Page 15 of The Older Brother
“On my way,” I say.
When he doesn’t respond immediately, I add, “Maybe Brady will stop by too?”
“No, he won’t,” he gripes. “Just get your ass here.”
Rowan ends the call, but not before letting a groan slip over the line, the kind that comes from deep inside, from living on the edge of something you want. And I intend to push him there.
Chapter 5
What the fuckam I doing?
Did I know Miguel was gone for the rest of the day meeting with our tire supplier? Yeah. I did. Just like I knew that Jersey was still out of town with his girlfriend. I’m always here. Vacations feel frivolous. Plus, I love my job. I’m not good with negotiations and shit like that. I’m good at details, at making things work. I like working alone and really focusing on a problem that I can fix. That’s why engines have always excited me. They’re logical, even when they’re complicated. And they’re quiet, at least when they’re broken.
Alone time equals relief. But when Saylor pulls her car into the garage and proceeds to grab herself a beer from our fridge before sliding up on the workbench along the back wall of the garage, I keep my mouth shut. I don’t breathe a word about how long this will take, or how I don’t work well under observation. All I think about is the way those flimsy shorts on her jumper hike up her smooth thighs.
“You need a new compressor,” I mumble around the small flashlight clutched between my teeth, fighting to keep my eyes on the problem. Away from the opportunity.
“That sounds expensive.” Her voice is raspy, a trait I’ve noticed but never fully appreciated before. Fuck, I love a raspy voice.
I pull the flashlight from my mouth and rest my hands along the front of the engine bay, willing myself to keep my gaze fixed on the debris-crusted parts under this hood. I make it three seconds before failure, leaning to my left to stare straight down the front of Saylor’s bra as she leans over her thighs, her elbows propped on her knees. She’s . . . flexible. Raspy and flexible. Fucking hell. I wedge my tongue between my molars, but I can feel the smirk tugging my cheeks up.
“I mean, usually? Yeah. It’s about a fifteen-hundred-dollar job. But I know a guy . . .”
Don’t do it, Rowan.
Saylor sits up, her fingers wrapping around the edges of the workbench on either side of her legs.
“You know a guy?” She quirks a brow.
I’m doing it.
I chuckle as I wipe my hands clean from her engine then toss the rag to the side as I saunter toward her. My head tilts, matching my crooked smirk.
“Yeah, I know a guy,” I say, my gaze dipping to her feet, her flip flops dangling from her toes, ready to drop to the ground. I take my time dragging my attention up her long legs. Somehow, I also maintain my slow steps as she relaxes her thighs and lets her knees part slightly. This would be a whole lot easier if she weren’t sending me silent invitations.
“Do I know this guy?” She pops her tongue against her teeth then smiles.
My eyes meet hers as she lifts her chin. Her dark, wavy hair slips from her shoulders and falls behind her. I rest my palms on the outside of hers, caging her in front of me as I stand closeenough for her kneecaps to brush against my thighs and her breath to mix with mine.
“Yeah, his name is Brady Campbell.” I hold her gaze hostage while her eyes flinch, her mouth fighting against laughter as she tries to decipher whether I’m fucking with her. God, I wish I was. Brady’s a good friend. His family also owns an online parts distributor. They have access to a lot of used parts. Like the one I need.
“Shut up,” she finally laughs out.
I drop my head and rap my fingers along the benchtop next to her. Those fucking perfect thighs. I could lower myself between her legs right now and take a bite out of one, trail my tongue along the inside, press my lips to the edge of her panties, tug the fabric to the side with my teeth.
Stop.
This is Saylor Kelly. Innocent, sweet Saylor, who I promised I would always take care of when her mom left me in charge when we were kids. The girl who refused to let anyone put a Band-Aid on her cuts and scrapes but me, because I would always blow on the cut first to make it hurt less. I was just doing what my mom did for me. Caring for her. Like a sister. Being the adult even though I was barely a teenager.
I lift my head to meet her stare, my mouth pulled into a tight smile to hide the ebbing willpower silently telling me to do the right thing.
“Let me give him a call, see if I can get the part today. It’ll be reconditioned, but it will be better than what you’ve got in there and should buy you some time before you have to really spend some money.”
I stand up straight, dropping my hand in my right pocket for my phone, but Saylor halts me as her fingers wrap around my forearm. Mentally, I flash to the version where I grab the back of her head and pull her mouth to mine.
Focus, Rowan.
“I’ve got a grand left in my checking account, maybe. Will that?—”
