said. “I’m a short shower kinda girl.”
“Take your time. Warm up.” I turned away, and then a thought occurred to me and I turned back to Torie—and froze, mouth dropping open and then clacking shut as I saw her, whatever it was I’d been about to say utterly forgotten.
Torie had stripped her sweatshirt off, and was holding it out—it was dripping a steady stream of water. Damn, damn, and double damn—her T-shirt underneath was a plain heather gray V-neck, and it was soaked through. Absolutely sheer. She wasn’t wearing a bra.
Call me an asshole, but I took a long, blatant look. I mean, it was impossible not to. Her nipples were peaked and hard, poking the fabric, and her breasts were outlined by see-through wet gray cotton. While technically not very large, her breasts were plump, sloping downward with pert nipples pointed upward; they were just begging to be cupped and lifted into my mouth…
Her eyes met mine, and I flinched. “I…um.”
Her arms went across her chest. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I’d be so, uh…”
“No, I’m sorry. I was just going to tell you something and then I forgot was it was. I’m—I’ll go.”
I turned on a dime and ran down the stairs to the garage to my Ford project. I slumped onto the floor, lay back on the creeper, and rolled under the truck, grabbing the nearby wrench and viciously attacking the bolts holding the exhaust pipe to the underbody.
“The fuck is wrong with me?” I snarled to myself, under my breath. “Picking up random chicks off the side of the road? I must be sick in the damn head.”
I lost track of everything as I worked to rip the old exhaust system out. Didn’t hear the water, or the lack thereof, I was too busy skinning my knuckles and swearing as I fought with the last stubborn piece of shit bolt, which was rusted on and refused to budge, even with a long-handled socket. I didn’t want to have to grind the bastard off, as the plan was to restore the truck to as close to bone-stock factory original as possible.
“Rhys?” a soft, quiet voice.
I tend to get lost and forget everything when my I’ve got my head and hands in a truck, and this was no different. I’d forgotten all about Torie, and so when I heard her voice, I flinched hard enough to crack my head on the underbody, drawing blood for sure and eliciting a long series of snarled curses from me as I slid the creeper out from under the truck.
I sat up on the creeper and touched my forehead where I’d whanged it—no blood, but a decent lump.
Torie was holding back a grin. “That was like out of a movie.” She crouched and peered at my head. “Just a little boo-boo. I’m sorry for startling you.”
I shook my head. “Nah, I get distracted when I’m under a truck. Tend to block out the world.”
“I’ll say.” She poked at my forehead gently, squatting on her heels. “I’ve been out of the shower for an hour.”
I glanced over at the schoolhouse-type analog clock on the wall above the door. “No shit.”
How the hell did she manage to smell feminine and sexy when she’d used my shampoo? Freshly showered woman is probably the most arousing scent on the planet, if you ask me.
Then I got a look at her—the sweatpants hung loose on her hips, highlighting the sharp V where her hips and belly angled in toward her sex, the waistband slung low enough to make me wonder if I’d get a glimpse of something more if she moved the wrong way. Despite having a tight, slender waist, her hips and ass filled out the old, stretchy cotton until the sweatpants fit her like a second skin, to the knees at least; she had the cinched cuffs tugged up to her knee, leaving her shins and feet bare. The shirt…shit, I shouldn’t have given her that damn shirt to wear. My poor dick couldn’t handle it. It was, stupidly on my part, a white shirt. A very old white shirt. Threadbare. It had holes in it, near the underarms and over the belly and chest. It sported the name and logo of my middle school in peeling letters.
If her tits had been on full display in her wet gray shirt, they were only slightly more concealed in that one, and the holes gave me tantalizing hints of skin and, on occasion, on the right side of