Page 33 of Ice Mechanic

“Define ‘creepily’.”

I press my lips together. “I’m sure you have better things to do than watch a woman in a jumpsuit fix an oxygen sensor.”

“You underestimate how pretty you are in a jumpsuit.”

I blink in shock, but Chance rolls right on.

“I find what you’re doing very interesting, so don’t mind me.” He folds his arms over his chest, silently communicating that he’s staying put.

All of a sudden, the air gets hot and sticky.

Flummoxed, I turn back to the car and reach for my jumper to unzip the top when I realize it’s already unzipped.

Goodness, why is it so steamy in here?

Even when I wiggle under the car, it takes me a full five minutes to get back into work mode. Thankfully, the problem isa tough one to solve and as I go back and forth with my tools, Chance remains quiet and doesn’t interrupt.

I get so engrossed in my research that when I hear his voice behind me, I startle.

“Our food should be ready. I’ll pick up your orders and be right back. Do you want anything else to drink? May texted that she wanted me to stop by The Tipsy Tuna for a smoothie?—”

I launch forward and touch his arm. His bicep muscle is firm beneath my fingertips and I yank my hand back. “You don’t have to go out of your way.”

“It’s just a smoothie.” He smiles and my heart skips a beat. “I already gave my word to May. I can’t take it back.”

“Fine. Do what you want.” Turning away, I mumble, “Why do you need all those giant muscles if you’re going to let someone half your size push you around?”

“You think I have giant muscles?” Chance teases, edging around me to see my face which is probably a few shades brighter than the neon red, emergency triangle.

I turn in the other direction, avoiding his stare, but I can’t avoid the creeper that’s jutting from beneath the car. The wheels roll when I step on the lip of the tool and I lose my footing. On instinct, I reach for something to grab hold of. My fingers skim the car’s hood and it goes slamming down.

“Watch out!” Chance yells, snatching my hand away from the truck’s hungry mouth.

The good news is that I’ve spared my fingers from being chopped off.

The bad news is that my jumper sleeve wasn’t so lucky.

“You okay?” Chance asks, looking down at me in concern.

I notice that one of my sleeves is being gobbled by the Chevy and I squeeze my eyes shut.

“What’s wrong?” Chance’s hands are all over me. “Are you injured?”

“I’m stuck,” I moan.

“Huh?”

“Rebel warned me not to lock this hood. I should have been more careful.”

“It really can’t open?” Chance grunts as he shimmies the hood. It won’t budge. “Isn’t there usually a switch to open this from the inside?”

“It won’t work,” I warn him.

He climbs inside the car to pull the lever anyway. In the meantime, I tug at my jumper sleeve, hoping and praying that I can wiggle it out.

No dice.

“It didn’t open?” Chance yells at me from the front seat.

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