Chapter 6 #2
She sits there gleaming under the light, half-finished and beautiful, just like the woman who owns her. I drag a hand along the fender, the metal cool beneath my palm, and try not to think about Adrienne standing right here, grease on her cheek, staring at me.
This… this is why it wouldn’t work. I’m married to this life.
To long hours, busted knuckles, and the smell of oil in my clothes.
And she’s married to hers. I can't imagine a life of contracts and deadlines, the Slade name sitting heavy on my shoulders. We’re just two people too busy being good at surviving to make room for anyone else.
That’s the truth. That’s what I need to remember.
I reach for the wrench again, bending over the engine to check a connection when I think I hear it, the crunch of gravel outside.
At first, I tell myself it’s nothing. A passing car, the wind. But then headlights wash across the bay door seams, and the sound of a door closing breaks the quiet. My pulse kicks. I straighten slowly, wiping my hands on a rag just as the door from the lot creaks open. And there she is.
Adrienne steps into the pool of light, shadows chasing over her face. For a second, I forget how to move.
She’s in worn jeans and a soft gray tee, her hair loose, sneakers scuffed. She looks nothing like the woman who marches around Slade boardrooms with fire in her eyes. This version: barefaced, unguarded, standing next to me like she belongs, hits me harder than I want to admit.
I can’t stop the slow grin that tugs at my mouth. “What are you doing here, Adrienne?”
She shrugs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I was bored at home.”
My brow lifts. “Bored, huh?”
Her lips curve into an adorable smile. “And maybe a little lonely.”
My eyes go wide for a second when I mishear her. “and maybe a little horny.” I cover it by nodding toward the open truck hood. “Well, you picked a hell of a place to cure that. Not much excitement here unless you count faulty wiring.”
She moves closer until the light catches the faint smatter of freckles across her nose. “So, what are we working on tonight?”
I clear my throat, trying to ignore how natural that sounds coming from her mouth. “Just this old F-250. She’s been acting up again, with an electrical short somewhere in the starter relay.”
“Show me.”
I almost tell her no. I should. But instead, I reach for the small flashlight and tilt it toward the engine bay. “Alright then. Come here.”
She steps up beside me, close enough that her shoulder brushes my arm. I swear I can feel her pulse through the contact.
I point to a tangle of wires. “See that right there?”
She leans in, hair brushing my bicep, and I tell myself not to inhale her scent. “That mess of wires?”
I chuckle. “That mess is the problem. The starter relay’s supposed to fire clean, but the contact points are loose. When it’s like that, the current skips and causes hesitation when you turn the key.”
“Sounds like me before coffee,” she smiles.
“Here,” I say, handing her the flashlight. “Hold this steady for me.”
She obliges, watching me curiously for several minutes in silence.
“What are you thinking?” I ask against my better judgment. I glance up at her over my shoulder. “Come on, I can practically hear your brain turning from here, just spill it.”
“I guess I’m just curious about that maybe date you had a while back.”
I glance at her, confused. “What’s that?”
“You don’t have to pretend to be mysterious with me, Bescher.” Her voice softens, but I can see there’s something more behind those eyes, something she isn’t saying. “We both know your track record of having a revolving door.”
“Trust me, Barbie,” I say, focusing on the wrench in my hand, “my life’s not that interesting, there’s no revolving door.” I strain a little against the bolt, “and there was no date.”
She hums, like she doesn’t believe me. “Riiight, the love ‘em and leave ‘em king has finally retired his crown?”
I glance at her again, and for a moment, all I see is the way the light spills over her face, turning her hair into a silk tangle of golden curls.
The way she’s watching me with a vulnerability that has me wanting to pull her into my arms and tell her that she’s the one who’s completely turned my world upside down.
My throat goes dry, but I manage a chuckle. “Careful now, Miss Slade, you’re gonna make me think you’re jealous.”
A smile flickers nervously across her face. “Maybe I am.”
That simple confession sinks straight through me.
I go back to the engine, mostly to keep from saying something I can’t take back.
“Alright, so if you were troubleshooting this, you’d trace the current from the battery here…
” I point with the wrench, my hand brushing her wrist as she leans closer to follow the line.
“…down through the harness to the solenoid.”
She’s so close now that her breath skims my jaw when she tilts her head. “You really love this, don’t you?”
“What?”
“This.” Her eyes drop down until she’s staring at my lips. “Teasing me.”
My cock throbs, all rational thought going right out the fucking window. That coy, flirty look that usually accompanies her remarks has morphed into something completely different. The look is pure wanton lust, and it’s about to bring me to my fucking knees.
“Is that what I’m doing to you?”
She’s quiet for a second, like she’s fighting a battle she has no intention of winning, then whispers, “I know a way you can find out.”
I squeeze the handle of the wrench, heart thudding like I’ve been running. “You always gotta say stuff like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re trying to get me in trouble.”
She tilts her head, eyes catching mine, a slow smile spreading across her lips. “Maybe I am.”
The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s thick, charged, electric. The air sizzles with everything we haven’t said and all of the almost moments over the years.
I set the wrench down slowly so it doesn’t clatter, then turn to face her. “You want trouble, Barbie?”
Her chin tips up, those green eyes daring me. “Maybe I’m done pretending I don’t.”
That’s all it takes… I step in, crowding her space, my hand finding her waist and dragging her close until her body presses into mine like we’ve been figuring out this fit for a decade. Her breath catches. Mine does too.
“You show up here late,” I murmur, voice low, “in that thin shirt that does fuck all to hide your nipples, looking at me like you want to be devoured… and you think that’s not gonna have consequences?”
A flush climbs her throat. “What kind of consequences?”
“The kind you’re going to feel tomorrow.
” I curl my fingers into her hip, haul her back a step, then another, steering us out of the F-250’s shadow.
We move without looking, muscle memory through the garage, only the sound of my boots scuffing concrete echoing around us.
“The kind you’ll remember every time you look at my hands. ”
Her pulse beats wildly against my wrist where I hold her. “You talk a lot for a man who keeps not kissing me.”
I huff out a dark, hungry laugh. “Careful what you wish for.”
We hit the Mustang, I turn with her, brace a palm on the metal behind her, and press her back against it. She gasps as I lean into her, my body hard against hers.
“You know what you do to me?” I ask, my mouth at her ear, letting my breath ghost over her skin. “All that baiting. All those sweet, innocent little looks. Every time you walk in here, it’s like you own the place. You think I don’t notice the way you lean over my shoulder just to feel me?”
Her fingers fist in my shirt. “Maybe I wanted you to notice.”
“Yeah?” I drag my nose down her cheek, slow, savoring. “Well, I noticed, darlin'.”
“Scotty…”
I pull back just enough to see her face, to make sure she’s with me. Her pupils are dilated, eyelids heavy. Her pouty lips parted, a soft, desperate sound caught in her throat. She’s staring at my mouth, her fingers curling tighter against my chest.
“Look at me,” I tell her.
When she does… I finally kiss her.
The first press of my lips against hers is careful, like I’m dipping a toe in the water to test the temperature before diving in.
Her lips are warm, softer than I remembered from all those late-night lies I told myself.
I keep it shallow, barely a pass of my mouth against hers, the kind of kiss a man can still pretend didn’t happen if he has to.
But she destroys my restraint in a heartbeat.
Adrienne sighs into me and pushes closer, mouth opening, hands sliding up to frame my face like she needs to make sure I’m real. The second she kisses me back, everything changes.
Heat and desire roll through my veins, my last fiber of restraint shredding. I groan, deep and helpless, and answer with my tongue, taking the kiss deeper, greedier, the world narrowing to the addictive taste of her tongue against mine.
“Christ, Adrienne,” I rasp against her mouth. “You taste like—” I kiss her between words, my tongue sliding past her lips, tangling with hers, “like I can’t get enough.”
She laughs breathlessly, and I steal the sound between her lips. My hands find her waist, then higher, fingers spanning her ribs, thumbs grazing the underside of her breasts through the thin tee. She arches into the touch with a soft, broken noise that goes straight to my cock.
I lift her and set her on the Mustang’s hood, stepping between her thighs, palms sliding over denim, up, up, until my thumbs press into the tender crease where her hip meets the inside of her thigh. She shivers, a tremor I feel everywhere.