The Innocence Series: Complete Bundle
Page 22
“Yeah. It’s kind of a knocking noise deep in the engine,” Gunner explained. “But I don’t have the tools to deal with it.” To say the very least. With the current state of his finances, he wouldn’t be able to deal with a flat tire, even.
“Huh. Sounds like you know your stuff,” the guy said and then offered a calloused hand with oil deep under the fingernails, the hand of a man who worked. Whereas the guy with the book, his hands would be soft. Gunner was pretty sure of that. Soft and smooth, like the rest of his skin.
And that was something he really didn’t need to think about.
“I’m Mike,” the mechanic continued. “And this lazy ass is Sam.” As Gunner took Mike’s hand, the mechanic leaned over and smacked Sam lightly on his shoulder. “Sam, stop being a dick and say hi.”
The man with the comic books, Sam, apparently, glanced up, huffing out air as though highly inconvenienced by having to talk to Gunner. A pretty boy, obviously, who seemed to think that he was too good for Mike, too good for Gunner. Too good for this mechanics shop, one of the few places that Gunner actually felt at home.
Yeah, Gunner had met this type before, and he felt his shoulders knot up immediately. Superior son of a bitch, thinking that he was somehow better than Gunner, than Mike, than other people like them, people who worked.
Sam looked like he’d never done a day of work in his life. Or so Gunner thought, until the man rose to his feet, no longer hiding behind the desk.
No one that clean and tidy should have shoulders like that. Broad, strong shoulders, a slender waist, and when he stood up, he seemed to go on and on forever. Gunner was not a short man at just a hair over six feet, but when Sam was fully on his feet, he stood at least a few inches, maybe close to half a foot, over Gunner.
Damned if he hadn’t always had a bit of a thing for tall men.
“Hi,” Sam said, the reluctance pretty much dripping off of the words. “Good to meet you.”
Polite, maybe, except that it was so obvious that Sam didn’t mean it. Gunner straightened his cramping shoulders and pulled away from the handshake with Mike, transferring it over to offer it to Sam, instead. He wasn’t interested in being intimidated by this man, no matter how superior Sam seemed to think he was, or how hot Sam was.
“Hi. I’m Gunner,” he introduced, and he looked unwaveringly at Sam until the other man reached out his hand and for the very first time, they touched, skin to skin. Gunner caught, and held, Sam’s eyes as their palms touched and then something very weird happened, something which definitely hadn’t happened when he touched Mike.
There was this jolt, a pure, sensual thing, which arced between them like electricity. From his hand into Sam’s, and back again, but also between their eyes. Sam’s eyes were lovely, almond shaped, glistening a brilliant jade green. His hand was every bit as soft as Gunner would have expected.
A spark of something flared in Sam’s eyes. Recognition. Or was it just Gunner’s fantasy to think that he saw that? He was probably making way too much out of what was nothing more than a basic polite handshake.
Maybe he’d been alone too long. In fact, he certainly had, if he was trying to make something out of this. Sam was already looking away, and Gunner’s hand was starting to sweat, his pulse hammering in his ears so that, for just a moment, before he pushed it all away, he felt like he could barely hear anything.
Mike was speaking, though, and Gunner held onto the gravelly voice, trying to ignore the way that his hand was still tingling. Sam was not someone that Gunner wanted. He wasn’t his type. Yeah, Gunner just hated gorgeous, giant young men with broad shoulders and long legs and shimmering green eyes. Absolutely repulsed by them.
Sure. That’s why he absolutely wasn’t thinking about what Sam might look like under those preppy clothes of his.
“Sam, you better watch out,” Mike’s voice was light, but there was a strange undertone of tension there. “If you’re not careful, I might just give this stranger here your job.”
Gunner laughed since it was a joke, right? But Sam didn’t look amused at all. With a sharp exhale, Sam marked his place in his book, then let it close. It was a collection of X-Men comics, and Gunner had to try his best not to let this unexpected common ground change how he felt about this man.
Sam was dangerous. No doubt about it. He looked at Gunner like he was dirt. No, like he was lower than dirt, something repulsive and ugly. Something less than what Sam would walk on.
It was too tempting to agree with him. Or maybe to smack him in the face. Or both.
Sam didn’t laugh, though. Sam was suddenly not just dismissive, he was glaring daggers at Gunner, and it seemed like he, at least, didn’t think that the comment was a joke.
Not to mention that he was still going to have to tell Mike that he couldn’t exactly pay for the repairs. That he had twenty bucks to his name, and he was pretty afraid that it was going to cost him a hundred times that, at least, to overhaul the engine.
“Bring her around into the back,” Mike directed, and Gunner took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Nodding, he went back into the blistering late afternoon sun, taking his bike and not even trusting it enough to start the engine. Instead, he walked it.
When he got into the garage, Mike was there, and so, somewhat to Gunner’s surprise, was Sam, who had his toned arms crossed over his broad chest and was leaning against the wall, acting bored. Attitude problem, for sure, but that very firmly fell into the category of not-Gunner’s-problem.
“Look, I can’t exactly pay,” Gunner finally just came right out with it, refusing to meet Sam’s eyes, which was sure would be filled with disdain. Instead, he looked right at Mike. “So if you want, I’ll work for you to pay for the labor.”
He had no idea what he would do if he needed a part. That would cost far more than he could expect to make. That was a bridge he would cross if and when he needed to, not before.
For a long moment, Mike didn’t say anything, just walking around the motorcycle which was Gunner’s pride and joy. Not that anyone would know that to look at it, as beat up as it was.
“This doesn’t look like anything you bought off a lot,” Mike observed, running his hand almost covetously over the smooth leather of the seat.
“Yeah.” Gunner walked over, a little possessive of his baby. “I built it.” And he had when he was just a teenager. It was one of the few things that he’d had with him every step of the way. Or almost, anyway.
“You …” Mike looked at him, and Gunner thought there was new respect in his eyes. “Sammy, take note. I might just try to keep this one. You’d better step up.”
“Don’t call me Sammy,” Sam returned, in that low, deep, husky voice of his, which was just as pretty as the rest of him. It was too easy to imagine that voice moaning with pleasure, and once more, Gunner tried to push that thought away.
“I think we can work something out. For now, just watch this one. Babysit him, if you have to.” Mike gestured over his shoulder at Sam, and when Gunner snuck a look, he saw that the younger man was glaring daggers at him. At them both. “Make sure he doesn’t set the place on fire so I can grab lunch.”
It was an amazing gesture of trust, considering that Mike had only just met Gunner. Maybe it was true what they said about Southern hospitality. It was a generous offer, and there was no chance of Gunner turning it down.
“You got yourself a deal,” Gunner informed him, and they shook hands again. It seemed that Gunner had really lucked out this time, and he intended to make sure that Mike never regretted it.
THREE
Though he tried to hide it, Sam was pretty sure that ice water had replaced his blood. How else to explain the sick chill in his veins when Mike so casually talked about giving his job to someone else?
With fingers that felt numb and dead, Sam raised the hood of Isaac’s car. His position had already been perilous, but he had thought he was safe because Mike had never been able to find anyone to replace him. No one had been any more interested than
Sam had been in this position, and none of them had been as desperate as he was. In the space of half an hour, all of that had changed.
This man, this Gunner, could take everything from Sam. All of his dreams, his hopes for the future. Sam had been squirreling away every penny that he made, and while he had a decent chunk of change in the bank, he didn’t have enough to pay for tuition at Harvard. Not even for one year, not when he counted in the need to pay for room and board.
So he had some proving himself to do. He could start, he figured, by changing the oil on Isaac’s car, only his fingers seemed even clumsier than usual as they went about the simple task. This was something he knew how to do, he tried to remind himself desperately, but it was like his body had completely forgotten in his panic.
“Hey, don’t open that without putting a pan under it,” Gunner spoke up, and Sam shot him a look that he hoped was withering. Truth was, Gunner just looked sort of amused by the whole thing.
“I know,” Sam told him, though he had actually completely forgotten about that. If he hadn’t put down the pan, the oil would have gone all over the floor when it drained out. Mike would not have been impressed.
Dropping the metal pan with a clatter, Sam went about the rest of the job. Despite everything, he couldn’t help but be aware that Gunner was watching him, that the older man, who was clearly more knowledgeable about this stuff than Sam was, was judging him every step of the way.
“Come on, man. You gotta take off the cap before you pour oil in.” Gunner sounded frankly disbelieving, and Sam could have kicked himself for forgetting such a basic step. Or maybe he could kick Gunner. That sounded a lot more satisfying, actually.
Whirling around to face Gunner, Sam glared at him. He would have loved to cross his arms over his chest, but that would smear oil all over his shirt. Which reminded him, he probably should have put on a pair of coveralls before he got started with this.
Just one more thing for Gunner to make fun of him about, if he noticed.
“Just back the hell off,” Sam recommended, glaring venom at Gunner. It had been a hell of a day already, and he really didn’t need this guy’s attitude on top of everything else. “Seriously. I know how to change the oil.”
“Really? Because from here, it doesn’t look like it,” Gunner commented, his voice mild but his hazel eyes filled with cruel, mocking amusement. Gunner moved over to him, peering under the hood of the car, and shook his head sadly. “Kiddo, you might as well admit you have no idea what you’re doing.”
This close, Sam was aware of far more details than he was comfortable with. The slight sunburn on Gunner’s cheekbones and eyes, for instance. Or the green and gold flecks in his eyes as he glanced over at Sam.
There were freckles, of all things, sprinkled across his nose. An adorable touch that Sam wouldn’t have at all expected.
Sam took a deep breath, and that didn’t help, either. Gunner smelled like engines, like metal, like fresh air and the open road. He smelled wild and free, untamed, musky, deeply masculine.
Without meaning to do it, Sam took a step back, away from the heat he could swear that he felt radiating off of the guy. He regretted it the moment he saw that amusement flare to life on Gunner’s face once more.
“What’s wrong? You think I’m gonna bite?” Gunner asked, and Sam shook his head wordlessly, trying to turn his gaze back to what he was doing. Mike was off for lunch, but that never took him very long. He had to have this change done before his boss got back.
“Huh. Or maybe,” Gunner continued, taking a shuffling little half-step toward Sam, “You just wish I would.”
Sam felt a wash of something, shame, definitely, but there was more to it than that. He was so close to Gunner. Closer than he ever got to anyone. And the hell of it was, he liked it. Part of him did, anyway, a part of himself that he had never wanted to look at too closely.
“Shut up. You’re not my type,” Sam informed him, and he made himself stand his ground as Gunner sidled closer to him. At least he was taller than Gunner. It made him feel a little bit less helpless to see Gunner gazing up at him.
“Yeah? So what kind of guy is your type?” Gunner asked, and Sam shook his head. The answer to that, he knew, and he rapped it off without even having to think about the question, which was, of course, a ridiculous one.
“No type of guy is my type,” Sam said, and he saw the surprise on Gunner’s face, surprise that made him feel shame all over again. This had happened before. For whatever reason, a lot of people who met him pretty much assumed he was gay, which couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Oh, come on. There’s no way,” Gunner’s voice was blunt, frankly disbelieving. But Sam was very sure of himself on this one, and he didn’t shy away from Gunner’s brilliant green gaze, not even for a second.
“Yeah, there’s a way. And you’d better be careful if you’re into guys, man. This isn’t the sort of place where that’s gonna go over too well.” Sam smirked, pleased with himself for shocking Gunner, for maybe even putting the guy in his place. Making all of those ridiculous assumptions about Sam, he deserved it.
“Huh. Really?” Gunner shook his head. “Weird. I could have sworn …” His voice trailed off, and then he turned to face the engine once more. He grabbed the oil and started to pour it in, and Sam was more than happy to step back and just let him take over.
It was better to be away from him. Which made sense, Sam figured, since Gunner had clearly just assumed that Sam was gay. Or into men, anyway. Sam figured that anyone would be a bit out of sorts after that sort of thing.
“Yeah, you figured wrong,” Sam told him and then felt his treacherous eyes drawn down over Gunner’s back, which was broad and strong. Gunner had taken off his leather jacket, and under it, he wore a plain white t-shirt that clung to every muscle. If the guy was gay, as it seemed that he was, he probably had no trouble attracting male interest, not when he looked like that.
Actually, it was pretty easy for Sam to see that Gunner would be quite the catch, at least physically. He was obnoxious, of course, but his body was stocky and strong, and he had those big, round hazel eyes, those full pink lips, not to mention a gorgeous little ass.
Not that that was Sam’s sort of thing.
Gunner turned around to grab another can of oil, and as he did, those eyes settled on Sam for just a moment. And it was right at the worst time because it was right when Sam was staring at Gunner’s ass. It was pure coincidence, but it had to look pretty bad.
“You’re checking me out,” Gunner told him, and Sam shook his head, that cold panic running through his limbs once more. Caught, you’re caught. Something inside of him screamed—a scared little voice that he’d been living with his whole life.
But he hadn’t been caught. He hadn’t been doing anything wrong. It was just that his eyes had happened to be directed toward this man’s ass when he turned around. A misunderstanding, nothing more.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Sam managed, his tongue flickering out to wet his lips, which suddenly felt far too dry. But despite his words, Gunner was walking over to him, and his lips were quirked up at the corners in a little smirk that Sam was sure that some people, not him, but some people, would find sexy.
“You closeted or something?” Gunner asked, as he moved with that smooth grace toward Sam, who backed up until he felt something pressing against the back of his legs, right under his ass. A counter, and soon, Sam was practically trapped against it.
For some reason, his heart was beating a rapid, staccato pulse in his chest, almost painfully. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Gunner, and the son of a bitch knew it, too. Knew it, and enjoyed the discomfort which he was giving Sam.
“You’re imagining things,” Sam struggled, and managed, to get those few words out. Gunner was right up close, almost pressed against him. Maybe an inch separated them. Sam’s shirt was almost brushing against Gunner’s body.
“Am I? Then walk away,” Gunner murmured, and something had changed in hi
s voice, in the depths of his eyes. The playful mockery was gone, and instead, there was a teasing, seductive heat there. “I’m not holding you here. You can leave, and I won’t follow.”
Sam took a deep breath, which turned out to be a mistake. The smell of clean sweat filled him, impacting his senses like he’d just taken a shot of whiskey, really good, smooth whiskey which hit like a sledgehammer.
“I don’t have to go anywhere,” Sam protested. This was his workplace, after all, and he wasn’t going to let some stranger push him around. It had nothing to do with arousal, or with Sam being interested in guys like Gunner seemed to think. It was just that Sam was taking a stand. “You walk away …”
Whatever defiant thing he was going to say, Gunner stole from him, because the other man shifted forward, golden and graceful. They were touching then, their chests brushing together just slightly, and Sam felt his breath give a painful little hitch in his chest as he looked slightly down at the stranger. Gunner might be shorter than him, but he had all of the control right then, and they both knew it.
There were no more words, not then. Maybe there would be later, in fact, there almost certainly would be. For the moment, though, there was just Gunner, coming closer, and Sam, who had to admit to himself that he was not trying to retreat, not trying to stop what he knew was coming.
When their lips met, it was almost a surprise. Surely Gunner would back off before it actually happened? But he didn’t, and their lips brushed together, questioning, seeking, lips closed firmly and breath rapid as they tried this incredibly new, stupid thing out.
Their arms didn’t wind around each other. Their chests pressed close, and their lips touched, but that was it. The kiss was a surprisingly uncomplicated one, even though Sam could feel the rough stubble against his own cheek and knew very well that it was a man.
A man. He was kissing a man.