Page 147 of Broken Pieces
“I just do,” I say. “You learn to listen.”
I pick up the wrench and point to the joint near the coolant line, the one that’s always been a bitch to thread clean.
“That bolt’s loose,” I say, moving under the hood.
She steps in close. Her arm brushes mine. Bare skin against sweat and grit.
I’ve had girls touch me before. I’ve had them press up close, flirt, ask for favors I never gave. But this is different.
The contact burns slow. Crawls under my ribs. Settles in places that have never been touched.
I pass her the wrench without looking at her, because if I do, I’ll stare.
She takes it, her fingers brushing mine.
The fucking smallest touch and my pulse is hammering. I hate how easy it is for her to pull that out of me.
“You tighten it slow. Steady pressure,” I say, keeping my voice even. “You rush it, it strips. Then the seal is fucked and coolant bleeds through the whole system.”
She leans further in.
“Here?” she asks.
I nod, reach out, cover her hand with mine. I guide her hand to the bolt.
She watches, eyes narrowed with focus.
I could kiss her right now. Push her back against the hood and taste that smart mouth. Instead, I hold her hand steady, show her how to move, how to feel the bolt catch and settle.
“You don’t force it,” I murmur. “You listen for the catch.”
She turns it, carefully. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
The sound of the wrench turning is soft, almost drowned out by the crackle of the radio and the thrum of the heat brimming between us.
“Is this right?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Just like that.”
She turns her head to look at me, sunlight catching in her eyes. She’s proud, even though it’s something small. That tiny spark in her face makes the whole world slow down.
I’ve spent my whole life staying out of reach, keeping it easy, keeping it physical. But this isn’t that.
I’m totally fucked and I know it. Because I don’t feel shit like this. Not for anyone. Never have.
I can feel something breaking loose inside me. The kind of thing you can’t shake once it starts. The kind of thing that makes you want more.
Then Mason ruins it.
“Didn’t know we were giving private lessons today.”
I don’t move. My hand stills on hers, fingers wrapped tight around the wrench. I stay there longer than I should, staring at where our skin touches, trying to pull back the part of me that just got exposed.
I let go. Straighten. Spine stiff. My neck cracks when I tilt my head and lock eyes with him.
“You got a problem, Mason?”
He grins. That slow, lazy one that makes you want to hit something. His gaze drops to her ass, drags up her legs, all casual like he doesn’t give a shit that I’m right here. As if he thinks I won’t do something about it.
