Page 43 of Rebel Bride
“I am?”
“It doesn’t matter if you fix the tire puncture. You need to see if the inner tube has a hole in it.”
She pushed a finger through the slash in the tire. “I can’t feel anything else in here.”
“Of course you can’t. And you need to remove the wheel. Otherwise, it’s just guesswork.”
Her gaze coasted over me in my sweat-dampened T-shirt and my board shorts. I thought I saw appreciation there, but she was quick to look away. She lifted her hand to her brow and swiped, leaving a black smudge that I wanted to … nope, don’t want to do anything.
She pulled on the axle. “Should it just release here?”
“You can open and hold that lever and I’ll unscrew the nut from the other side.”
“Or you can just tell me how to do it.”
“It’s easier with two people.” It made no difference, but I couldn’t leave her now that I’d started even if the mansplaining made me sound like a dick. In a couple of minutes, we had the tire off.
“Now, we need to deflate it.” I pressed down on the center of the valve, and we heard a low hissing sound. I worked the tire bead loose to pull it away from the wheel and free the inner tube.
All this took a few minutes, and I was fully conscious of Summer standing there in her tiny, red bikini top and a pair of khaki shorts that must have been Aurora’s. But that bikini did not belong to my great-grandmother.
“Where did you find that swimsuit?” I knew it was a bikini but even saying it felt too intimate.
“I’m guessin’ it’s Adeline’s.”
I remembered now. “She wore that when she was ten.” The tiny triangles barely covered Summer’s tits, but because she was thin—too thin—it did just enough and left the rest to my overwrought imagination.
“I hope she won’t mind.”
“She won’t.” But I do. I mind a lot. “Could you get a basin of water? There should be a small tub under the sink in the kitchen.”
“On it!”
Off she went, and thankfully the shorts were loose on her, so I didn’t have to deal with that complication. There was the butterfly tattoo on her shoulder, though, like I needed any more reason to be attracted to her. Not that tattoos were instant turn-ons. Rosie had a whole sleeve of tattoos and while I’d had a crush on her when we were kids, it had never gone beyond that. On Summer, even a cliché of a tat was getting me all worked up.
Or maybe I was just remembering the feel of her in my arms last night and the taste of her mouth. That kiss had kept me awake most of the night, and when I finally succumbed, my dreams were sweaty and sexy and filled with Summer.
I took a closer look at the tire damage. It was a clean cut, not ragged at all, which meant Summer cycled over something sharp, like a piece of glass in the road. I examined the tube and found no damage. We might not need that water after all, but I didn’t regret sending Summer away for a few minutes so I could gather my wits and adjust my cock. She came out of the house with the basin sloshing water over the sides, and by the time she reached me, her bikini top was soaked.
Nipples. Beautiful, suckable candy peaks I couldn’t even see. My imagination handily filled the gaps. Now I had the combination fantasy of Summer’s wet bikini and those pretty, pink nipples running a horny riot in my head.
“Just put it down,” I barked.
“Okay.” She sounded so fucking cheerful. Was this how she acted around Carter when he was in a bad mood? All conciliatory and soothing, the good little woman?
I went through the motions of putting the tube under the water, searching for punctures. As far as I could tell, it was just the main hole near where the tire was damaged.
“Want to talk about it?” she asked.
“It was just a kiss.”
“I meant Ava.”
I blew out a calming breath that had no impact on my mood whatsoever.
“Nothing to talk about.”
“You sure? I get the impression she followed us last night. Stalker vibes.”
