5. Bones
CHAPTER FIVE
BONES
I don’t sleep for shit that night. I drift in and out, my mind consumed with fantasies of her. I dream she’s standing in my office, wearing nothing but one of my flannel shirts, running her finger over the edge of my desk and asking why I’m not touching her.
I wake up pissed off and hard, and I know there’s only one fucking cure for this condition. But until I can get my hands on Eden’s perfect goddamn body, I’ll have to Band-Aid it myself.
I jump in the shower, crank it to cold, and spend the next five minutes jerking myself off to memories of her lips. Doesn’t even dent the need. If anything, it just stokes the fire higher. I dry off, dress in jeans and a black T-shirt, and head down to the Boneyard Garage.
Diesel is already there, rummaging through the office. He’s got papers everywhere, coffee cup in one hand, a half-eaten donut in the other. He looks up as I come in.
“Top of the morning to you,” he grunts, stuffing the rest of the donut in his face.
I ignore the fucker. “I hired a new office manager and helped her move into the upstairs apartment.”
“About time.” He blinks several times then shrugs. “Maybe she can get this shit in order.” He snorts, pointing to the mess on top of the desk.
All I can think about is getting another taste of her mouth, but I force myself to play it cool.
“Make sure she has whatever she needs. And make sure the guys know she’s fucking off limits.” My words get Diesel’s attention.
“When the hell did I start working as your personal errand boy?” Diesel leans back against the edge of the desk, arms folded, giving me that look—the one he uses when he thinks I’m being unreasonable.
“Just do it.” My voice is flat, but there’s bite in it. I lean over the desk and get in his face. “She isn’t just some chick. Eden’s fucking different. Anyone so much as thinks about crossing a line, and they’ll answer to me.”
Diesel just whistles, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, you’re already pussy-whipped.”
He isn’t wrong. Eden already means everything to me. “I didn’t ask for your goddamn two cents.”
He holds up both hands in surrender. “Whatever, man. Your business is your business. Just surprised you’re letting a chick take up this much headspace.”
“Get used to it,” I growl. All I want is to haul Eden up against me, taste her lips, and mark her as mine.
Diesel is still grinning, shaking his head like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen. “I’ll make sure the guys get the memo. Don’t want anyone ending up in traction.”
“That’s fucking right,” I tell him as he grabs his coffee and heads out the door.
A few minutes later, the hair stands up on the back of my neck, and I feel her before she steps into the shop front door right on time.
Her hair is tamed into a braid this morning, face bare and beautiful, that same old battered backpack slung over one shoulder.
She pauses and takes in the assembled crowd of grease monkeys, and marches right in like she owns the place.
I meet her at the front counter. “Morning, sunshine.”
“Good morning.” She smiles.
“Ready to get going?” I ask as she follows me through the main bay. We don’t make it ten feet before Diesel comes strolling over to meet the woman who has me tied in knots.
“Asshole,” he says, nodding at me, then turns to Eden. “You must be our new office manager. I’m Diesel, Bones’s business partner.”
“Nice to meet you, Diesel.” She smiles at him, and I curse under my breath as jealousy cuts through me. Goddamn it. I am acting like a caveman.
“I’m going to introduce her around,” I tell him as the rest of the crew filters in to meet Eden.
Benny, a string bean with more tattoos than teeth who can fix anything with a motor.
Jax, who could rebuild a carburetor blindfolded but can’t remember where he fucking parked.
Then there’s Edwin and Chris, twin brothers and mechanical geniuses.
After all the introductions, I walk her through the side door to the “office.” The term is generous.
The room is barely bigger than a walk-in closet and looks like a tornado had a three-way with a filing cabinet and a battered old desk that’s covered in piles of mail, old receipts, and random tools.
A cheap laptop sits on a battered blotter, and the wall behind is lined with shelves crammed with manila folders.
“Holy shit,” she says, looking around. “How do you find anything in here?”
“I have a system,” I say, then look over and wink at her. “Mostly, I just call Diesel and make him find it.”
She surveys the disaster, then pulls out a legal pad and starts making notes. “This might require some overtime.”
“Knock yourself out. Just don’t throw away the red binder. That’s got the passwords to everything.”
She snorts, then goes to work, sorting stacks into categories.
In ten minutes, the place already looks half civilized.
I stand in the doorway, arms folded, and watch her.
While she works, I give her the rundown.
“We run forty, sometimes fifty cars a week through here. Jax handles intake, you’ll handle the phones and scheduling.
Payroll’s every other Friday. Parts come from three suppliers—two local, one online, but the online guy’s a dick and needs threatening every so often. ”
She writes it all down, never missing a beat. “Anything else?”
I pause, then say, “If you ever need backup—angry customer, weird delivery guy—just yell. No one will fuck with you.”
“I can take care of myself.” She barely looks up from the papers she’s sorting.
“I know you can. But you don’t have to.” Benny comes over and asks for help. “I’ll be in the shop if you need anything,” I tell Eden as I head out to the shop.
The morning flies. I check on her every now and then. Each time, I get to watch her making a huge dent in the chaos.
Diesel walks up to me around ten. “She’s better than the last three combined,” he whispers.
“I know,” I say, but I can’t hide the pride in my voice.
“Don’t fuck it up with her,” he growls and walks away.
By lunchtime, she’s sorted two boxes of paperwork and started digitizing the old files. The rest of the team takes off for the taco truck down the street, but I stick around to check on her.
She sits back in the chair and stares at me. “You gonna hover over me all day?”
I lean in close, just to see her cheeks go pink. “Probably.”
She shakes her head, but I see the smile. “Thanks for the warning,” she says.
I watch her systematize chaos. Every half hour, the piles of papers shrink, and the digital spreadsheet grows. She prints out a new calendar, tapes it to the wall, and color-codes the appointments with a set of highlighters she found in the bottom drawer.
She’s relentless. By dinner, the place is unrecognizable. The guys drift in and out, dropping paperwork on her desk and expecting it to disappear. She never complains, never asks for help, just gets it done.
But what really gets me is the way she handles the little things.
When the parts runner arrives late and looks ready to bolt, she corners him with a stare that could freeze lava, takes the shipment, and makes him sign the receipt.
When Tristian comes in with a personal problem—his kid’s sick, and he needs to leave early—Eden just listens, nods, and quietly tells him, “We’ll cover you, don’t worry.
” The gratitude on Tristian’s face is real, and I realize I’ve never seen this place running this smoothly.
Diesel comes into my office around two, leans on my desk, and folds his arms. “You know you’re being weird, right?”
I look up from the carburetor rebuild I’m pretending to work on. “Define weird.”
“Hovering. Circling. You’ve checked on her every ten minutes all day.” He shrugs. “Not judging, just observing.”
I consider lying, but it’d be pointless. “She’s mine.”
He shakes his head. “And everyone already knows it.”
“Good,” I say, but my voice is low.
“Pussy-whipped looks like shit on you.” I flip him off as I head out to check on my girl.
The day grinds on, hot and loud. I catch myself staring at her through the office window. Watching the way she leans in when she’s on the phone, the way she bites her lip when she’s thinking, the little huff she makes every time someone drops more work on her desk.
The urge to go in there and just grab her, tell her she’s mine, drag her upstairs, and show her what she does to me is almost unbearable. But I hold back, because I know she needs time.
When closing time hits, she’s still at the desk, balancing receipts. I finally break and go in.
“You don’t have to stay late,” I say. “Shop closes at four.”
I walk over and put my hand over hers. It’s not gentle, but it’s not rough either. Just a way to anchor us both. “You did good,” I tell her.
She nods, looking down at our hands like she’s memorizing the way they fit together.
She looks up at me, her lips parted. “This is a bad idea,” she says, but she’s not convincing either of us.
“I don’t care.”
I step into her space, press her back against the cool metal of the counter, and kiss her. Not soft, not gentle—just all the heat and hunger that’s been building since the first moment I saw her. She makes a sound in her throat and grabs my shirt, twisting it in her fists, pulling me closer.
I break the kiss for air, forehead pressed to hers. “You’re mine,” I say, and she doesn’t disagree.
“Shut up and kiss me.” She tugs my shirt, brings me back down for another kiss—hotter, deeper. I let myself lose control for a second, hand tracing the line of her jaw, down her neck, resting on her hip. She sighs into my mouth, and it’s the best sound I’ve ever heard.
When we finally break apart, she’s breathless, lips bruised and eyes wild.
Holy hell, she looks wrecked. Good. I want her marked up by me and no one fucking else. I step in, just close enough to smell her skin, and I know damn well the point of no return is long gone.
But she catches her breath and glares at me like she wants to set me on fire. “I think we need to get a few things straight,” she says, voice rough but firm, and damn if that doesn’t make my cock twitch. “I don’t do casual. And I don’t share.”
Fuck. The words hit me dead center. Caveman pride surges up as I crowd her against the counter, fists digging into the metal so I don’t just throw her over my shoulder and haul her upstairs to prove my point.
“Good,” I tell her, voice low. “Because I don’t do casual either. And if any motherfucker even thinks about touching you, I’ll break his fucking neck.”
She stares at me, waiting for the bullshit. But that’s it. I mean every word, and she can see it.
Her mouth quirks, almost a smile. “You’re intense, Bones.”
Damn right I am.
“I’m all in, Eden. You’re mine. And I sure as hell don’t share.” I nip her lower lip for emphasis, just hard enough to get her eyes blazing again.
She hums in her throat, satisfaction mixing with heat.
We understand each other. No games. No bullshit.
Just us.
She laughs, and it’s real—light, shaking, relieved.
The sound of her laughter does stupid things to my insides, but I don’t let up.
I watch her, drink in the sight of those flushed cheeks and the set of her jaw.
It’s like the air changes around us, becoming sharper, clearer, and I know I’m making progress with her.
She schools her mouth, hides her smile behind her teeth. “I’m willing to give you a shot, Bones.” Her voice is low, steady. “But we need to set some rules. I don’t do second chances. You screw this up, I’m done. No arguments, no groveling.”
That’s my little hellcat. I want to kiss her again, but I want to settle this first.
“Baby, I only need one shot,” I growl, forehead dipping to hers. “Once you’re mine, you stay mine. I won’t ever fuck this up.”
“We’ll see,” she breathes out, and I hear her stomach growl loudly, breaking up the intensity of the moment.
“You hungry?” I ask. Fuck. Did she even get lunch today? Goddamn it. I need to do better than letting her work all day long without eating. I make a mental note to make sure she gets something to eat no matter how busy we get.
“Starving,” she says.
“Let’s get some dinner.” I pull out my phone. “Do you like pizza?”
Her stunning eyes light up. “Do bears shit in the woods?”
I laugh and pull up the local pizza joint’s app. “Have you ever had Mario’s special Italian pie?”
“Oh my God.” She laughs. “Now, you’re speaking my love language.”
I hurry up and put in our order, then we end up back in the apartment above the garage, sharing pizza and her favorite diet soda. She sits cross-legged on the couch, hair down and cheeks still flushed, and it’s all I can do not to drag her into my lap and take her right there.
But I wait, not wanting to rush and fuck this up.
Later, as I say goodnight at her door, she looks at me with those impossible hazel eyes and says, “Don’t make me regret this, Bones.”
I brush my knuckles over her cheek. “You won’t.”