by Aubrey Cara
My body flashes hot and cold. “Yes. Sorry. I think I twisted my ankle.” And I’m pretty sure I have a blister the size of Texas on my heel.
He looks down at my shoes. “I’d imagine. You know, if you’d called, we would have come and gotten you.”
“I tried,” I grit out. “There’s no reception out here.”
“Ehh, dead spots. What can you do?”
“Not live in the middle of nowhere?”
Despite the level of derision in my voice, his lips tilt back up. “Come on.” He wraps a steadying arm around my waist, and a static charge sweeps through my body.
Uncomfortable with the sensation, I actively try to lean away from all his hard-body goodness as he steers me to the door off the garage, but it’s difficult. This is the most human contact I’ve had in a while, and his fresh woodsy scent underneath the nasty garage smell is doing things to me.
There’s a dingy hallway with a coffee machine and cups on a side table, then another door. We enter a cluttered office where he sits me down on a plastic armchair situated between two old filing cabinets.
Before I can gauge his intentions, he’s crouched down in front of me, his thick muscular thighs straining the fabric of his well-fitted jeans. He picks up my injured foot, has my boot off in a blink, and quickly rolls down my thin little sock.
“Oh no, you don’t have to do that.” Mortification flashes through me. I just walked a mile in those boots. I try to tug my likely stinky foot out of his grip, but he holds firm.
His calloused thumbs press into my arch, and an involuntary moan breaks free before I can suppress it. Sweet Jesus, I may have just come a little. Heat climbs up my chest and face.
He chuckles but only says, “There’s a blister, but there’s no bruising on your ankle, which is good.” He massages my foot for two more beats, grinning at me. “I’ll get you a Band-Aid.”
My thighs involuntarily clench at the word Band-Aid as if he said something salacious. Never a good sign. I need to get a grip.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. He’s the hired help. You don’t fuck the help, unless you’re trashy or a bored middle-aged housewife. I’m neither of those things.
There’s no reason to get flustered over some calloused handed wrench jockey I went to high school with a million years ago. Yes, he’s incredibly attractive, but he’s wearing a cheap cotton-polyester-blend shirt, dirty roughed-up jeans, and scuffed up boots.
He’s a mechanic of all things.
The men I get involved with are polished. They have pedigrees, high power positions and…their smiles aren’t nearly as genuine as Jess’s is right now. Their gazes aren’t open but border on calculating. Their hands are soft and…their goddamned underwear is starched.
I bet Jess’s underwear isn’t starched.
He stands and moves across the room to retrieve a Band-Aid, and the muscles under his clothes bunch and release with his movements.
I can’t pry my gaze away.
He returns and kneels in front of me to put antibacterial cream and the bandage on my blister.
His head is bent, hair falling forward, and I have to stop myself from reaching out and discovering if the locks are as silky as they look. An image of him without his shirt on and his face between my thighs pops into my head without provocation. God. I’d definitely put my hands in his hair then.
“Am I hurting you?” His question startles me out of my illicit daydream.
I choke cough. “Excuse me?”
“You’re all flushed. I’m sorry if I’m hurting you.”
He’s staring at me, all concerned, and I’m trying to pull myself together. I’m better than this.
I shrug in forced nonchalance. “No. I’m fine. My foot is fine. Or, at least, it will be.” I wave my hand at the where my foot is propped on his rock-hard thigh. “You’d better be careful. If you’re any nicer, you’ll lose your bad-boy status.”
His head tilts, back and he laughs. Like a full-on laugh.
The sound does things to me. It’s natural. Carefree. And doesn’t hold an ounce of jaded cynicism.
“I think it’s been a while since I was considered a bad boy. But we’ll keep this between us. To protect my reputation and all.” He winks at me again before reaching behind him to grab an ace bandage from an open first aid kit and wrapping the cloth securely around my ankle.
I’m still stupidly staring, part mesmerized by him and my reaction to him, and part dumbfounded.
“I’m sorry about your dad.” His words hang in the air for a second before I realize what he said.
“How did you—”
“Small town. Heard it through the grapevine.”
“Oh.”
“I’m guessing that’s why you’re here.”
“Yes.” Unfortunately for so many reasons.
“When was the last time you visited town?”
“I haven’t.”
His brows go up. There’s a pregnant pause where any question asked would be too personal. And any explanation I give would reveal too much.
I sense a wave of melancholy sneaking up on me, so I change the subject. “I see your family is still running this place. It looks great.”
He gives a sheepish shrug. “It’s only me and Jace, now.” He tucks the last bit of bandage into the wrapping to secure it but doesn’t release my foot. “Our older brother, Jake, died a few years back. Crashed his bike while out on a road trip with some friends. Our old man died of a heart attack shortly after.” He pauses. Takes a heavy breath but keeps holding my foot.
“We thought about changing the name of the garage to Wallace Brothers for about two seconds, but it didn’t seem right.” He gives me a halfhearted grin, but there’s no spark behind it.
“I’m sure,” I say dumbly, at a loss for what else to say.
“And you know our mom’s never really been in the picture.”
I kind of feel like an imposter in this small-town chat because I hadn’t known that at all.
He shrugs and rubs his neck likes he’s uncomfortable talking about this. “So, yep just Jace and me, now.”
My usually cold heart constricts a little. I believe the sensation may be jealousy.
They’re adult orphans, like me. Only difference is, I’ve been completely alone half my life while they still have each other.
Jess’s smile is gone, the light mood sucked out of the room. I want it back. Everyone I’ve come across, even before leaving New York, has done the head tilt, how are you, routine, and I’m over it.
I dropped a Hiroshima-sized bomb over my career. I’m a cold bitch who has alienated any friends I had. My last semblance of family is dead. I’m shitty. Let’s move on.
“This got depressing really quick,” I say, indulging him with my good foot. “We keep this up, we may not get invited to our high school reunion.”
His smile edges back up, his eyes regaining that captivating twinkle. “They already had it. The next one isn’t for quite a while.”
“Oh.” I blink in the silence following this revelation.
I wasn’t invited. I, Madeline Fitzpatrick, was snubbed by my small-town public high school and didn’t even know it. Until now.
I laugh. I can’t help it. Mirth bubbles out of me. And then, to my horror, I’m crying. Sobbing really. Gasping for breath, I try to suck it back and end up hyperventilating.
Why am I crying?
“Whoa there,” Jess says, awkwardly patting my back. His expression is panicked. I’m sure mine is, too. “Oh shit.” He’s frantically looking around for what I don’t know.
He hops up from his spot in front of me, grabs something from behind his desk then hands it to me.
It’s a balled-up, grease stained Wallace & Sons polo.
“I don’t have any tissue in here,” he says by way of explanation.
I sniff, and dab at my face with a clean corner of the shirt. “I don’t cry. I’m not a crier.”
“I can tell.”
I shoot a ch
illy frown that has sent lesser men fleeing.
“You have a right to be a bit of a wreck. Don’t be embarrassed.”
“A wreck?” He thinks I’m a wreck. That’s great.
“Sorry. Poor choice of words.” He tilts my face up, smoothing a thumb over my damp cheek.
Our faces are inches apart. How did he get so close? I can smell mint on his warm breath, and his eyes—his gorgeous blue gaze trails down to my mouth. I lick my lips in anticipation.
He’s going to kiss me. This sexy mechanic, who is practically a stranger, is going to kiss me, and I’m going to let him.
I edge forward at the same time he does. Our lips are a fraction of an inch away from each other and for a wild hair of a moment I want him to do more than kiss me. I want him to bend me over his messy desk, rip my jeans down.
“I want…” I breathe the words against his lips, hoping he can translate the rest.
I want his calloused hands on me. I want his dick pushing inside me.
“Yeah?” The light in his eyes sparks like he heard my illicit requests.
The door bursts open.
I jerk back, heart beating out of my chest.
“You’ll never believe whose car Little John and I spotted on the side of the road,” says the intruder.
“I have a good idea I may know.” Jess gives me one last sultry look before he stands and adjusts the bulge in the front of his pants. The bulge right in my face.
I gasp. He did not just do that.
“I thought you weren’t going to be back in town until tomorrow,” Jess says.
“Had to come back early. Good thing I did. Someone’s got Fitzpatrick’s precious Pontiac.” The new guy’s voice is deep and gravely, and his words catch my attention.
I shift to the right to get a peek at who’s talking just as Jess shifts to the left, and suddenly I’m staring into the stormiest deep-blue eyes I’ve ever seen. I’d know those eyes anywhere, though I’d tried to forget them along with everything else in Clover Creek.
They’re filled with as much disdain for me as the last time I saw him.
“Madeline fucking Fitzpatrick,” he mutters.
“I usually just go by Madeline.” I’m a little surprised he recognizes me, but I shouldn’t be. Even though he’s completely changed from the boy I sat next to in chem lab, I know exactly who he is.
Jace fucking Wallace. The bad boy I spurned before leaving town.
He’s most assuredly a man, now.
He gives a charming grunt in reply. His eyes track down my body before meeting my gaze again. In high school, the heat behind his stare was a little unnerving. Now, it makes my skin prickle in awareness.
Where Jess is all playful smiles and a look resembling a scruffy Chris Hemsworth, Jace has turned hard edged and grim. He has tattoos on every inch of skin his leather jacket doesn’t cover. Neck. Back of his hands. Fingers. He turns his head slightly and there’s a tattoo there, too. Some kind of jester’s head is barely visible under a quarter inch of hair, but there nonetheless.
Basically, the type of classless scum I’d never give the time of day. He seems set on a staring contest, so I oblige, not one to turn down a challenge.
Whereas Jess’s eyes are cloudy silvery blue, Jace’s are a navy that’s dark as a night sky. Both men are intimidatingly tall and broad, but Jace carries an aura of danger. He’s scary and probably knows it. Likes it.
That annoys me. Makes me want to piss all over his Cheerios.
I arch a brow, sit back in the chair, and cross my legs as if I own this fucking office. Jace crosses his arms over his chest.
Jess coughs. “I was about to take Madeline out to get her car.”
“Huh,” Jace says.
“It’s actually my father’s car—as you clearly know. I’m going to be selling it,” I volunteer. Maybe tall, dark, and scary would like to buy it.
Jace’s gaze narrows on me. “You would.”
What’s that supposed to mean? “Excuse me?”
Jess shoves Jace out the door. “I’m sorry. I need to have a word with my brother. Then we can go pick up your dad’s car.”
Senior Year
JESS
“You boneheads listen up.” Dad’s Newark accent is extra strong, meaning he’s all worked up over something. He turns off the new Green Day Jake, Jace, and I have been listening to on the living room stereo and pins us all with a stare. “There’s plenty of local tail around here. None of youse need to be messing around with the Lake House District girls.”
Jake and I eye Jace accusingly. He’s the only one of the three of us who’s been sniffing around a Lake House District girl, not that we blame him.
“I know some of those girls are real pretty. They smell nice. Makes you wanna—” He makes a crude hand gesture of fucking with his fist. “You know.”
“Dad,” Jake groans. I shift uncomfortably. We all know what he’s talking about.
Jace crosses his arms, looking half embarrassed to be called out, half pissed.
“Look. It’s not that you shouldn’t date whoever you want, but those girls…they’re different. They go to private schools and country clubs. They’re living in another world, and they look down on guys like us.”
“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Jace asks.
“It means you’re the kid of a mechanic and if she gets caught with your hand up her skirt and is all embarrassed, she may say you forced her to do shit, even if you both know that’s not true.”
Dad runs his hands through his thick salt-and-pepper hair, looking uncomfortable. He doesn’t exactly do heart to hearts. The fact we’re having this discussion at all speaks volumes.
“All I’m saying is, you gotta be careful with those girls. Better to avoid ’em altogether. This getting through your thick skulls?” He includes all of us in the question but directs it at Jace.
Dad totally knows Jace has been drooling over Madeline Fitzpatrick. She’s the first Lake House District kid to start going to Clover Creek High. Rumor is her mom died and her dad lost his shit and yanked her out of her fancy school down state and moved them to their summer house.
I can’t imagine having more than one house, let alone more than one big-ass-fancy house, like the place they live in. Jace made me drive by the place with him. You could barely see it from the road.
“This is bullshit.” Jace bursts off the couch and storms out.
Dad shakes his head. “Good fucking talk, boys.”
Jake turns to me after Dad leaves. “You think he’ll cool it with that snobby chick? I heard she’s a bitch.”
I shrug, noncommittal. No way in hell Jace is going to take Dad’s advice.
Everyone believes Madeline is a stuck-up snob, but I think there’s more to her nasty attitude and nose in the air. Obviously Jace does, too.
There’s just something about her.
2
J ess
Present day
The second we’re in the hall, I give Jace a shove. “What the fuck is your deal?”
“What the fuck did I just walk in on?” he shoots back.
“Mean, what did you rudely walk in on?” I was so close to kissing Madeline Fitzpatrick’s pouty pink lips I can practically taste them. Jace deserves to be knocked on his ass. “Why are you being such a prickly bastard?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“She fell and jacked up her ankle. I was being nice and bandaging it for her.” And making her moan with a single touch.
He snorts. “Right. So nice you got a chub.”
“Fuck you.” I cross my arms over my chest, annoyed he noticed I got wood like I was fifteen and seeing tits for the first time. But Christ, I’d be a saint not to get hard kneeling in front of Madeline Fitzpatrick’s gently spread thighs. And I’m no saint.
He crosses his arms over his chest to mirror my stance. “How’d Miss Priss get here, anyway?
I grit my teeth, refusing to rise to his bait. “She walked.”
His eyes narrow. “I’m sorry I missed watching her classy ass prancing down the side of the road.” He studies her through the window to the office, and I shift over to block his view.
“Seriously, man, what the fuck is your deal? I know you’re an asshole, but this is a bit much, even for you.”
“She started it,” he grumbles.
Seriously? “This about high school shit? We’re adults, now. How about acting like it?” I turn to go back into the office, but he grabs my arm.
“You know it’s more than that.”
I shrug out of his hold. “I’ve got a car to tow.”
“Since when do you go do tows?”
“No job is beneath me just because I’m the boss, brother.”
Jace instantly bristles, like I knew he would. “You’re the boss, huh? Well, boss, maybe you should let me give the lady a tow.”
“If you’re looking to do me favors, Jace, maybe you could do the parts inventory and meet with our accountant this afternoon to go over quarterly taxes.” Silence from him. “No? Nothing to say?”
“Fuck you.”
“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
I’m at the door, and he stops me again. “Jess,” he says softly and calmly enough I turn.
“What?” I grit out.
“Be careful. We may be adults now, and shit changes, but she’s still the demon spawn of Edward Fitzpatrick. And you’re still a dirty little no-good Wallace brother. The apple doesn’t fall far from the Daddy Fitzpatrick tree. To her, you’re just a grease monkey.”
No one has called us that since we were kids. “Yeah, man. Thanks. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”
When I walk into the office, Madeline is standing with both her fancy boots in hand. My mind echoes my brother’s sentiment; Madeline fucking Fitzpatrick. Standing in my garage. I never in a million years thought I’d see her again.
Damn.
Jace had called dibs and actively pursued her our senior year of high school, not that he got anywhere with her. I had no choice but to watch her from her from the sidelines. But that was a long time ago, and damned if I didn’t see her first this time.
