Page 91 of Faking It With the Small-Town Bad Boy

“Yes, we are,” he adds, eyeing the fridge across the garage. “Here.”

He makes his way to the fridge and pulls the door open, tussling with

the cans inside before coming back with two sodas in hand. He hands

me one, popping the other open. I’m at least thankful for the drink in

this situation, and he seems just as relieved, though his face is still a

bit taut as he plucks the pull-tab up.

“What’s wrong?”

Shaking his head, he hesitates to take a drink of the soda. “Well,

there’s whiskey in the fridge.”

I stand, putting the soda on the hood of the car while I make my way

to the fridge. I intend to pour it out in the shop sink, but Percy stops

me. He holds my hand in his and brings me back to his side before I

can make it to the pesky bottle.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to do that, Leah.”

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable tonight,” I mutter. “I don’t

even drink, Percy. It was my dad’s.”

“Leave it, please. It’s okay. I do best when I’m tempted, and I resist. I

don’t want you to make things easier for me. It’s fine, I promise. How

about you show me the next project you have to work on, so I can

help? That way we get some of these projects out of here and get you

paid.”

I nod, satisfied with his reasoning in this situation. We may be stuck,

but we can get some work done in the meantime and spend time

together.

We start with the spark plugs of the other classic car, pulling them

out and cleaning the wells carefully. Percy even takes the swab from

me, working hard to help while I move under the car. It doesn’t take

long for Percy to poke his head under, inspecting the stand.

“It’s fine,” I breathe through a chuckle.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt again,” he points out. “It was scary

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