Chapter 5
What the fuck am I doing?
Did I know Miguel was gone for the rest of the day meeting with our tire supplier?
Yeah. I did. Just like I knew that Jersey was still out of town with his girlfriend.
I’m always here. Vacations feel frivolous.
Plus, I love my job. I’m not good with negotiations and shit like that.
I’m good at details, at making things work.
I like working alone and really focusing on a problem that I can fix.
That’s why engines have always excited me.
They’re logical, even when they’re complicated.
And they’re quiet, at least when they’re broken.
Alone time equals relief. But when Saylor pulls her car into the garage and proceeds to grab herself a beer from our fridge before sliding up on the workbench along the back wall of the garage, I keep my mouth shut.
I don’t breathe a word about how long this will take, or how I don’t work well under observation.
All I think about is the way those flimsy shorts on her jumper hike up her smooth thighs.
“You need a new compressor,” I mumble around the small flashlight clutched between my teeth, fighting to keep my eyes on the problem. Away from the opportunity.
“That sounds expensive.” Her voice is raspy, a trait I’ve noticed but never fully appreciated before. Fuck, I love a raspy voice.
I pull the flashlight from my mouth and rest my hands along the front of the engine bay, willing myself to keep my gaze fixed on the debris-crusted parts under this hood.
I make it three seconds before failure, leaning to my left to stare straight down the front of Saylor’s bra as she leans over her thighs, her elbows propped on her knees.
She’s . . . flexible. Raspy and flexible.
Fucking hell. I wedge my tongue between my molars, but I can feel the smirk tugging my cheeks up.
“I mean, usually? Yeah. It’s about a fifteen-hundred-dollar job. But I know a guy . . .”
Don’t do it, Rowan.
Saylor sits up, her fingers wrapping around the edges of the workbench on either side of her legs.
“You know a guy?” She quirks a brow.
I’m doing it.
I chuckle as I wipe my hands clean from her engine then toss the rag to the side as I saunter toward her. My head tilts, matching my crooked smirk.
“Yeah, I know a guy,” I say, my gaze dipping to her feet, her flip flops dangling from her toes, ready to drop to the ground.
I take my time dragging my attention up her long legs.
Somehow, I also maintain my slow steps as she relaxes her thighs and lets her knees part slightly.
This would be a whole lot easier if she weren’t sending me silent invitations.
“Do I know this guy?” She pops her tongue against her teeth then smiles.
My eyes meet hers as she lifts her chin. Her dark, wavy hair slips from her shoulders and falls behind her. I rest my palms on the outside of hers, caging her in front of me as I stand close enough for her kneecaps to brush against my thighs and her breath to mix with mine.
“Yeah, his name is Brady Campbell.” I hold her gaze hostage while her eyes flinch, her mouth fighting against laughter as she tries to decipher whether I’m fucking with her.
God, I wish I was. Brady’s a good friend.
His family also owns an online parts distributor.
They have access to a lot of used parts. Like the one I need.
“Shut up,” she finally laughs out.
I drop my head and rap my fingers along the benchtop next to her. Those fucking perfect thighs. I could lower myself between her legs right now and take a bite out of one, trail my tongue along the inside, press my lips to the edge of her panties, tug the fabric to the side with my teeth.
Stop.
This is Saylor Kelly. Innocent, sweet Saylor, who I promised I would always take care of when her mom left me in charge when we were kids.
The girl who refused to let anyone put a Band-Aid on her cuts and scrapes but me, because I would always blow on the cut first to make it hurt less.
I was just doing what my mom did for me.
Caring for her. Like a sister. Being the adult even though I was barely a teenager.
I lift my head to meet her stare, my mouth pulled into a tight smile to hide the ebbing willpower silently telling me to do the right thing.
“Let me give him a call, see if I can get the part today. It’ll be reconditioned, but it will be better than what you’ve got in there and should buy you some time before you have to really spend some money.”
I stand up straight, dropping my hand in my right pocket for my phone, but Saylor halts me as her fingers wrap around my forearm. Mentally, I flash to the version where I grab the back of her head and pull her mouth to mine.
Focus, Rowan.
“I’ve got a grand left in my checking account, maybe. Will that—”
I cover her hand with mine and fight the temptation to weave my fingers through hers and lift her arm above her head along with the other one. Her fingers flex lightly under my palm, so I pat her knuckles twice and take a full step back from danger.
“I’ll get you the part for free. Don’t worry.
And I’ll do the work for free of course,” I say, turning my attention to how I’m going to keep Brady’s ass away from this place when he finds out who the part is for.
I’m sure he’d give it to her for nothing, but the last thing I need is to give him some sort of connection to exploit.
Brady’s a good guy, but he’s not the kind of guy Saylor needs to hook up with.
He’ll smother her. While he’s not a player simply looking to hook up with a hot girl once, he does love a beautiful toy he can show off.
And he likes to choose Brady before anyone else.
Saylor isn’t anyone’s trophy. She sure as shit wasn’t Caleb’s.
I press Brady’s contact info, and he answers on the second ring. He’s probably hoping I changed my mind about giving him Saylor’s number. I have not.
“Hey man. I need you to do me a solid,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose as I meander out the open garage bay doors toward the roadway. I don’t need Saylor hearing this part.
“You mean like the way you cock-blocked me this morning?”
Yeah, he doesn’t need to know this is for Saylor.
“I told you, she’s like family. It’s a hard no, dude. You’ll live. I’m calling about a part, and it’s kind of rare.” I try to shift him to business, and thankfully he follows my lead.
“Let me guess . . . it’s for a rush job?” There’s a slight waver of laughter threaded through his words. I guess I do hit him up with a lot of rush requests. But we always pay, or, at least, our clients do.
“Ideally, I’d love to grab it today.” My request is met with an earful of laughter.
“I’ll do my best. It’s gonna cost, though.”
I open my mouth, pausing for a short breath as I weight the cost-benefit of dropping Saylor’s name as the client or forking out the cash myself.
It’s been a good month at the shop. We can afford it, and I know Miguel would agree.
Jersey can barely balance his own checkbook so he’ll never notice. I’ll pay it back in two weeks.
“I can cover it. I’ll send you the serial number. Let me know what you can do.” I end our call and head back into the garage, grinding to a halt when I spot Skyler bent over the hood in front of me. She’s making this—me—hard.
“Thinking of changing it yourself?” I tease as I pass.
She flips her hair over her shoulder to glance at me, still bent over the fucking engine bay.
She’s literally mimicking the poses from my favorite hot rod posters of my teen years.
Hell, there’s one up in the business office right now.
I grab the back of my neck and dig my fingers into my skin, forcing my head straight as head to the laptop on the work desk.
“I’m just impressed with this stuff. With you, I mean.”
I blink up from the computer screen, and thankfully she’s facing me now. She’s still leaning against her car, however, somehow, making leaning sexy.
“I’m not that impressive, believe me,” I laugh out, suddenly hearing my father’s voice telling me how I’m wasting my talents on trivial things.
Dropping my gaze back to the computer, I try to push those negative thoughts back to the fringes. Seems Saylor has different plans, though. I sense her approaching about a half second before she pushes the screen down. I was literally on her part listing.
“Say—”
“Why do you do that?” she breaks in.
Her gaze dives deep, like she’s probing me from the inside out, somehow knowing I’m about to feed her a line of bullshit.
Her brown irises are cut into golden slices that grow smaller with the expansion of her pupils.
It’s as if she’s a witch casting a spell, and I have to shake my head to break her hold before nudging the computer screen upward again.
“I know this is a blue-collar life is all. I don’t pretend it’s anything more than it is. I’m not saving the world,” I chuckle.
“You’re saving me.” Her soft voice tugs that place in my chest that’s weak for her, and I give in and flit my eyes up until our gazes meet.
“I’m not saving you. I’m making your air conditioner blow cold.” I click the mouse without looking and blink twice before returning my focus to my screen.
“In Arizona, cold air is precious thing. Believe me, Rowan. You’re a hero.”
I breathe out a soft laugh at her continued praise. It’s sweet of her to say, but I come from a family that works in several commas and zeros, in crypto and cool cash. I’m secure in my place in the pecking order because I have my soul. That’s enough for me. It’s more than my brother can say.
I type the number that comes up into my phone then set it on the counter before giving into this sudden, constant pull to look Saylor directly in the eyes.
“I should know if I can get this done today in a few minutes. If so, I can give you a ride home if you want. Or if you want to call Miguel’s sister. Or—”