That makes more sense than my previous guess of relays hack.
The shop is quiet. Instead of managing the counter, I have time for the mind-numbing task of inputting the handwritten invoices from our mechanics into the ancient computer to track our sales and inventory. I hate this shit. I’d much rather be elbow-deep in an engine block, but I’ve been trapped behind the desk in this cramped back office since Rob had his heart attack two years ago. He’s back to working a few days a week now, but I’m still managing pretty much everything. When Rob was in the hospital, I promised his wife, Mandy, I wouldn’t let him work himself to death. After everything they’ve done for me and my sister, it’s the least I could do.
I eye the three-inch-high stack of invoices I’ve still got to go through. I have at least another couple of hours’ worth of paperwork, then a couple of hours of wrenching after that. Looks like it’s going to be another long night. I close my eyes and roll my neck, stretching out some of the stiffness that’s settled in.
In the darkness, the image of Jessie’s full lips and bright eyes fills the inside of my mind, like they have for the past few weeks since I met the little fireball. She’s everything I’m not, filled with unicorns and rainbows and hope. These preppy college girls love the idea of a fling with the bad boy. I’ve been played by that game before and sure as shit don’t need another go.
I have no interest in being her latest hobby. Still, there’s no denying Jessie is fucking stunning. I shouldn’t have kissed her, but those lips were too delicious to resist. I’m the king of self-control, thanks to a life spent managing the temper I inherited from my asshat father. All that self-control went to shit with the feeling of Jessie pressed against me. I wanted to own her. Consume her. Keep her. Even though I knew it’d never happen.
I forced myself to walk away, relieved I’d never see her—or those enticing lips—again. When she showed up at my shop last week looking damn appetizing, I was fucking pissed. She’s a temptation I can’t afford.
Fucking Austin. Finding the love of his life has made my best friend a matchmaking pain in the ass. I blow out a deep breath and try to focus on the paperwork standing between me and enjoying a beer on my couch.
The jingle of the shop’s bell draws my attention away from the Rorschach test that are Mikey’s scribbles. I shove back from the desk and stalk to the front. I freeze in the office doorway when I spot a perfect apple-shaped ass in tight jeans bent over behind the counter.
I enjoy the view for longer than a decent guy would, then lick my lips. “Looking for something special?”
Straightening up, she tosses her long blonde hair over her shoulder. She turns, and my chest tightens when I’m blindsided by Jessie’s tempting lips curled up in a devious smirk.
When her eyes find mine, an electric current prickles across my skin. Like the first two times I’ve seen her, I lock down the urge to touch her. Claim her.
We share the charged silence for a moment that stretches out into forever. “Aren’t we all?”
My pulse kicks up a notch at the sound of her sweet, teasing voice. I ignore it, clenching my jaw and crossing my arms.
“What are you doing here?” I demand, my voice full of vicious disdain.
“I work here,” she answers, unfazed.
“No. You don’t.”
“Yes. I do.” She points at the shop’s logo over her chest, her smirk widening into a full-blown smug smile. “Rob didn’t mention it?”
I shake my head and reach for the phone on the counter. I dial Rob’s number from memory, refusing to look at her as the phone rings in my ear.
“Hello?” Rob answers.
“Rob. Devin.”
“What’s up? There an issue at the shop?”
“Yeah, a stubborn blonde one,” I bark.
“Say hello for me,” Jessie sings at the same time Rob chuckles on the line.
“She’s doing an external business evaluation. For some school project.”
I let out a low growl and slide my eyes over Jessie again. She’s leaning against the counter, studying me with a hungry curiosity. I leer at her the way an alcoholic does an open bottle of booze.
“I told her you would walk her through the whole operation. Is that a problem?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” I hang up without saying goodbye.
Jessie’s eyebrows dance and her eyes sparkle. “Where would you like to start?”
I need her out of my space. “Nowhere. Come back next week, when Rob is here. You’re his problem.”
“Sorry, that’s not the deal.”
I stare at her until she continues.
“I get to learn the business from you.” She steps closer, her index finger tracing the shop logo on my shirt. “We’re going to get real close.”
The devil inside me surges forward, desperate for her. I lean down, letting my nose graze her jaw. “And if I refuse?” I drawl. I ignore the way she smells like vanilla and sugar, and how bad I’d like to taste her. All of her.
“Rob would be very disappointed. There is another option.” She hops up on the counter and crosses her long legs. My gaze traces down them. Who wears shorts in the middle of winter? “You ask me out and I’ll leave you and your place of work in peace.”
“Sounds like blackmail.”
“Nope. Blackmail would be if I had a secret I was threatening you with. I’m just offering my services to your boss in a purely professional manner. Unless you want to make our arrangement a personal one—”
“Sexual harassment.”
“Sexual harassment would be if I was compelling you to date me in exchange for preferential treatment or professional advancement. This is the exact opposite. Date me and I’ll ignore you.”
“Fuckin’ semantics. Still manipulative bullshit.” I hate that she’s playing a game, one a part of me would enjoy losing.
“You didn’t leave me much choice. I’m just incentivizing the preferred behavior.” She grabs a fist full of my shirt and pulls me between her legs. I slap my hands on the counter, my fingers itching to dig into her thighs. Her green eyes lock on me. The tip of her nose nudges mine. “You know there’s something here. Why do you keep fighting it? Come on Devin, give in. Date me.”
She’s a siren, luring me onto the rock, and I can’t bring myself to give a fuck. I drag my callused knuckles over the soft skin at her exposed neck, brushing away the silky blonde strands. I take a deep breath, inhaling her sweet smell, and trail a hand down her back. She shudders with a soft hum at my touch, making my cock twitch in my jeans.
She’s right about one thing. There is something here. I feel the draw, too. She’s temptation incarnate. And no way in hell am I giving in to her. I don’t know much about her, but I can tell she’s not the type a guy walks away from. She’s the type that’ll ruin me.
I let myself linger between her thighs and take one last deep breath of her scent before I growl, “That’s not happening.”
I clasp on her waist, squeezing tighter than needed as I drag her off the counter and shove her away. She gasps at the forcefulness of my rejection. I turn my back on her, ignoring the daggers her eyes are throwing.
“Okay. The hard way it is, Mr. Bennett.”
The cheerfulness in her voice is unnerving.
Chapter Six
Jessie
I’m wearing him down. I can feel it. A week in and he’s still surly as hell, but he doesn’t pull away when I ‘accidentally’ brush up against him. Repeatedly. Rob has kept his end of our secret deal, staying away from the shop and forcing Devin to work with me.
I’ve never been the girl who chases after a guy. It’s not like boys are falling at my feet. Okay, some are. But I’ve never had to worry about getting a date. Maybe that’s why I never tried with any of them—knowing I could have them if I wanted made it not worth the effort. Devin is different. A challenge. He’s like a drug. I’m addicted to being around him. I’ve never felt this kind of chemistry before. This attraction. He feels it too, even
if he refuses to admit it.
We’re crammed into the tiny back office, poring over invoices for the millionth hour. The masculine smell of him consumes me. A mix of soap, gasoline and determination—he smells clean but somehow still gritty. The surface may be scrubbed down, but underneath he’s all raw manliness.
I shake off the fog of girlish infatuation and stare down at my notebook. The word dirty stares back at me. Don’t remember writing that. I swallow the lump in my throat and scratch out the word rattling around in my subconscious. Devin side-eyes me and I shift in my chair. I flip the page for good measure.
“How many hours a week do you waste trying to read Mikey’s handwriting?” I ask, refocusing us on the nonsensical scribble.
He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Too many to count.”
I can’t help but giggle. He looks up at me with those tired eyes and my cheeks start to flame. I snap my eyes to the blank page in my notebook and write invoices.
“And all your invoices are handwritten?” I ask without risking a look up at him.
“Yeah.” Devin leans back, the old office chair creaking under his large body. He interlocks his fingers and slides them behind his head. His strong arms and broad chest are like a welcome mat, beckoning me. Jesus, I want to climb into his lap, bury my face in his chest and take a deep breath of Devin’s unique smell. I might give it a shot if I thought there was even a small chance he would do anything but push me away and pat me on the head. I’ve never had a guy be less interested in me than Devin pretends to be. Still, that tic in his jaw makes me think he’s not unaffected.
I clear my throat. “You’re the only one who inputs the invoices into the computer system?”
“Me or Rob. Mostly me,” he answers, staring up at the ceiling tiles like they’re more interesting than I am.
“How do you book new appointments?”
“Phone.”
“No website? Social media?”
He shakes his head.
“Not even Facebook?”
Another head shake accompanied by an annoyed sigh.
I give him one of my mom’s ‘ahhh’s in response. The simple, judgemental sound conveys so much.
Devin’s focus snaps to me as he leans forward, the old chair squealing in objection yet again. That thing is going to collapse beneath him someday soon. His stare bores into me, but he doesn’t ask me to explain.
I shake my head. “To summarize, you set all appointments, input all invoices into the system, conduct all inventories and manage all scheduling and payroll.” I tick off each of his time-consuming jobs on my fingers. His frown deepens with each additional item on the list.
“So?”
“So, what happens when you’re not here?”
“I’m always here,” he deadpans.
“Always? I bet you’re too manly to even get sick, huh? Too tough. The flu knows better than to mess with you, Big Man?”
He looks down at the cement floor to hide his smirk. Seeing that tiny crack in his detached persona sends a shot of heat through my body, like the first sip of whiskey on a cold night. I feel warm and fuzzy. He is adorable and teasing him is my new favorite game. “Ever heard the one about all work and no play?”
He ignores me and turns to the ancient computer on the desk in front of him. Back to business. That’s my cue to take a tour of the shop, getting to know the people and things that make it tick.
“How long have you worked here?” I ask Sean, doodling on my notebook.
“About fifteen years now I guess,” he answers from under the hood of an older Volvo.
“Wow.”
Sean’s warm chuckle fills the bay where we’re talking. His gruff voice and the deep lines around his face give away the years he’s spent smoking behind the shop. His long auburn hair is pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. Sean is a sweet old hippie.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to find another missed call from Trevor that I’m too chicken to answer. I’ve been a flake and I’ve got a guilt trip coming my way. I bailed on a handful of lectures and two study groups this week. I shoot him a quick text to let him know I’m not going to make it again tonight. I blame my Marketing Principles project, but Devin’s the real reason behind my shuffled priorities. I tuck my phone back into my pocket and try to give Sean my undivided attention.
“Seems like most of you guys have been around for a minute. Guess Rob is a pretty good boss, then.”
“Rob is good people,” Sean answers without hesitation. “Never known someone with a heart that big. Him and Mandy both.”
The more I talk to the people in this little shop, the more I realize it’s a family as much as it’s a business. These people know one another. Love one another.
“I’m surprised he’s not here more often,” I muse.
Sean stops wrenching on whatever he’s got going on under that hood and leans against the bumper. “He gave us a scare a couple years back. Mandy made him promise to take it easy after the heart attack.”
My pen stills. Concern flits across Sean’s face.
“Thought we were gonna lose him.” Sean nods to the front office, where Devin is helping a customer. “Dev kept us going. Not sure what would’ve happened to the shop without him.”
I watch Devin through the glass. That explains why he takes so much on his shoulders. I nod and Sean returns to his work under the hood.
I wander to the next bay, catching the eye of a guy about my age working on a car older than both of us. He’s cute, with bright blue eyes and sandy-blond hair sticking out of his backwards baseball cap. He has a chill surfer vibe.
He greets me with a “Sup.”
“Hey. I’m Jessie.” I give him a quick wave.
“I’m Mikey. You’re the one Rob said was going to be doing some business evaluation or something?”
I nod. “Yep. That’s me.”
Mikey looks me up and down. “He didn’t say you’d be so hot.”
Ignoring his flirting, I pick up the invoice sitting on the tool bench in front of me and squint at the gibberish.
“What are you working on today?”
“Serpentine belt replacement.”
I shake my head. There is no way the jumble of swirls and loops on this paper says anything resembling that. “Are you left-handed?”
“No,” he answers. A blush creeps up his neck and he goes back to tinkering under the hood of the car.
I smile and hold up the invoice. “You sure? Might be worth giving it a shot.”
Mikey’s forced laugh echoes off the engine block. “Not you too. Devin’s always giving me shit for my handwriting. I’m a mechanic, not a calligrapher.”
“Fair enough.” I can’t help but wonder. “This might sound like a weird question, but would you mind writing something down for me?”
“Ugh—” Mikey scratches hard at the skin on his forearm.
I place my hand over his fresh trail of red marks. “Please?” I ask again, soft and sweet.
“Sure. I guess,” he relents with a sigh.
I hand him my notebook and Mikey grips the pen between his index and middle finger, guiding it with all five fingers. He stares at the blank page, his eyes blinking rapidly and a small bead of sweat appearing at his temple.
“There are eight carburetors in inventory,” I dictate. Mikey’s hand doesn’t move. He swallows hard. Slow and clear, I repeat, “There are eight carburetors in inventory.”
“This is stupid,” he mutters, shoving my notebook at me. “I’ve got work to do. Devin will have my ass if he sees me wasting time on some stupid…” He trails off, shame and vulnerability choking his words.
I step in closer, lowering my voice. “Have you ever been tested for dyslexia?”
“No. I’m not stupid or anything,” he snaps.
I bite the inside of my mouth to avoid cussing him out. “It has nothing to do with intelligence. It just means your brain is wired different. My brother is dyslexic. And he’s one of
the smartest people I know.”
Mikey crumples forward, his chin dropping to his chest. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“How the fuck are we out of spark plugs?” an angry woman’s voice calls out across the shop.
The source of the voice is a woman in her forties who looks like Rosie the Riveter after some jail time. Her bright red lipstick matches the red bandana that’s holding back her pitch-black hair. Short bangs and an eyebrow ring frame the deep worry lines on her forehead. A tattoo that looks like the green tail of a dragon peeks out of her massive cleavage. I have to ask her where she got that push-up bra. It defies gravity!
She rushes past Mikey and me, storming straight to the office. “Devin!” she screeches the whole way there.
I give Mikey a forgiving nod and I back away. “Oh, I’ve got to see this.”
Prison Rosie throws the door open and it clangs against the wall with an echoing thud. I sneak in behind her and hug the wall. Devin slices his eyes to her, pinning her in place with a vicious silent warning.
“Wait,” he growls, a low and guttural sound. The strength in that single word has both me and Prison Rosie frozen in place.
Devin returns his attention to his customer, a lady who must be in her seventies trying to pay with a check. He is patient, his voice now a gentle soothing drawl. “Thank you for your business, ma’am. Drive safe.” Devin hands her the keys to her Ford Falcon. She waves goodbye and heads out to the car almost as old as she is.
Before the jingle of the doorbell fades, Devin’s furious gaze is back on the woman mechanic. “What?” he barks.
“We’re out of M14 spark plugs.” She huffs.
While the two are locked in a staring contest for the ages, I slip behind the counter.
“Spark plugs,” the woman repeats, throwing her arms up.
“I heard you, Shelley.”
Shelley—AKA Prison Rosie—scoffs and storms off, muttering obscenities I’ve never heard before on her return journey to her bay.
I inch into Devin’s personal space, lean against the counter and stare up at him. He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t flinch, pretending I don’t exist. I resist the urge to pinch his butt just to get a reaction out of him. I hop up onto the counter, knowing it annoys him, and cross my legs.
This is So Happening (So Far, So Good Book 2) Page 4
