Page 46 of Tell Me Again

His grimace turns into a bit of a scowl, but he doesn’t protest.

“Good,” I say, and then I pop the trunk, open my door, and get out before he can even finish taking off his seat belt. By the time he’s out of the car, I’m already lifting the battery out of the trunk.

He shakes his head as he meets me at the back of the car. “Here, I can do that. You don’t have to, really.” He reaches out to me to take the battery, but his movement is slow and stiff.

“Nah, man, I got it.”

My heart aches a little. Either he’s so used to having to do things on his own that he doesn’t know how to accept help or he really just doesn’t want me here. Both options hurt. I try to give him another reassuring smile as I shut the trunk with my free hand, then hook my thumb toward his truck.

“You have the tools? We need a socket wrench and some disposable gloves, if you have them. Or, uh, at least a rag. I think that’s it.”

I’m going for laid back and friendly. But I can tell he’s really not comfortable still. Or at all. There’s another sort of tightness in his shoulders that I don’t think has anything to do with him being sore.

And god, I really don’t want him to feel uncomfortable. Really. I just want to help.

He drops his hand back to his side and then awkwardly stuffs both hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I think I’ve got everything. Fuck, I hope so,” he says, and he’s not even really looking at me now. “Should be in the house. I’ll, uh, be right back.” He turns away and walks toward the house, his steps stiff and measured.

I watch as he disappears inside, and I’m trying not to feel all sorts of things right now. That I’ve overstepped. That he doesn’t want me here. I mean, really doesn’t want me here. That I’m looking for something that’s never going to be recoverable—our friendship.

And I desperately hope that’s wrong.

When he returns a few minutes later, I’ve already popped the hood to his truck, and I’m inspecting the old battery, hoping he’s got disposable gloves, because otherwise, this is gonna get messy no matter what I do. But he’s frowning and carrying only a small toolbox and a white rag—definitely not gloves.

“Sorry, no gloves,” he confirms, shaking his head. He stops next to me and sets down the toolbox, trying to hide another grimace as he straightens up. “Sorry,” he says again, this time with a small smile.

“Ah, that’s okay, man. No problem, really.” I smile back, glad that at least some of that tension is gone, maybe. Then I lean over and take another look under the hood, trying to gauge what size socket we need, while I slip my coat off. It’s a bit cold out, but I’d rather be cold for a few minutes than get my coat dirty. I fold it up and set it on a tree stump nearby, then I roll up my sleeves. “I think it’s... hmm. Yeah, I think we probably need a ten-millimeter socket.”

“A ten-millimeter . . . mm-hmm.”

God, his voice. It’s taken on this richness that’s just deep and sends some flood of heat rushing through me, followed quickly by something of a shiver.

Shit, I’m not sure what’s going on.

When I look up at him, he’s sort of staring at me. He’s got one hand on the back of his neck, and he’s doing that thing where he bites his lower lip. Which is sexy as hell.

And suddenly I can’t stop staring. And remembering. His mouth. That kiss. How it felt to hold him, how warm he’d felt pressed up against me, how hot his lips and tongue had been.

There’s another rush of heat, and it goes straight to my groin this time. And god, it’s good and dizzying, and I want more.

I bite back a groan and fight the urge to tell him. Instead, I just clear my throat, and he blinks as though coming out of some sort of trance. His eyes are still dark and deep. And that heat’s now spreading all the way down into my toes.

“The—the, uh, ten-millimeter socket. Do you—do you have one?” God, I’m stammering now, and my face feels hot with embarrassment. I desperately hope he can’t tell what I’m thinking, but he’s gotta know that something’s up.

He narrows his eyes at me for a second and then seems to force a half-smile as he reaches up and adjusts his baseball cap. “Oh, uh, right. Ten millimeters. Yeah, one sec.”

It takes us about fifteen minutes, which is probably a bit longer than it should, but we get the battery switched out, check that the truck starts, and clean up all the tools. I move the old battery to the back of the truck so he can drop it off for disposal at the auto parts store, and he closes the hood.

There’s a brief awkward pause then, and I wonder what he’s thinking as he stares off toward the house, his jaw tight again. The silence is broken by a cold breeze, which makes me shiver. My coat’s still sitting on the tree stump, and my hands are covered in engine dust and grime, although I had managed to not get my shirt dirty.

I frown as I glance back up at Coop, and he’s watching me and biting his lip again. He blinks and then shakes his head as his eyes dart to his house.

“You, uh, wanna come inside for a few so you can wash your hands? Sorry, I—” He cuts himself off with another shake of his head and then motions toward the house.

“Yeah, thanks, that’d be great,” I say quickly, and I’m trying to ignore the urge again to tell him... god, I’m not even sure what.

Damn, man, that’s just sexy. Can I kiss you?

Yeah. That’d go over really well, I’m sure.

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