Page 4 of Touch of Innocence
“Huh. Sounds like you know your stuff,” the guy said and then offered a calloused hand with oil deep under the fingernails, the hand of a man who worked. Whereas the guy with the book, his hands would be soft. Gunner was pretty sure of that. Soft and smooth, like the rest of his skin.
And that was something he really didn’t need to think about.
“I’m Mike,” the mechanic continued. “And this lazy ass is Sam.” As Gunner took Mike’s hand, the mechanic leaned over and smacked Sam lightly on his shoulder. “Sam, stop being a dick and say hi.”
The man with the comic books, Sam, apparently, glanced up, huffing out air as though highly inconvenienced by having to talk to Gunner. A pretty boy, obviously, who seemed to think that he was too good for Mike, too good for Gunner. Too good for this mechanics shop, one of the few places that Gunner actually felt at home.
Yeah, Gunner had met this type before, and he felt his shoulders knot up immediately. Superior son of a bitch, thinking that he was somehow better than Gunner, than Mike, than other people like them, people who worked.
Sam looked like he’d never done a day of work in his life. Or so Gunner thought, until the man rose to his feet, no longer hiding behind the desk.
No one that clean and tidy should have shoulders like that. Broad, strong shoulders, a slender waist, and when he stood up, he seemed to go on and on forever. Gunner was not a short man at just a hair over six feet, but when Sam was fully on his feet, he stood at least a few inches, maybe close to half a foot, over Gunner.
Damned if he hadn’t always had a bit of a thing for tall men.
“Hi,” Sam said, the reluctance pretty much dripping off of the words. “Good to meet you.”
Polite, maybe, except that it was so obvious that Sam didn’t mean it. Gunner straightened his cramping shoulders and pulled away from the handshake with Mike, transferring it over to offer it to Sam, instead. He wasn’t interested in being intimidated by this man, no matter how superior Sam seemed to think he was, or how hot Sam was.
“Hi. I’m Gunner,” he introduced, and he looked unwaveringly at Sam until the other man reached out his hand and for the very first time, they touched, skin to skin. Gunner caught, and held, Sam’s eyes as their palms touched and then something very weird happened, something which definitely hadn’t happened when he touched Mike.
There was this jolt, a pure, sensual thing, which arced between them like electricity. From his hand into Sam’s, and back again, but also between their eyes. Sam’s eyes were lovely, almond shaped, glistening a brilliant jade green. His hand was every bit as soft as Gunner would have expected.
A spark of something flared in Sam’s eyes. Recognition. Or was it just Gunner’s fantasy to think that he saw that? He was probably making way too much out of what was nothing more than a basic polite handshake.
Maybe he’d been alone too long. In fact, he certainly had, if he was trying to make something out of this. Sam was already looking away, and Gunner’s hand was starting to sweat, his pulse hammering in his ears so that, for just a moment, before he pushed it all away, he felt like he could barely hear anything.
Mike was speaking, though, and Gunner held onto the gravelly voice, trying to ignore the way that his hand was still tingling. Sam was not someone that Gunner wanted. He wasn’t his type. Yeah, Gunner just hated gorgeous, giant young men with broad shoulders and long legs and shimmering green eyes. Absolutely repulsed by them.
Sure. That’s why he absolutely wasn’t thinking about what Sam might look like under those preppy clothes of his.
“Sam, you better watch out,” Mike’s voice was light, but there was a strange undertone of tension there. “If you’re not careful, I might just give this stranger here your job.”
Gunner laughed since it was a joke, right? But Sam didn’t look amused at all. With a sharp exhale, Sam marked his place in his book, then let it close. It was a collection of X-Men comics, and Gunner had to try his best not to let this unexpected common ground change how he felt about this man.
Sam was dangerous. No doubt about it. He looked at Gunner like he was dirt. No, like he was lower than dirt, something repulsive and ugly. Something less than what Sam would walk on.
It was too tempting to agree with him. Or maybe to smack him in the face. Or both.
Sam didn’t laugh, though. Sam was suddenly not just dismissive, he was glaring daggers at Gunner, and it seemed like he, at least, didn’t think that the comment was a joke.
Not to mention that he was still going to have to tell Mike that he couldn’t exactly pay for the repairs. That he had twenty bucks to his name, and he was pretty afraid that it was going to cost him a hundred times that, at least, to overhaul the engine.
“Bring her around into the back,” Mike directed, and Gunner took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Nodding, he went back into the blistering late afternoon sun, taking his bike and not even trusting it enough to start the engine. Instead, he walked it.
When he got into the garage, Mike was there, and so, somewhat to Gunner’s surprise, was Sam, who had his toned arms crossed over his broad chest and was leaning against the wall, acting bored. Attitude problem, for sure, but that very firmly fell into the category of not-Gunner’s-problem.
“Look, I can’t exactly pay,” Gunner finally just came right out with it, refusing to meet Sam’s eyes, which was sure would be filled with disdain. Instead, he looked right at Mike. “So if you want, I’ll work for you to pay for the labor.”
He had no idea what he would do if he needed a part. That would cost far more than he could expect to make. That was a bridge he would cross if and when he needed to, not before.
For a long moment, Mike didn’t say anything, just walking around the motorcycle which was Gunner’s pride and joy. Not that anyone would know that to look at it, as beat up as it was.
“This doesn’t look like anything you bought off a lot,” Mike observed, running his hand almost covetously over the smooth leather of the seat.
“Yeah.” Gunner walked over, a little possessive of his baby. “I built it.” And he had when he was just a teenager. It was one of the few things that he’d had with him every step of the way. Or almost, anyway.
“You …” Mike looked at him, and Gunner thought there was new respect in his eyes. “Sammy, take note. I might just try to keep this one. You’d better step up.”
“Don’t call me Sammy,” Sam returned, in that low, deep, husky voice of his, which was just as pretty as the rest of him. It was too easy to imagine that voice moaning with pleasure, and once more, Gunner tried to push that thought away.
“I think we can work something out. For now, just watch this one. Babysit him, if you have to.” Mike gestured over his shoulder at Sam, and when Gunner snuck a look, he saw that the younger man was glaring daggers at him. At them both. “Make sure he doesn’t set the place on fire so I can grab lunch.”
It was an amazing gesture of trust, considering that Mike had only just met Gunner. Maybe it was true what they said about Southern hospitality. It was a generous offer, and there was no chance of Gunner turning it down.
“You got yourself a deal,” Gunner informed him, and they shook hands again. It seemed that Gunner had really lucked out this time, and he intended to make sure that Mike never regretted it.
