Page 5 of Touch of Innocence
THREE
Though he tried to hide it, Sam was pretty sure that ice water had replaced his blood. How else to explain the sick chill in his veins when Mike so casually talked about giving his job to someone else?
With fingers that felt numb and dead, Sam raised the hood of Isaac’s car. His position had already been perilous, but he had thought he was safe because Mike had never been able to find anyone to replace him. No one had been any more interested than Sam had been in this position, and none of them had been as desperate as he was. In the space of half an hour, all of that had changed.
This man, this Gunner, could take everything from Sam. All of his dreams, his hopes for the future. Sam had been squirreling away every penny that he made, and while he had a decent chunk of change in the bank, he didn’t have enough to pay for tuition at Harvard. Not even for one year, not when he counted in the need to pay for room and board.
So he had some proving himself to do. He could start, he figured, by changing the oil on Isaac’s car, only his fingers seemed even clumsier than usual as they went about the simple task. This was something he knew how to do, he tried to remind himself desperately, but it was like his body had completely forgotten in his panic.
“Hey, don’t open that without putting a pan under it,” Gunner spoke up, and Sam shot him a look that he hoped was withering. Truth was, Gunner just looked sort of amused by the whole thing.
“I know,” Sam told him, though he had actually completely forgotten about that. If he hadn’t put down the pan, the oil would have gone all over the floor when it drained out. Mike would not have been impressed.
Dropping the metal pan with a clatter, Sam went about the rest of the job. Despite everything, he couldn’t help but be aware that Gunner was watching him, that the older man, who was clearly more knowledgeable about this stuff than Sam was, was judging him every step of the way.
“Come on, man. You gotta take off the cap before you pour oil in.” Gunner sounded frankly disbelieving, and Sam could have kicked himself for forgetting such a basic step. Or maybe he could kick Gunner. That sounded a lot more satisfying, actually.
Whirling around to face Gunner, Sam glared at him. He would have loved to cross his arms over his chest, but that would smear oil all over his shirt. Which reminded him, he probably should have put on a pair of coveralls before he got started with this.
Just one more thing for Gunner to make fun of him about, if he noticed.
“Just back the hell off,” Sam recommended, glaring venom at Gunner. It had been a hell of a day already, and he really didn’t need this guy’s attitude on top of everything else. “Seriously. I know how to change the oil.”
“Really? Because from here, it doesn’t look like it,” Gunner commented, his voice mild but his hazel eyes filled with cruel, mocking amusement. Gunner moved over to him, peering under the hood of the car, and shook his head sadly. “Kiddo, you might as well admit you have no idea what you’re doing.”
This close, Sam was aware of far more details than he was comfortable with. The slight sunburn on Gunner’s cheekbones and eyes, for instance. Or the green and gold flecks in his eyes as he glanced over at Sam.
There were freckles, of all things, sprinkled across his nose. An adorable touch that Sam wouldn’t have at all expected.
Sam took a deep breath, and that didn’t help, either. Gunner smelled like engines, like metal, like fresh air and the open road. He smelled wild and free, untamed, musky, deeply masculine.
Without meaning to do it, Sam took a step back, away from the heat he could swear that he felt radiating off of the guy. He regretted it the moment he saw that amusement flare to life on Gunner’s face once more.
“What’s wrong? You think I’m gonna bite?” Gunner asked, and Sam shook his head wordlessly, trying to turn his gaze back to what he was doing. Mike was off for lunch, but that never took him very long. He had to have this change done before his boss got back.
“Huh. Or maybe,” Gunner continued, taking a shuffling little half-step toward Sam, “You just wish I would.”
Sam felt a wash of something, shame, definitely, but there was more to it than that. He was so close to Gunner. Closer than he ever got to anyone. And the hell of it was, he liked it. Part of him did, anyway, a part of himself that he had never wanted to look at too closely.
“Shut up. You’re not my type,” Sam informed him, and he made himself stand his ground as Gunner sidled closer to him. At least he was taller than Gunner. It made him feel a little bit less helpless to see Gunner gazing up at him.
“Yeah? So what kind of guy is your type?” Gunner asked, and Sam shook his head. The answer to that, he knew, and he rapped it off without even having to think about the question, which was, of course, a ridiculous one.
“No type of guy is my type,” Sam said, and he saw the surprise on Gunner’s face, surprise that made him feel shame all over again. This had happened before. For whatever reason, a lot of people who met him pretty much assumed he was gay, which couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Oh, come on. There’s no way,” Gunner’s voice was blunt, frankly disbelieving. But Sam was very sure of himself on this one, and he didn’t shy away from Gunner’s brilliant green gaze, not even for a second.
“Yeah, there’s a way. And you’d better be careful if you’re into guys, man. This isn’t the sort of place where that’s gonna go over too well.” Sam smirked, pleased with himself for shocking Gunner, for maybe even putting the guy in his place. Making all of those ridiculous assumptions about Sam, he deserved it.
“Huh. Really?” Gunner shook his head. “Weird. I could have sworn …” His voice trailed off, and then he turned to face the engine once more. He grabbed the oil and started to pour it in, and Sam was more than happy to step back and just let him take over.
It was better to be away from him. Which made sense, Sam figured, since Gunner had clearly just assumed that Sam was gay. Or into men, anyway. Sam figured that anyone would be a bit out of sorts after that sort of thing.
“Yeah, you figured wrong,” Sam told him and then felt his treacherous eyes drawn down over Gunner’s back, which was broad and strong. Gunner had taken off his leather jacket, and under it, he wore a plain white t-shirt that clung to every muscle. If the guy was gay, as it seemed that he was, he probably had no trouble attracting male interest, not when he looked like that.
Actually, it was pretty easy for Sam to see that Gunner would be quite the catch, at least physically. He was obnoxious, of course, but his body was stocky and strong, and he had those big, round hazel eyes, those full pink lips, not to mention a gorgeous little ass.
Not that that was Sam’s sort of thing.
