Chapter Two #2
I stay on my bike, helmet hanging off one handlebar, pulling my gloves on slow like I’m leaving, but my eyes go right back to Cece.
She’s already moving toward her car by the time I get the second glove on.
Bare legs, fast steps, the cool ocean air rolls through the lot and makes her hurry without trying to look like she’s hurrying.
Adorable.
She reaches her car and fumbles with her keys for half a second before getting the door unlocked. Even alone in a half-empty parking lot, she’s got that little attitude in the way she stands, like she’s ready to argue with somebody just for breathing wrong.
Probably me.
Hopefully me.
Cece pulls the driver’s door open, tosses her phone onto the passenger seat, and slides behind the wheel. The dome light catches her face for one quick second and I pick up my helmet and slide it over my head.
She turns the key.
Click.
I pause.
She tries again.
Nothing.
My mouth starts to curve.
She goes still behind the wheel, and I can practically feel her trying not to look over at me.
Then she turns the key one more time.
The engine gives one sad little cough and quits like it’s got no interest in helping her escape me tonight.
I flex my fingers inside my gloves and grin to myself.
Yeah.
I’m not going anywhere yet.
Cece’s head slowly turns toward me through the windshield, and even from here, I can feel the glare.
Beautiful.
I take my helmet back off and hang it from the handlebar before getting off the bike.
“Need help?”
Cece gets out of the car and points at me before I’m even halfway across the lot. “From you? I’d rather die.”
I lift both hands and glance around. “Doesn’t look like you’ve got a whole lot of options, Mama. Lucky for you, I’m still here.”
Her eyes narrow. “Do not start.”
“I wasn’t doing anything,”
“You were smiling.”
“I have a nice smile.”
“You have a punchable smile.”
“Yeah?” My grin pulls wider. “Still got you looking at it.”
Her eyes narrow. “Ay, don’t flatter yourself.”
“Too late. That ship sailed years ago.”
“Clearly.” She shuts the door harder than necessary and steps aside when I reach her car. “It’s probably just being dramatic.”
“The car or you?”
Her mouth drops open. “Excuse me?”
“What? I’m asking for diagnostic purposes.”
“Diagnose this, pendejo.” She flips me off, then points at the hood. “Fix the damn car before I change my mind and make you useful for something else.”
My grin pulls wider. “Careful, Mama. That almost sounded like flirting.”
“That was a threat.”
“From you?” I lean closer, just enough to watch her chin lift. “Same thing.”
Her cheeks flush, but her stare doesn’t budge. “Keep talking and I’ll leave you with matching dents in your bike and your ego.”
“See, that’s the shit I’m talking about.” I laugh, reaching for the hood. “Goddamn entertaining.”
“Revel.”
I hold up both hands. “All right, all right. Pop the hood.”
Cece opens her mouth like she wants to argue just on principle, then rolls her eyes and reaches inside the car through her window. The hood releases with a dull click, and I step in front of it, close enough that when she moves beside me, her shoulder brushes my arm.
Not much.
Enough.
She smells like warm skin, something sweet in her hair, and the leftover bite of the night air. My hand stills on the hood for half a second too long.
She narrows her eyes. “You know cars?”
“I know a lot of shit, Mama. There’s more to me than hard abs, bad decisions, and a mouth that gets me in trouble.”
“Right.” Her gaze drags over me, slow enough to be insulting and not nearly slow enough to be innocent. “That sounds exactly like something a man says right before he makes everything worse.”
“I’m wounded.”
“Qué pena. You’ll survive.”
“For you? I’ll try.”
Her mouth twitches.
Barely.
A quick little betrayal she kills almost as fast as it shows up. I almost point it out just to be an asshole, but I don’t, because apparently I’m growing as a person.
Probably.
I lean in over the open hood and check the battery again, feeling her standing way too close beside me.
Not touching. She’s near enough that I notice every little movement without trying.
The shift of her shoulder beside mine, the heat coming off her skin, that sweet fucking scent that seems to follow her everywhere and makes concentrating way harder than it should be.
My hand stills on the battery cable.
“When’s the last time you had this looked at?”
She crosses her arms. “Define ‘looked at.’”
“Jesus Christ.”
“My mechanic said it had character.”
“Your mechanic hates you.”
“My mechanic is my cousin.”
“Yeah? Then whatever family beef you two have, he’s taking it out on your battery.” I mess with the cable, then nod toward the driver’s seat. “Try it again.”
She slides in and turns the key.
Click.
Nothing.
I try not to smile and fail.
She climbs back out, sees my face, and points at me again. “I swear to God.”
“What? I’m not laughing.”
“You’re spiritually laughing.”
“Can’t control my spirit.”
She blows out a breath and looks toward the street, like maybe if she stares hard enough, a responsible adult will materialize with jumper cables and no personality.
No one does.
Lucky me.
I let the hood drop with a heavy thunk. “Battery’s probably done.”
“Great. Love that for me.”
“Looks like you need a ride.”
“No.”
“You didn’t even let the offer breathe.”
“You’re right. I recognized it as a bad idea and killed it quickly.”
“Dramatic. It might not be your version of ‘ideal’ but it beats sitting in an empty lot at night by yourself.”
“I can call Bexley. Get them to come back and grab me.”
“You could”—I tilt my head—“but then you’d have to explain why you didn’t take the ride already standing in front of you.”
Her lips press together.
I grin because I can see the exact second she realizes I’m right, and she hates it. Hates it so much I can practically hear her grinding her teeth.
“How much did you drink?” she asks.
“Water? Alot.”
She blinks. “What? Idiot. I meant beer.”
“I only had water,” I repeat.
“At a party?”
“Yeah.”
Her gaze sweeps over me, suspicious. “You don’t drink?”
“Not much.”
“Why?”
I could make a joke. I almost do. It’s sitting right there on my tongue, easy and stupid, the kind of answer that keeps things light.
But she’s watching me too closely.
So I shrug. “Don’t like shit messing with my head.”
That shuts her up for a second.
Not long, but long enough.
Her eyes flick over my face like she’s trying to decide whether there’s something real under the bullshit. There is. I just don’t usually hand it out in parking lots to women who threaten my dental work.
Then she lifts her chin. “You expect me to believe the walking midlife crisis with a motorcycle has a responsible streak?”
“My bike doesn’t mess with my head.” I push off her car. “It clears it.”
She looks toward my bike, then back at me, still unsure.
“Come on,” I say. “I’ve got a spare helmet inside.”
“I didn’t agree.”
“Nah, but you’re about to.”
“Cocky.”
“Yeah, but you like it.”
She gives me a look and I give it right back.
The breeze moves through the lot, tugging at her hair, and she rubs a hand over her arm before she catches herself doing it. My eyes drop to the movement and I pull my black hoodie over my head.
“I’m fine,” she says.
“Yes, you are.” I smirk, running my eyes up and down her body while shrugging it off my arms. “But you’re also cold.”
“I’m not. I’m—”
“Mama, your nipples could literally cut glass.”
Her mouth drops open. “Revel.”
“What? I’m observant.”
“You’re a menace.”
“I’m also warm,” I add, tugging the hoodie over her head.
Cece stares at me like she wants to argue, but another breeze slips between us, cool off the water, and her shoulders tighten before she can hide it.
“Fine,” she mutters, yanking the hoodie the rest of the way down. “But don’t get weird.”
Too fucking late.
The second it settles on her, I regret every decision that led to this moment.
Because fuck me.
The hoodie swallows her a little, sleeves falling over her hands, hem brushing the tops of her thighs. Her hair spills over the black fabric, and that little gold locket at her throat catches the light.
Something in my chest goes stupid tight.
Cece catches me staring. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring again.”
“Yeah.” My mouth curves before I can stop it. “Can’t help that you look good in my shit.”
Her cheeks shift with a reaction
I see it and she knows I do.
And just like that, the dead car, the empty lot, and the ride home stop feeling like an inconvenience.
They feel like trouble.
My favorite fucking kind.
She follows me into the garage, which is mostly empty now, the floor sticky, lights low, music softer through the speakers.
I grab the spare helmet from behind the counter and turn back. “Come here.”
“I can put it on myself.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you holding it like that?”
“Because I want to.”
“Ay, qué pesado,” she mutters, but she steps closer anyway.
The second she’s in front of me, the air shifts. She’s close enough that I catch the sweet edge of her perfume, close enough that I can see the little warning in her eyes telling me not to enjoy this too much.
Bad news for her.
I’m already enjoying it.
I slide the helmet over her head carefully, making sure it sits right, then reach beneath her chin for the strap.
She goes still when my fingers brush her skin.
I take my time fastening it, because she hasn’t told me to stop and I’m not a fucking saint.
Her throat moves when she swallows.
Yeah.
I see it.
“Comfortable?” I ask, looking down at her through the open visor.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“I asked a safety question.”
“You asked it with bedroom eyes.”
I laugh, letting my gaze darken on purpose as I lean in just enough to make her notice. “You think these are bedroom eyes?”
Her chin lifts. “Don’t get cute.”
“Can’t help it. Natural talent, but that was all you.” My smirk grows. “But I’ll happily finish it, because now I’m curious why you’re thinking about me and bedroom eyes in the first place.”
“Dios mío.” She huffs, annoyed, but she doesn’t step back. “Forget it. Can we go?”
Progress.