Page 46 of Blue Collar Hotties

“You want me to leave you alone?”

There’s a long silence. “…Yes.”

I grip the table on either side of her waist, the wood creaking under my hands. Fuck, she’s small. Tiny and curvy and perfect. “You don’t sound sure.”

Her chin drops down, the bumps of her spine standing out on her neck, and her voice is wobbly and breathless when she speaks. Pleading with me. “I’m—I need to work, Lincoln.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” I straighten up and back up a few steps, though every inch away from her feels so fucking wrong. But I’ve tormented her enough for one day; pushed my luck as far as I dare.

Will she let me tease her again tomorrow? Will she let me get this close to her again?

Fuck, she smells amazing. Like vanilla and laundry powder.

Sucking in a final breath, I stride out of that kitchen before I do something I’ll regret.

* * *

Jenny comes to me that night, tapping softly on my bedroom door. I startle where I’m leaning against the headboard, one arm bunched behind my head as I read a battered old paperback. I lower the book to the covers.

“Uh. Jenny?” Have I ever been less fucking smooth in my life? As if I haven’t been praying for this moment since the second I laid eyes on her. “Come in.”

The door creaks open, and Jenny pokes her head in the gap, staring at the wall over my head like she might see something terrible if she dares to look down.

“I’m decent.” My mouth twitches when she lowers her gaze, that pink tinge spreading over her cheeks as she stares at my bare chest. “Well.” I shrug one shoulder. “Decent-ish.”

I’ve got sweatpants on, haven’t I? And the blankets cover my lap anyway. It’s no different from when I emerge from the shower, a towel secured around my hips, and anyway—I’m reading, not white-knuckled and working my cock with her name on my lips.This could have been a lot more awkward.

Casually as I can, I shift the paperback to cover my lap. I clear my throat. “What’s up, sweetheart?”

“I wanted…” Jenny’s voice is faint, like it’s coming from far away. She gives herself a little shake, drags her gaze up from my chest, and meets my eyes. Then tries again, voice stronger. “I, um. I wanted to ask you a favor.”

“Ask away.” Anything she wants, I’ll give it. Anything at all.

“I need you to turn me into a different person.”

Anything but that.

I run my tongue along my teeth, trying to figure out her angle here and drawing a blank. Why the fuck would she ever want that? She’s already perfect. I pat the bed beside me. “Explain, please.”

The way Jenny huffs and slumps her way across the bedroom, you’d think she was walking to the gallows, her baggy red pajama pants dragging along the floor. And I’m fairly confident that she’s not afraid of me now—she knocked on my door at night, didn’t she?—but that attitude brings out my scowl.

“There’s nothing to change,” I growl, shuffling over to make room for her. The bed dips slightly under her weight, but Jenny doesn’t lean back against the headboard. She stays ramrod straight, fingers locked in her lap and her eyes on the wall. She’s still wearing that tight white t-shirt. “Jenny? Are you listening? There’s nothing to change. No flaws.”

Her snort is bitter. “Don’t bullshit me, Lincoln. I’m not a child.” Her fingers lock tighter, the pads of her nails going white. “I know I’m weird. A shut-in. I mean, I barely leave the apartment and I’m afraid of the smallest things. I don’t even know how I got like this, how I got so freakingscaredof everything, but being around you all the time…”

I wait, heart in my throat.

“I don’t want to stay like this,” Jenny whispers, head dropping down. “Not forever. I want to be bold, like you.”

Ah, fuck. I rub my chest, a horrible ache there spreading under my skin. “You don’t want to change, sweetheart. And youdefinitely don’t want to be like me. You’ve got everything going for you here: your sewing, your apartment…”

“…And?” When Jenny turns to me, spearing me with her blue eyes, she looks so fucking sad. It steals my breath. “What else, Lincoln? Sewing and this apartment. What else do I have?”

Me.

She could have me, but I’m not fool enough to say that. This is about Jenny, and besides: I’m no prize. Telling her that would be like kicking her when she’s down. What am I gonna offer her, my life-in-a-backpack and collection of cameras? Yeah, right.

“You’re funny. You’ve got a good heart, and a quick brain. There’s a lot of things—”

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