smirk, “Let’s just remove this,” and kiss my way across her collarbone, giving it a light lick at the end. Lexi pulls me down on top of her.
“Come back to bed!”
“Don’t tempt me.” I give her a kiss she won’t soon forget before offering my hand. “Rise and shine, Cherry.”
With the cutest smile she looks up. “Alright, I’ll get up,” and dramatically tosses the sheet off her middle like ta-da, I’m naked!!! With the grace of a ballerina Lexi rises on pointed toes and stands on them for half-a-second. “Can’t do it without the shoes.”
“You’re a dancer?”
She murmurs against my lips, “Long time ago,” taking my hand to put it where it wants to be. “Still hear the clock?”
“I wish I didn’t.”
Lexi licks her lips, bites the bottom one, and lets it go with a snap hypnotic for any red-blooded, heterosexual male. But after last night? I’m hard as granite.
However, I’m not budging.
“Fine,” rolls her eyes as she glides to retrieve her panties, spin them around her finger, and toss them at me. “Wash these and bring them back to me.”
I bust up laughing, normal cool breaking down.
On a grin, Lexi walks out and down the stairs, piece by piece putting her outfit back together as I admire the view. “Is it like watching a movie on rewind?”
“Something like that.”
“One you wish you had time to watch again?”
“And again, and again, again.”
She throws me a smirk over her shoulder. “Just like last night then.”
My grin flashes. “Pretty much”
She laughs, slides into her boots, bending deep to zip their inner zippers, giving me one hell of a show on purpose before rising with a triumphant hop. “I guess that’s about it then.” Green eyes narrow. “You didn’t tell me what you do for a living.”
“I’m a mechanic.”
She looks at my shirt, realizes it’s not a fashion choice, but is instead connected to payroll.
When I took over my dad’s garage, I upgraded the traditional uniform shirts to a softer fabric, one that lets your skin breathe even on a hot Georgia day thanks to modern technology. I chose a bigger lapel since I’m a fan of the 1970’s. I designed them in black rather than blue.
To me, black shirts over blue jeans feels great, especially with grease on the denim.
Productivity.
Problem solving.
Hard work.
I kept the age-old tradition of sewn-on name tags. Always liked them.
And right now, by the look on Lexi’s face, she’s surprised but not in a good way.
Makes me wish I hasn’t said that. No, that’s not fucking true. It makes me wish I’d thought before I said it to prepare myself for what a girl like her would think.
It was predictable.
I should’ve been ready.
Instead of this disappointed.
Would’ve been the same answer.
What’s done is done.
Chapter Eight
GAGE
I grab my keys, toss and catch them, and stroll over, twist to unlock my deadbolt. “After you.”
She’s nibbling her lips, gaze cast down in thought.
I caught the last name — Cocker, when Wyatt said it. I’d heard it before of course, though I felt no impact save for recognition. Celebrity doesn’t sway me in any direction. I judge people by actions. Not title. Not status.
Those can be bought and paid for.
Lexi seemed to me not stuck up at all, so what did I care? She was fun, easy going. Crazy, sure, but in a good way.
What was she expecting I did for a living? From the confused and unimpressed look on her face, something higher up the chain.
But that guy Brad didn’t seem too impressive. I’d think for a girl like her — if having the name she has impacts her choices since its attached to a star quarterback, high-profile politicians, and a rockstar millions pay good money to see perform live — she’d have chosen someone a little more…interesting than him.
But what do I know?
As we walk to the Bronco, its shine dulled by a thin layer of yellow pollen, Lexi walks ahead of me, flirtatious sway in her hips gone.
Signed up for one night.
That’s what I got.
That’s what I gave.
She’s in love with someone else.
And I’m a mechanic.
My eyebrows twitch as Lexi reaches for my truck’s passenger door handle, then falters and drops her hand to wait. This small action bugs the shit out of me. Last night she waited, like she deserved to, but now there’s hesitation?
I don’t think it’s anything about her not deserving it now — I think it’s about me deserving it. Like in her mind I’m somehow lower and she doesn’t want to insult me more by ‘serving