Page 35 of Shifting Gears

Eleanor bites down hard on her lip. The pain doesn’t help much.

It’s not the first time Eleanor has succumbed to such fantasies, but it’s the first time they’ve felt this overwhelming when Dani is actually in the room with her. Still wrestling with the images, Eleanor says the first thing that comes to her mind.

“Do you want some iced tea?”

Eleanor winces again. The idea was a diversion, something to keep her busy while Dani dries off, but as she brings a glass of cold tea and a towel over to the very wet mechanic still sitting on her kitchen floor, Eleanor can’t ignore the fact that she’s essentially invited Dani into a porno.

It’s even more uncomfortable when Dani takes the offered glass, downing it in a few seconds while Eleanor watches a droplet of water slide down the side of her neck.

“Thanks!” Dani says, putting the empty glass above her on the counter and wiping her mouth uselessly with the back of her also-wet arm. “Hold on, I almost had it. It’ll be fixed in a jiffy.”

Dani’s wholesomeness is enough to bring Eleanor back to the present. She clears her throat, getting herself a glass of cold water from the fridge dispenser and covertly holding it against her warm forehead.

Under the sink, Dani speaks up again. “You coming to the festival this weekend?”

“I thought we just had a festival?” Eleanor says, moving the cool glass down to her chest.

“This one is for Canada Day.” Dani is talking loudly over the clattering of tools and pipes. “We do it every year. It used to bring a lot of tourists up here, but now it’s mostly locals.”

“Is it going to be anything like last weekend? Because I don’t think I can do that again.”

Dani laughs, peering out between the pipes at Eleanor. “No, it’s much tamer. There’s a potluck and a bit of a party. Usually some fireworks. Sometimes we do a tractor pull.” After a final-sounding grinding noise, Dani finally emerges from the cupboard victorious. Her wet ponytail is starting to fall out.

“All done!” Dani says, pulling herself to her feet and wiping her hands off on her damp pants. “You just had a little blockage. All good now.”

“Thanks. I feel like I should repay you somehow,” Eleanor says without thinking.

It’s hard not to groan in disappointment at herself. She can practically hear the raunchy background music playing in whatever low-budget adult film her brain is determined to act out.

“You could come,” Dani says brightly.

The glass slips from Eleanor’s hand.

The noise of it hitting the floor feels like a gunshot—the mental images Eleanor has been trying to hold back are spilling forward again, and Dani is smiling like nothing is wrong with her statement.

“I could—you want—what?” Eleanor sputters. She can tell her face has turned crimson, even though all the blood in her body seems to be rushing elsewhere, but Dani doesn’t seem bothered. She beats Eleanor to bending down and grabbing the thankfully unshattered cup, setting it on the counter where it’s safe.

“To the festival,” Dani clarifies. She’s smiling, but Eleanor can’t tell if she’s aware of the exact effect of her words.

“Oh. Right. Of course,” Eleanor says. Her heart is still racing. She can’t quite determine if she’s feeling disappointed or not. “Obviously.”

“Is that a yes?”

“I guess I’ve never been to a potluck before,” Eleanor says. The last thing she needs is another town event to potentially embarrass herself, but at this point she just needs to get Dani out the door without another horrific double entendre. “Or a tractor pull.”

“Seriously? Never?” Dani gasps, packing up her tools. “Okay, you’ve gotta come. I’ll drive you.”

Dani leaves with a promise to pick her up on Saturday at one o’clock, and her truck has already trundled down the driveway before Eleanor notices that Dani’s flannel is still draped over one of her kitchen stools.

The shirt is unreasonably soft when Eleanor picks it up with the intention of hanging it near the front door so that she doesn’t forget to give it back. Soft and warm and slightly oversized. And Eleanor’s house can get so cold at night. Until she sees Dani on Saturday, it can’t hurt to wear it sometimes.

The fact that it noticeably smells like Dani when she wears it to bed is completely secondary. As is the way that sleep eludes her, leaving her tossing and turning in the flannel, pursued by images of Dani in her translucent tank top. Of Dani slotting between her legs, pressing against the heated core of her. Calloused hands encircling her wrists, pinning them above her head. Warm lips covering her own in an imaginary kiss that curls her toes.

Maybe it’s wrong to do this. She’s breaking her own rule about acting on her attraction, but this tension has been building for weeks now, and more than anything Eleanor needs relief. She needs her own shaky hand between her legs, a poor substitute for the one she wants but enough nonetheless.

With Dani’s name on her lips, Eleanor does as Dani asked. She comes, faster and harder than she has in a long time, all the while thinking about rough hands, blue eyes, and the smell of engine oil.

Chapter 9

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