I smiled at him and gave a little wave to let him know I’d heard.
“You can wash up inside, you don’t have to use the garage.”
Chapter 4
WYATT
I should have let her go. It was better for her to huff and feel rejected. I knew girls like Harley had probably never felt the sting of rejection, but it wouldn't have killed her to hear a no. But the look she gave me before she turned away did me in. The way her bottom lip jutted out and the indignation in her eyes. There was a flame there, a grit to her personality that she didn’t let out in front of her friends. She kept it caged and forgotten so she could live a life according to the expectations of others. The way she smiled at me was disconcerting. It felt like she lifted the layers I’d purposely put in place and exposed me. I was standing in the garage driveway, my comfortable place, feeling raw because she’d gone out of her way to extend some sort of olive branch to me.
As I stood there, I couldn’t get the image of her smoking hot body out of my mind. I’d tried playing a million tricks—telling myself she was like a little sister to me, I’d lose my job, this was a set up just like the rich East Pointers had done to my little sister—but none of it worked. Instead, I imagined her lithe body surrendering to my touch, crushing her pouty mouth with mine and kissing the fuck out of her spoiled mouth. Making her come so hard on my cock that she screamed my name and begged me for mercy. That ass, those tits, that tiny little waist. I’d make her forget she ever had any body issues by drowning her in pleasure until she loved her body for the delight it could bring her. My dick went from feeling tired to standing at attention again, rock hard in my shorts and begging for a certain spoiled brunette brat.
I yanked my now stained white t over my head and headed to the house. Old man Brooks would shoot me dead, her late mother would roll in her grave, and Stefano Brooks? That frat boy turned hedge fund manager would have me cut limb by limb by the Italian Mafia if any of them could hear my thoughts. My filthy grease monkey hands defiling their precious asset—for I’m sure that’s how they saw her. None of those people would let me set foot in the real house, I belonged in the garage no matter how hot or cold—like a mother fucking dog.
My nostrils flared as my temper rose, getting closer to the house. Problem was, I genuinely like Harley as a person and every time I interacted with her, she proved all of my generalized assumptions about her type completely wrong. Harley was an enigma, an infuriating, super sexy, willful East Point kid. Someone I should hate, but the way Harley drove me crazy was not in a hateful way. Instead, it was a way more fucking dangerous way.
I rang the doorbell and the chimes even sounded expensive. Leave it to the Brooks to be too good for a regular doorbell. Harley pulled the door open and smiled. Inside the foyer, the climate controlled air was frigid and made my nipples tighten. She smiled genuinely and her face searched mine like she was eager to see me. She was wearing a different flowery little dress with a flouncy skirt and bare feet, her long brown hair tucked behind her ear and falling over her shoulders. I wanted to devour her and skip the fucking pizza.
“Want to eat in the kitchen or in the living room? My mom always said that the kitchen is the heart of the home.”
I walked behind her and tried to tear my eyes away from her ass.
“Kitchen it is, in honor of the late Mrs. Brooks. God rest her soul.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she said, turning to me.
“Do what?”
“Act like you work for me. I mean, I know you work for my dad and you’re used to behaving a certain way, but you can just come and chill, like off the clock, I mean.”
“Are you telling me to just be myself?” I asked her.
She bit her lower lip and tilted her head slightly as she took me in, we were standing in the pristine kitchen that was larger than my entire trailer, and frankly, cost more than the entire trailer park I lived in.
“Yes. Just be who you are and forget about working for my dad and all that. I invited you to hang out and just chill. You don’t have to pretend to be someone you’re not.”
I stepped to the sink and washed my hands thoroughly under the hot tap water. The marble sink was deep and wide, probably big enough to take a fucking bath in. I slicked back my hair with water a couple of times, while Harley watched intently. She went to a cupboard and handed me a towel and I dried my face and hands.