Page 12 of Rockstar Next Door Neighbor

“Goodnight, Lila.”

I stay on the deck long after she’s gone, listening to the sounds of her moving around her kitchen, probably preparing for tomorrow’s baking. The familiar domestic noises mix with the ocean waves, creating a kind of peace that settles deep within me.

Just friends, I think again. But even I don’t believe it anymore.

Five

Lila

“Try it now,” Luke calls from under Agatha’s hood. He’s been working on my car all morning, his strong hands moving confidently among the engine parts. I’ve been trying not to stare at how his tattooed muscles flex when he reaches for tools or how his t-shirt rides up, exposing a strip of firm, tanned skin.

I turn the key, and for the first time since I’ve had her, Agatha starts without a single complaint. The engine purrs smoothly—no rattles, no worrying clicks.

“Oh my God,” I breathe, stepping out to join Luke at the hood. “What did you do?”

He wipes his hands on a rag, looking pleased with himself. “Just showed her some attention. I replaced the spark plugs, adjusted the timing belt, and fixed the loose connection causing the rattle.” His grin is boyish and proud. “Want to hear the best part? Turn her off.”

I do, and instead of her usual protesting shudder, Agatha powers down quietly.

“Luke!” I squeal, climbing out of the car, and without thinking, I throw my arms around him. “You’re amazing!”

He laughs, his hands settling naturally on my waist, and suddenly, I’m very aware of how close we are. His chest is solid against mine, and he smells like motor oil, sweaty male, and… Luke.

I step back quickly, my cheeks burning.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “I got excited.”

“Don’t apologize.” His voice is a little rough. “But you know what this means, right?”

I eye him suspiciously. “What?”

“Now that she’s running properly, we should clean her up.” He gestures to both our cars parked in the shared driveway. “My Jeep could use a washtoo.”

This is how I end up in my driveway on a sunny Saturday afternoon, armed with a bucket of soapy water and a sponge. Luke’s got his own bucket, and he’s already started on his Jeep, which honestly doesn’t look all that dirty to me.

“You’re doing great,” Luke calls from the other side of Agatha, his voice laced with amusement.

“You’re not even watching,” I shoot back, scrubbing the passenger door. “For all you know, I’m doing a terrible job.”

“I’d know,” he says, stepping around the car. He leans against the hood, crossing his arms as he surveys my work. “Not bad, actually. You missed a spot, though.”

“Where?” I ask, frowning.

“There,” he says, pointing to a completely clean section of the car.

I narrow my eyes. “You’re messing with me.”

“Maybe a little,” he admits, his grin widening.

Rolling my eyes, I splash my sponge back into the bucket and keep scrubbing. The sun is high overhead now, warming my skin and making the soapy water glisten on Agatha’s newly scrubbed exterior.

He softly whistles as he works, and I try not to notice how good he looks with his shirt damp from the occasional spray of the hose.

Focus, Lila.

I finish washing the last spot on Agatha and stand back, admiring my work. “Done!” I call out, brushing a stray curl out of my face.

Luke glances over, raising an eyebrow. “Not bad. But you’ve got soap in your hair.”

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