Page 37 of Alive At Night

I looked pointedly at his attire, sweeping my gaze up and down. “You’re really going to jack up my car and look at my brakes in your little attorney getup?”

Julian replied by stepping forward while shrugging off his suit jacket, dropping it to the garage floor. I frowned while staring at it, unable to think of anything but how dirty it would get, and when I looked up again, Julian was even closer. His eyes bored straight into mine while he hooked a finger in his tie, working it down until it was loose enough to yank one end out of the knot. His tie joined his jacket on the ground before Julian undid the top buttons of his white dress shirt.

If I thought I was sweating before, it was nothing to the stickiness on my palms once Julian began intently rolling his sleeves without breaking eye contact.

To my shame, I looked away first—just for a second—to watch his fingers capably fold fabric over veiny forearms.Shit. I knew he was trying to make a point, but I hated how effectively he was doing it.

“Didn’t realize you were afraid of a little bare skin, Rosie,” he said, repeating my words from earlier in a low-toned challenge.

Accepting Julian’s dare, I flicked my eyes over him and all his exposed skin, which rippled over an annoying amount of muscles. “I’m not, Julian.”

“Okay.” He cocked a brow, gesturing to his refreshed attire. “Is this better, then?”

The shrug I gave him was a definite attempt to act like I wasn’t bothered by his unbuttoned shirt, rolled-up sleeves, and annoying smirk.

“I mean…” I cleared my throat. “If you manage not to get that white shirt dirty, I’ll be impressed.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up even further, and to my horror, he damn near closed the distance between us, causing me to stumble back into the side of my car. Julian’s sharp eyes danced with amusement as he placed a hand on the car roof behind me, leaning in. His lips found my ear, his breath fanning across my skin.

“I’m not afraid of getting dirty, Lily,” he murmured before snatching my keys from the top of my car and stalking off to pop the trunk.

I swallowed past the sudden dryness in my throat. “Then have at it.”

Julian glanced up, smiling at me above the popped trunk. “I will.”

Leaving it at that, he began pulling equipment from the spare tire compartment, and I was abundantly relieved that there was some space between us again. Not nearly enough, but it would do for now. My attention switched to my feet, aching in my favorite pair of pumps. They were perfectly comfortable for a typical day in the office, but today was anything but typical.

Unable to bear it any longer, I kicked them off. Julian glanced quizzically at my feet as he walked by with his arms full, and I shrugged. “If you’re going to get comfortable, so am I.”

Even though dirt undoubtedly covered the ground, the cool concrete felt good on the bottoms of my feet. I’d just have to take a long, hot—well, maybe cold—shower tonight.

“Feet hurt?”

I nodded. “They’re killing me.”

“Maybe if you didn’t wear torture devices for shoes.” He scowled at my heels as if they’d personally offended him.

I decided not to dignify that with a response. Julian had made it clear on more than one occasion that he didn’t understand fashion in the slightest. Instead, I watched as he began jacking up the car to remove the front driver-side tire.

“How do you know it’s that one?” I asked.

“Heard it when you braked earlier,” he grunted, the muscles in his now-bared forearms flexing while he tried to loosen the lug nut. He gripped the breaker bar with both hands, throwing his whole body into it while he pulled his lower lip between his teeth in concentration. I watched with far too much fascination until Julian finally got the bar to twist with one final heave.

“Front driver side was the loudest one,” he continued as though he hadn’t just acted like a total muscleman show-off. “Although they all squealed. Hold this, will ya?”

I held my hand out without thinking, and Julian dropped the lug nut into it. Then I bit down on my tongue as I stood there for the others, hating that I was letting Julian—of all people—tell me what to do. It would benefit me in the long run, though.

“Have you had someone else look at this recently?” he asked, twisting back to look up at me after he’d removed the tire and some other car parts I couldn’t name. His auburn waves fell back from his face as blue eyes scrutinized me.

“I had my brake pads replaced—”

“They used cheap ones,” Julian cut in before I could even finish. “They’re not ceramic, and they should be.”

And with that, Julian began putting the wheel back together again.

“So I should go back and request ceramic brake pads?” I asked, wanting to make sure I understood my next steps.

“Don’t bother.” Julian stood, wiping grease-covered fingers on his black slacks, making me cringe. Before I could ask for clarification on what he meant by that, he jumped in the driver’s seat to pull the car back into its parking spot. When he slid back out, he added, “I’ll take care of it so it’s done right. I can pick up the supplies from my dad’s shop when we’re home this weekend and fix it next week.”

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