I will never get tired of hearing that.
After our successful drive, something about Selena seems different. Or maybe it’s just what we admitted to one another in that car. I love you. I have never said that to a woman before. But somehow, I feel absolutely no hesitation saying it to Selena now. I guess when you know, it’s true: you just know.
I manage to get a little bit of work done, at least, putting the finishing touches on the engine I’ve been reassembling after I had to take it apart to replace one tiny yet vital part. It’s for a friend of Selena’s father, actually, one of the men I met at the party her parents threw. A party that I initially thought — after someone wrecked my car— was going to turn out to be a complete disaster for me.
As it turns out in the end, it was probably the best party I ever went to. At least in terms of what I got out of it, when everything was said and done.
Selena perches next to the engine block and watches me work. She passes me the tools I need, asking smart questions, having me explain each step I’m doing in a way that tells me she really is interested.
Of course, she’s also distracting as hell. I can’t help but stop every other step and run my hands up her thighs, or lean in to kiss her lips, her neck, the edge of her shoulder. She always laughs and teases me that I’ll need to learn how to work with her around if I want to keep my business going.
I like the sound of that. The idea of her being around here more often. Maybe even helping me out in the garage eventually, since she seems to be picking this stuff up pretty easily. I joke about that, and it only makes her smile wider.
“Selena Brown, working in the auto industry.” She laughs. That’s a sound I never want to stop hearing, for as long as I live. “Nobody would believe me if I told them. Least of all my parents.”
I grin. Then I think about the way her mother spoke to me, when I stopped by their house, and I hum a little under my breath. “I don’t know about that. I think your parents know you still have plenty of surprises up those sleeves of yours.”
She smirks. “Up my sleeves or up my skirt?” she asks, but only because I’m staring again. I can’t help staring at her, every inch of her.
She’s the hottest woman I’ve ever seen, let alone the hottest one to ever perch on the side of a car while I’m repairing it.
“To be safe, we’d better check both locations,” I say, leaning over to grasp her thigh.
She just laughs and nudges me, before she passes me the wrench. “You need this next, right? Because you used it when you took that bit there apart earlier?”
I grin and find myself nodding. “Okay, we’ll have to practice the terminology and get a little more specific than ‘bits and parts,’” I joke. “But you really are good at this, I keep telling you.”
“Thanks.” Her cheeks flush, just a little bit. But I’m getting to know her now. Starting to be able to recognize her moods. Her embarrassed blushes and her secretly proud ones.
This particular one is the latter.
“Well.” I slap the hood and finish cranking the final piece of this engine back into place. “That about does it for this afternoon, I think. Not going to get much more done before sunset.”
She tilts her head. Her hair falls in a cascade over one of her shoulders, distracting as ever. “What happens at sunset?” she asks, a little frown of confusion appearing on her forehead.
It’s so damn cute I want to reach over and kiss it until she stops frowning. Instead, I toss her the rag to wipe her hands off, and step away from the car, leaving her to hop down off the block herself. Mostly because the motion makes her skirt hike a little around the edges, and hey, what can I say? I’m not a saint.
She catches me looking and her smirk widens.
“At sunset,” I say. “You and I have somewhere to be.”
“Where?” She trails me toward the office. I bypass it and head to the bathroom instead, washing my hands. I’d love to catch her in here all over again, relive our earlier run through the shower.
But like I said, we have plans already. “It’s a surprise,” I tell her, which only makes her chase on my heels all the faster.
“What kind of a surprise?”
“Surprises aren’t really surprises if you tell people all the details beforehand.”
She lets out an exaggerated sigh at that. But when I take us back outside to where we left Betty parked in the lot, and rap on the hood with my knuckles, she follows me without too many more questions.