Chapter Seven
Ollie
Water drummed against shower tiles, steam thickening until the mirror fogged over completely. A deep, satisfying ache had settled into my shoulders and thighs from last night. The hot water washed away the dried sweat and the musky scent of sex that still clung to my skin.
Diesel had left hours ago with a kiss at the door and a promise to call. The house felt empty without him, the silence too loud. I was already counting the hours until I could see him again.
Shutting off the water, I grabbed a towel and dried off quickly.
The bite mark on my shoulder caught my attention in the mirror as I wiped away condensation.
Dark purple bruising surrounded the clear impression of teeth.
The sight of it sent heat rushing through me, memories of last night flooding back in vivid detail.
Mate. The mark proclaimed it. Diesel had claimed me, branded me, and the primitive part of my brain that should’ve been concerned about explaining this to anyone was instead preening with satisfaction.
I ran my fingers lightly over the tender skin, tracing each indentation. The soreness was a grounding thing, a realness that said last night happened. Diesel happened. What was between us was strong enough to leave a mark.
From the bedroom, “Funkytown” started blaring. Edith’s ringtone. I’d assigned it months ago after one of her rants about how ringtones used to sound like phones, not discos.
The irony amused me.
Wrapping the towel around my waist, I padded into the bedroom and grabbed my phone from the nightstand.
“Hi, Edith.”
“Ollie! Good morning, dear. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Her voice came through crisp and clear, like she was standing right next to me instead of calling from across town.
“Not at all. What’s up?”
“Well, I was going through my coupon binder this morning—you know I reorganize every Sunday—and I found the most wonderful coupon. For towing services. Thirty percent off. Isn’t that fortuitous?”
“Thanks, Edith. That’s really thoughtful.”
“Make sure you use it before it expires. These companies are always trying to cheat people with their expiration dates, but if you’re firm with them, they usually honor it anyway.”
She paused, and I heard papers rustling in the background.
“Technology has made everything worse, you know. In my day, we didn’t need computers to tell us when a coupon was valid. We just used common sense.”
“I’ll make sure to use it.” My fingers absently traced the bite mark again, and warmth spread through me at the thought of going back to the shop. Of seeing Diesel in his element, covered in grease and looking at me with those blue eyes.
“Good. Now, I should mention—oh, it’s hardly worth bringing up, really. Greta stopped by yesterday afternoon. She was delivering those cookies she makes. The ones with too much vanilla, you know the ones. Anyway, her foot got caught in one of the porch slabs.”
My hand stilled on the bite mark. “Wait, what? Is she okay?”
“Oh, she’s fine, dear. Just fine. Made quite a fuss about it, but you know Greta. Always dramatic.”
Edith’s tone remained light, conversational, like she was discussing a cookie recipe instead of her friend getting injured.
“She pulled her foot right out and went on her way. Didn’t even drop the cookies.”
“Edith, is she hurt?” The towel slipped slightly, and I hitched it back up with one hand while gripping the phone tighter with the other. “Did she twist her ankle? Bruise anything?”
“She said she was fine. You know how Greta is. She’d tell us if something was wrong.” Papers rustled again in the background. “Now, about that coupon—”
“What about your porch?” The question cut through whatever she’d been about to say. My mind raced, picturing Greta’s foot wedged between broken boards, the potential for a serious fall. “How bad is it?”
“The porch? Oh, it’s been sagging for years, Ollie. Nothing new.”
I’d known it was sagging, but it hadn’t crossed my mind to ask if any of the wood was rotting, and now it was catching people’s feet. Greta could’ve broken an ankle. Could’ve fallen and cracked her skull open. The possibilities spiraled through my thoughts, each one worse than the last.
“I knew the boards were warped,” I said, more to myself than to Edith. “But I didn’t realize it was that bad.”
“It’s fine, dear. Really. Don’t worry yourself over it.”
How could I not worry? These were my people. My passengers. The seniors who’d become more like family than my actual family ever had been. The thought of any of them getting hurt because of something preventable made my stomach clench.
“I should go,” I said, already mentally running through my schedule for the day. “Thanks for calling, Edith. And for the coupon.”
“Of course, dear. Remember, thirty percent off!”
The call ended, and I stood there in my bedroom, water from my hair dripping onto my bare shoulders. Concern gnawed at me. Greta had said she was fine, but Greta also thought her grandson was mature enough to date a grown man when he was still in high school.
Her judgment wasn’t always reliable.
Maybe I should stop by. Just to check on Greta. Make sure she wasn’t limping around her house pretending everything was okay when she really needed ice and elevation.
Tossing the phone onto the bed, I started getting dressed. My body moved on autopilot, boxers, jeans, a T-shirt that didn’t have any questionable stains. The bite mark on my shoulder protested when I pulled the shirt over my head, and I paused to adjust the fabric so it wouldn’t rub.
From the nightstand, my phone buzzed. Not a call this time, just a text. Pulling it up, I saw Diesel’s name.
Diesel: Still up?
Me: Yeah. Just got out of the shower.
Diesel: Miss you already.
The words sent warmth flooding through me, chasing away some of the anxiety Edith’s call had stirred up. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, trying to figure out how to respond without sounding like a complete sap.
Before I could type anything, my phone rang. Diesel’s name flashed across the screen, and I answered immediately.
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” His voice came through rough and warm, like he’d just woken up. “Figured calling was easier than texting. You sound off. Something wrong?”
We’d been together only a week, yet somehow he knew when my text was off.
“Edith just called,” I said, dropping onto the edge of my bed. The mattress still smelled like sex and Diesel’s cologne. “Greta’s foot got caught in Edith’s porch yesterday. One of the boards or slabs or whatever.”
“She okay?”
“Edith says she’s fine, but I don’t know. Greta’s the type to say she’s fine even if she’s bleeding out.”
My free hand rubbed at my face, exhaustion from last night catching up with me.
“The porch is in bad shape. I knew it was sagging. I’ve seen it every time I pick her up, but I didn’t know it was bad enough to actually hurt someone.”
Metal clanked in the background on Diesel’s end, followed by the sound of a pneumatic tool. He was at work, and here I was bothering him with senior citizen drama.
“You thinking about going to check on her?” he asked.
“Maybe? I don’t know. She’s not actually my grandmother,” I admitted even though Diesel already knew.
“She’s your friend. Nothing wrong with checking on friends.” More sounds of movement, and then his voice came back clearer. “Want company?”
“You’re working.”
“I can take a break.”
The offer touched me. He was willing to drop what he was doing just to come with me to check on an old woman he barely knew. The gesture was so simple, so sincere, that I almost said yes.
“Thanks,” I said instead, “but you don’t have to do that. I’ll just swing by real quick, make sure she’s not hobbling around on a broken ankle.”
“Offer stands if you change your mind.” A pause then his voice dropped lower. “Thought about you all morning. Kept seeing you on your knees for me.”
Heat scorched my face and several other places. My cock hardened, ready for round two despite the thorough workout my body had gotten last night.
“Diesel,” I said, his name coming out strangled.
“Just stating facts.” The smile was evident in his voice. “You were perfect. Are perfect.”
“You’re trying to kill me.”
“Trying to make you think about me as much as I’m thinking about you.” Something scraped in the background, metal on concrete. “It working?”
“Unfortunately.” My hand found the bite mark again, pressing against the tender skin. “I should go. Let you get back to work.”
“Call me after you check on Greta. Let me know she’s okay.”
“I will.”
“Ollie?”
“Yeah?”
“Glad you’re worried about her. Shows you care. That’s a good thing.”
The words settled something in my stomach that had been twisting since Edith’s call. Caring wasn’t weakness. Worrying about people didn’t make me soft or foolish. It just made me human.
“Thanks,” I said, meaning it.
“Anytime. Now go check on your grandmother.”
“She’s not my—”
But he’d already hung up, his laughter the last thing I heard before the line went dead.