Page 105 of Fighting the Forbidden

As we walk around to the driver’s side, I realize the back panel’s actually a glossy blue and the trunk lid’s a dark matte red with a dent in the center.

“The frame’s straight,” Griff explains. “The damage is from them swapping panels with a different car.”

“I was wondering about the color scheme,” I tease. “Copper with black stripes up front and blue and red in the back.”

“That’s easy to fix. What’s important is the panels are in good condition.” He squats down and runs his fingers along the bottom. “Minimal rust. Floorboards and trunk bottom are solid. Glass in the doors and quarter panels are intact.”

“Important parts.” I nod as he stands and opens the driver’s side door.

“Now, the interior…” He pushes the door wider and leans inside to grab a black steering wheel off the front seat. He turns and holds it out to me. A silver ribbon’s twisted through the three spokes and tied into a bow. “Needs work.”

“Aww.” I grip the wheel with two hands. “Can I keep the bow?”

“Of course.”

I peer farther inside.

“The vinyl needs to be reupholstered.” Griff reaches in and flicks a piece of the black cracked front seat. The passenger side’s even worse. Discolored chunks of yellow foam spill out of several long, wide cracks. The headliner’s ripped and hanging from the ceiling in spiderweb-like tatters. “I can find replacement foam and covers or swap in new seats. Needs a new headliner and sail panels, too. We can order whatever you want. No radio but the A/C has been replaced,” Griff says in an almost apologetic tone.

“I can bring my Bluetooth speaker with me; I can’t lug around an air conditioner,” I say.

“It needs work—not gonna lie.” He slams the door shut.

We stand side by side next to the shell of the Malibu. The harsh overhead lights really do reveal how much work the car needs. Excitement bubbles up inside me. This is our project. That means spending lots of time working together. As he explains everything he thinks the car needs, my excitement grows.

“How long do you think it’ll take?” I ask.

He rubs his jaw and studies the car. “I’m hoping we can finish it in time for college in the fall.”

“Wow,” I breathe out. “That’s quite a present. I can’t believe you went to so much trouble.”

“It’s not trouble when it comes to you.” The concern in his eyes shifts to something a bit happier. “It’s in better shape than it looks.” He runs his gaze over the blue rear panel. “Vapor can do the paint and bodywork. You and I will do the rest.”

“This is the gift that keeps on giving.” I can already picture us working side by side in the evenings, slowly bringing the car back to life.

“Because we’ll be constantly working on it?” he asks.

“No, because I’ll get to spend more time with you.” I don’t know how to explain to him that it’s about more than the car. It’s something for just the two of us, separate from his friendship with my brother. A start to this chapter of our lives as a couple. Rebuilding this car with him feels like a symbol of the new direction our relationship has taken.

“I can’t wait.” He leans in and brushes a gentle kiss against my cheek. “You like it?”

“I love it.”

He settles his hand on my waist. “You’ll need to wear a little more to work in here with me.”

A volatile concoction of love and desire explodes inside me. “I thought you liked my dress.”

He drops his gaze to my shoulders, then my chest. I hold my breath while he lifts his hand and skims his knuckles over the tops of my breasts. A trail of tingles follows his touch. “I like it very much.”

He’s so close, his intoxicating scent swirls around me. Smoke from the grill, a hint of fuel from the racetrack, and sweat from spending the day in the sun—all mixed with something unique to Griff.

He dips his head and crashes his lips to mine. It’s not the sweet, soft, gentle kiss of before. He’s demanding. Intense. He slides his hands into my hair, tilting my head back as he deepens our kiss.

Yes, yes, yes! This is what I’ve wanted all day, every day for the last two-thousand-nine-hundred-and-ninety days of my life. Give or take.

I open my mouth and hook my fingers in the belt loops of his jeans, inviting him closer.

He groans low in his throat and pulls back. “I’ve wanted to do this all day.”

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