Page 16 of Stitch & Steel
“You were holding the chainsaw backwards.”
“I wasn’t—” I paused. “Wait, really?”
He winked. “No but it was a hack job.”
I groaned, burying my face in my hands.
He just chuckled, pushing back from the table and rising to his full, shirtless, half-naked height. “I’ll grab my jeans. I thinkthe dryer just buzzed. Didn’t mean to give your coffee a heart attack.”
I lifted my mug. “It was already dead.”
He winked. “Revive it. We got work to do.”
And then he walked out—broad back, low-slung waistband, towel over his shoulder—leaving nothing but steam, sass, and a mess of scrambled feelings in his wake.
Gran leaned over and whispered, “You sure you aren’t up for a little summer fling?”
I buried my face in my plate.
Because hell if I knew anymore.
Six
LOGAN
The Clubhouse was heating up—literallyand figuratively.
Bullet’s been pacing like a caged panther, half the boys are twitchy from back-to-back patrols, and the damn AC in the common room went out again. Heat shimmered off the bikes like mirages, and the air stank of motor oil, sweat, and nerves.
I should’ve been focused. Should’ve been helping Wrench strip down the blown carb or going over route logistics for the charity run next month. Should’ve been running comms for a possible crew creeping across the state line.
Instead?
All I could think about was her.
Bella.
That soft flannel hanging off one shoulder. That sunburn just starting to bloom on the bridge of her nose. That look she gave me—half curious, half furious—when she caught me walking into her kitchen damn near naked after a cold lake shower.
The way her mouth parted just a little when she saw me.
Yeah.
I’d been chasing adrenaline my whole damn life. But that look? Thatblush? It did more to me than any ride ever had. It’d been four days since I took her fishing. There was no reason to check on Gran every other day now that she had someone there but damn, I wanted to tease Bella again. Watch the sweet blush that steals across her cheeks every time I accidentally brush against her.
“You zoning out again, Diesel?”
I snapped out of it, gritting my jaw.
Bullet was watching me from across the garage bay, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. His eyes narrowed, sharp. “You’re not usually this quiet unless someone’s bleeding or dead.”
“Just tired,” I lied.
He didn’t buy it. “Or thinking about someone who makes you tired.”
I didn’t respond.
Didn’t need to.
