Page 17 of Love Arranged
He checks his fancy platinum watch, which must be worth more than my monthly salary. “Not yet.”
A rarity coming from the man who is busy juggling a mayoral campaign and his small but growing venture-capitalist portfolio.
His gaze dips. “You’ve got a stain on your pants.”
I take a jump back with a gasp, the muscles in my neckspasming from how quickly I look down to assess the white linen material. “Where?”
He effectively slips through the gap and starts tinkering around underneath my hood. I never allow my stare to linger on him, but today I’m taken aback by his nearness.
Laurence—or should I sayLorenzo—once told me he liked cars, but I didn’t know he couldrepairthem.
His dark hair falls in front of his eyes as he leans over to see something, and I’m tempted to comb it back.
Have you learned nothing?
I blame my lack of impulse control on his proximity. It’s disarming, being this close to him after months of avoiding each other, so my head is a mess.
Itryto refocus on his actions. The ease in which he twists knobs and assesses engine parts with his phone’s flashlight distracts me temporarily, only for me to become entranced by how his bespoke suit bunches up around his muscles when he bends over to get a better look at something.
The view of his backside…I swear the man’s physique could’ve inspired Renaissance sculptors with a body like his.
His voice startles me, but it’s his narrowed eyes that make me want to die of humiliation.
Shit. My face turns hot.
What did he say?
When I don’t reply fast enough, Lorenzo raises a single brow. “When’s the last time you got an oil change?”
Oh.
I’m quick to look down at the metal stick in his hands. “Uh…let me see.”
I take the opportunity to add some distance and get a hold of myself. It’s a valiant effort that’s ruined when I accidentally brush against his back with my shoulder, sending sparks down my arm.
He bristles at the contact, adding to my embarrassment as I dart around him to check the sticker on my windshield.
I climb back out of the car with the grace of a newborn foal. “Looks like I went in May.”
“Of this year?”
I shake my head. “Last.”
“I guessed as much.” His lips, which look deceptively firm, mash together, and I’m reminded of what it felt to have his mouth pressed to mine.
The way my bodytingledas soon as we touched.
I’m overwhelmed with an urge to flee him and the memory, but then he beckons me closer with a quick flick of his hand. “Come take a look.”
With shaky legs, I step forward until I’m close enough to smell the crisp, clean scent of his cologne. I’m a glutton for punishment, so I take another sniff because why the hell not? It’s not like things can get any more awkward between us.
“See this?” He holds up the stick with tiny markings.
Even with contacts, I need to squint to read it. “What am I looking at?”
He points at one line with anF. “This is where your oil should be.” His finger travels down the stick until it nearly reaches the end. “And this is where it is now.”
“I’m guessing that’s not great.”
