Page 93 of That Girl is Trouble

With a deep sigh, I kick off my bike, then stalk through the back door. Inside, there’s a low murmur coming from Tex’s radio. I follow the sound of the music, and as I make my way deeper, there’s a clanging sound, metal against metal, then the clatter of a tool hitting the hard concrete floor. A low curse from a familiar voice rends the air.

Kat’s black Civic is parked in the far corner of the garage, hood up. A small, dark-haired girl leans over its engine. She steadies a hand on the frame, her eyes narrowing as she frowns down at her car.

My heart kicks up a notch.

Light jeans scuffed with dirt. White tank top cut off just above her belly button, dark green plaid shirt tied around her waist. Her hair is up, but strands fall from the bun she’s got piled on top of her head. They stick to her temples and to the back of her neck, where a sheen of sweat coats her skin.

Fuck. Me.

The sight of Kat under the hood of a car might actually be getting my dick hard.

“Give Me One Reason” by Tracy Chapman plays on the radio, and she reaches over to the bench to turn it up. A small smile curls up her face as she hums along. Shaking her hips, she does a small twirl. Mid-spin, we lock eyes, and she stills, her gaze sliding over me before steadying back on my face.

“Hey…” she says.

“Hey,” I say back. “What… are you doing?”

There’s a pause. An awkwardness of sorts falls between us. Since our little joyride a couple weeks back, she hasn’t been coming around much. At least not during the day. Somehow, though, she keeps winding up in my bed, nestled against my chest, hands on my skin. Just sleep. By sunup, I’m alone, which I don’t mind much. No talking. No feelings. No guilt. Just Kat sleeping next to me, sating whatever need keeps putting her under my sheets, and then she’s gone.

Except I notice when she’s gone. I notice and I wish I fucking didn’t. I don’t want to feel her absence. I don’t want to reach out to the spot where she sleeps and miss the feeling of her next to me.

Kat grabs a ratchet off the bench and leans back over her car. “My belt’s been making this noise. Like a squeaking noise. I’m fixing it.”

I cross my arms. “Your car’s brand new. It shouldn’t be making any noises.”

“It’s not new. It’s new to me. And your shop did the mechanical. What kind of place you runnin’ over here, Donovan?”

“I’ll fire whoever’s responsible,” I tell her seriously.

She shakes her head with a laugh as I approach her car, her eyes cataloguing my every move.

I lean over the engine before giving her a reproachful look. “I’d rather you leave this to Tex or Graves. So it’s done right.”

She arches a brow and pushes up, pressing her hands to her hips. “And what makes you think I won’t do it right?”

“Easy, Kitty,” I say, dropping my voice, and her spine straightens in response. “Just sayin’. It’s not all that hard to fuck something up if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“For your information, asshole,” she bites as she steps closer, “it’s already done, and according to the seven-minute YouTube tutorial I watched, my execution was flawless.”

“Yeah? All right, then, Kitty Kat. Show me.”

She squares her shoulders, her cheeks flushing red like they do when she gets mad. Leaning back under the hood, she tightens something with her ratchet, then shuffles to the driver’s seat and cranks the ignition. The car starts, the growl of the engine low, the thick smell of the exhaust hitting my nose. Kat jumps out, skirting back around her car and then leaning close, cupping her hand around her ear and raising her eyebrows.

“You hear that?” she asks.

I move closer, listening. “Hear what?”

“Ha!” she yells, her smile splitting into a deep grin. “No squeaking. Told you.” She jabs a finger into my chest. “You’d do well not to underestimate me, Donovan.”

Rolling my eyes, I raise my hands in surrender. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. I’m impressed.”

She snorts. “Oh. You’re impressed, are you? Well, thank god. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. To impress the great Axel Donovan.”

“Tone, Kat,” I warn.

“The big bad biker,” she teases, stepping even closer.

“Careful.”

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