cars alone. We really need to interview the female mechanic she mentioned and get some more help in the auto shop.
“Rebel.” Mom’s voice draws my attention away from my phone. My eyebrows shoot to the top of my head when I see a crowd of people from the neighborhood standing behind her. “What can we do to help?”
My heart squeezes in my chest. “Mom.”
“This is our community too.” Mom smiles gently at me. “We want to do our part to take care of it.”
Emotions roll to my throat, making it hard to speak. Inhaling a few deep breaths, I regain my composure and point in the direction of the basketball court. “I need two people on the bleachers. The swings, too, could use a fresh coat of paint. Also…”
Mom takes in everything I say. She turns to our neighbors and repeats my instructions, helping to divide everyone into groups.
Time flies as I flit from one project to another, checking on progress, pitching in where I can, and running to solve problem after problem.
It’s a monumental task to cover an entire neighborhood in one day, and so many things go wrong.
The water pressure slows to a creep, making it impossible to wash down the side of the school.
Pet control got all but one of the dogs and the animal ran into the park, startling one of the volunteers who turned over a paint can. The dog then ran into the spilled paint and left yellow paw marks all over the freshly painted basketball court.
The volunteers in charge of mowing the abandoned lots accidentally sent a stone crashing into a vehicle driving by and the owner was yelling and arguing at the top of his voice, demanding repayment.
But on the bright side, with so many hands pitching in, the school building is halfway painted. If we keep going at this pace, we’ll hit every task on our list by five p.m. the latest.
“Rebel,” mom calls me to the house while I’m enroute to the school for another check in, “the ladies and I packed sandwiches for the men. Can you help us share them out?”
I agree and switch routes to pick up my mom and the sandwiches instead.
Almost all the volunteers have congregated at the school along with the hockey team. Theilan and Watson are on top of ladders, painting the upper half of the building. Max and Chance are below, holding the ladders steady.
“Is anybody hungry?” I yell, lifting the bags of food.
My statement is met with cheers and a crowd quickly gathers around us.
“I’m sorry we don’t have anything better than sandwiches,” mom says sheepishly. “I know you just ate sandwiches for breakfast.”
Theilan somehow manages to scale down the ladder in a blink and gets to her first. He accepts his sandwich with a gleeful smile. “Are you kidding? I was starving!”
Benji walks over to get a sandwich from me. “How’s it looking?” He gestures to the school building.
“Great.” I notice the sweat seeping into his fancy white shirt. “You’re working hard.”
He bobs his head and says something else, but I’m not paying attention. My eyes swoop the field, looking for a tall hockey player with dark hair, cold blue eyes, and a could-care-less expression.
Gunner is nowhere to be seen.
“… anyway,” Benji is saying, “I decided I didn’t mind monster truck shows all along and?—”
“Sorry, Benji. Can you hand the rest of these out?” I stuff the basket into his stomach. “I need to find Gunner.”
He blinks.
I walk off and then abruptly turn back.
There’s a hopeful look in Benji’s eyes as I approach him.
Awkwardly, I snatch two sandwiches from the basket. “Forgot these,” I mumble.
Weaving through the crowd, I keep looking but I can’t find Gunner anywhere.
“Chance,” I approach April’s boyfriend, “have you seen Gunner?”
The famous hockey player glances up with a sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Yeah, I think he went that way to wash the paint off.”
“Thanks.” I head around the school building to the outdoor sink.
The school has a large football field for the kids to play. Like the basketball court, the net is missing from the goal posts. I make a mental note to buy some new nets for the kids.
As I near the outdoor sinks, a tall, muscular figure comes into view and my entire body goes still.
Oh my gosh.
Gunner.
Kinsey.
Is.
Shirtless.
Gunner cups his hands under the faucet and splashes his face. Droplets of water flicker across his shoulder to his cut bicep and slide down to his chiseled torso. The tattoos that he normally keeps under a respectful, long-sleeved exercise shirt are on full display, wrapping around his pale skin like he’s a Viking ripped straight out of a storybook.
Prickles pop on the back of my neck as my skin starts overheating.
There’s no way I should be looking at Gunner in this state. That dark hair, those tattoos, those muscles—it’s a testament to raw, powerful masculinity.
Maybe a little too raw.
Maybe a little too masculine.
I should definitely look away.
But my feet are frozen on the ground and my head refuses to turn.
Breathe, Rebel . I remind myself when I start feeling lightheaded.
Gunner startles and his head twists to me. I blush, realizing I’ve been caught drooling over my mortal enemy.
Propriety takes control again. I force my gaze to the sky. “I-I brought you some sandwiches. Theilan and the t-team didn’t seem like they’d leave any leftovers.”
Why am I stuttering? It’s not like I’ve never seen a shirtless man before. They’re at the beach. And at the pool. And I’ve seen homeless men shirtless too. Sure, the homeless guys on the street do not look like Gunner but…
Suddenly, the stream of water pouring into the sink shifts to silence.
Gunner’s boots crunch against sand and loose stones.
He’s walking over.
Nerves tangle in my stomach and I chew on my bottom lip, struggling to breathe evenly. My heart is hammering so hard against my ribs, there’s a real possibility it breaks out and starts flopping around in my stomach.
I can’t help it. My gaze darts to Gunner’s torso for one more peek.
Ugh! It’s disgusting how beautiful he is. The man might be arrogant, cold, and impossible to understand, but his body is a work of art, from the muscled arms to his six pack abs.
Wait. Are those only six? I’m sure I counted more than six earlier.
In a single step, Gunner closes the distance between us, taking my chin in his hands and tilting my head. “My eyes are up here, Rebel.”
Heat washes through my entire body. I wrench my chin out of his grip. “I wasn’t looking.”
A corner of his mouth curves up.
Am I insane? Are Gunner’s half grins somehow hotter to me now that I’ve seen him shirtless? What is wrong with me?
A drop of water plops from Gunner’s hair which, unfairly, makes him look like a vampire prince who got caught in the rain.
He leans in, his blue eyes scorching. He whispers over my lips. “Do you want it?”
“Want…” I sway forward slightly. “Want what?”
“My sandwich?” He looks down at my hands and I do too, realizing that I’m gripping his sandwich so hard, I punctured the plastic wrapping over it and I’m squeezing out all the tuna.
I release the sandwiches and they almost tumble to the ground. Gunner and his quick reflexes snatch them out of the air instead.
“P-put a shirt on,” I snap, averting my gaze and preparing to stomp away.
But Gunner grabs my hand and tugs me toward him.
I stumble into his firm chest, gasping as the sweat and water on his skin seeps into mine. Heat engulfs me like I stepped into an erupting volcano.
“What are you doing?” I squirm. “Let me go.”
“I can’t.”
I freeze. My eyes flit to his.
Gunner slides his fingers down the curve of my cheek. “I can’t let you go, Rebel.”