Page 14 of Falling for the Mechanic
My cellphone is on the nightstand, and, hardly to my surprise, Finn has messaged me and left a few voicemails. I’m half expecting a search party to be happening in town when I leave this place.
Before it gets taken that far, I shoot him a text, apologizing to him in between explaining what happened.
Staying with a friend seems a little far-fetched, so I tell him I hooked up with someone at the bar. A lie, I’m sure, but more believable.
Not like my brother knows his twenty-six-year-old sister is still a virgin, nor should he.
My phone immediately vibrates, text after text, all of him scolding me. Then finally, he asks if I’m okay. Not physically.
Honestly, despite the pounding headache, I do feel better. I think I released a lot of weight that’s been building on my chest by talking a poor guy’s ear off.
Cameron.
Tucking my phone away, I leave the room. Drinking in the quiet home with each step, I enter an open space made up of a living room and kitchen.
Big place for just one guy. How does he afford this place with a failing business?
The memory of him groaning about his parents comes back hazy, but I can assume the house probably got passed down to him.
I find Cameron jabbing at a pan on the stove, his back turned to me. Unaware of his sudden audience, I help myself to the view.
Oh boy.
I’d be a liar if I said he wasn’t attractive, but that word feels too small, too simple for what he is.
All this time, I’ve caught myself watching him without realizing, drawn in by some magnetic pull I don’t understand.
It’s a miracle I haven’t been caught yet.
From behind, he’s a wall of a man. His shoulders are impossibly broad, stretching the fabric of his grey t-shirt taut across a back that slopes down to a lean waist. The muscles in his arms bunch and flex with every movement as he tends to the food. They’re thick, corded with strength I don’t see too often.
A hot flush immediately creeps up my neck. My mind betrays me, conjuring the vivid, dizzying memory of those same arms hooked under my knees, those same shoulders bearing my weight as he carried me home last night.
The sensation of being so effortlessly held, so completely surrounded by his strength, replays in a loop. A slow, molten heat begins to drip toward my core, and I sway, leaning against the wall for support.
Even though he looks like he could bite off my head if he wanted, I’m starting to get used to his frown. Some people are just grumpy, and he makes the look come off sexy.
My cheeks are on fire just from thinking about it, from staring. And that’s when it happens.
He chooses that exact moment to glance over his shoulder, his eyes catching mine. I freeze, a deer in the headlights of his gaze, my breath hitching in my throat. Caught.
His mouth curves, but it’s not downward. This guy smiles, and the world spins all over again. Sure, it’s probably in amocking, amused manner, but the butterflies in my stomach can’t tell the difference.
The longer I look at him, the more I risk doing something stupid, something I can’t take back—like crossing the space between us and tracing that smile with my fingertip just to see if it’s real.
“Um, sorry.” The apology feels foreign and flimsy on my tongue, a weak shield for the riot of feelings he’s stirring up.
It has the opposite effect than intended; his smile lessens, not into a frown, but into something more thoughtful. The amusement fades, leaving behind a focus that feels dangerously intimate.
“Last night, I must have been the biggest pain.” The words are a murmur, a confession meant to push him away before this dizzying pull draws me in too deep.
He rolls a shoulder, a lazy, effortless gesture that speaks of a strength I am achingly aware of. He hardly cares more than he should.
“It was also amazing and much needed, so thank you.” Walking in his direction feels like stepping into a field of gravity that belongs solely to him. I can’t fight off the urge to yawn. I slept like a rock, a deep, dreamless sleep I hadn’t realized I was capable of, but my body still feels exhausted, humming with a new, unfamiliar awareness.
“Pills helping?” His eyes follow me, a tracking gaze that misses nothing. It’s like he actually cares that I’m comfortable, that I’m okay, and the genuine concern in his rough voice is a direct hit to my defenses. “Chelsea.”
My breath catches at the concerned tone behind the way he says my name. I hum, a weak, non-committal sound as the heat on my cheeks becomes a full-blown inferno, spreading to the tips of my ears. “Yeah. Thank you.”
