I grab my purse, which is finally dry, and check my phone. I have half a dozen questions from Olive about bridesmaid dresses and measurements, but I scroll down to the one text message from Lukas from three o’clock this afternoon.
Lukas:Thinking about you, Freckles.
I’m smiling so hard my cheeks hurt as I respond.
Me:Sorry, I just got this. Busy day. I just locked up and need to go grab some clothes. I was thinking about you too.
My feet hit the sidewalk and for a second I worry that I should have asked Lukas where he parked his truck, but as soon as I hit the unlock button on the key fob, I laugh. Turns out, it’s hard to miss. The massive, shiny black truck is parked one store down, practically blocking out the sun.
Shaking my head, I open the driver’s side door and climb in. Literally. I have to grab the back of the seat and jump up into the dang thing. I’d say he was compensating for something, but I know for a fact that’s not true.
It’s a puzzle getting the seat in the right position with the little power-adjust buttons, but I get it scooted forward and lifted high enough so I can see out the windshield. I feel guilty messing with all the mirrors, knowing that Lukas will just have to fix them later.
Cujo isn’t at the gate when I get home, but I pull out the sandwich crusts I saved for him and toss them over the fence, anyway. At least that way he’ll know I brought him something.
It’s almost comical, packing an overnight bag from my meager possessions in the tiny house. By the time I pull out a couple changes of clothes, my toiletries, and toothbrush, there’s almost nothing left. I pop my mug in my bag so I can take it to work with me tomorrow. At the last minute, I go back into my drawer and pack extra panties. Can’t be too safe when I’m going to be sharing space with Lukas.
I’m giddy at the thought of seeing him again and practically skip to the truck. The last two days have been emotional whiplash, but I’m on a high right now and I’m happy to roll with it.
Asher is in front of the Donovan Auto when I pull in fifteen minutes later. He raises an eyebrow, giving me a little salute. I swear the entire family is such a matching set. It’s not just the eyes, though the bright green is certainly a family trademark. They’ve all mastered the single cocked eyebrow that perfectly conveys “well-well-well-what-have-we-here?” and the “I’m-smirking-on-the-inside” lip press. Asher gives me both as I climb out of the truck.
“What did you do?” he asks.
“Do? I don’t think I did anything…” I trail off, confused. I turn to look at the truck, making sure I didn’t scratch it accidentally. It still looks perfect…
“Not talking about the truck,” Asher says.
“Well, you’re being kind of cryptic,” I answer. I don’t know where the Donovan cloth is, but the trimmings are out there somewhere with Asher’s shape cut out right next to Lukas’ outline.
“He’s whistling. It’s annoying.” Asher jerks his head towards the auto bay where I can see Lukas moving around my Civic, faint notes of cheerful whistling filtering across the lot. My chest tightens in a happy squeeze.
“Sorry.” I grin back at Asher, not missing the eye roll. Another Donovan trait, I think. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I leave my stuff in the truck cab and cross the lot. Heat is rising off the blacktop in shimmering waves. Lukas has his back to me as I approach. I can’t tell what song he’s whistling, but the romantic side of me loves that I make him so happy.
My inner dirty girl doesn’t give a flying fuck about the whistling. She’s way too distracted by the view. He has the top half of his mechanic coverall things undone and tied around his waist, showing off his thoroughly bitable butt.
There are grease stains on the back of his white tank top and technically, I know that shouldn’t be sexy… I thought I was firmly in the No Man-Tank camp, but boy was I wrong. The muscles in Lukas’ broad shoulders are exposed, tattoos rippling as he works on something at a beat-up workbench. He’s dirty and sweaty, and when he wipes his forehead with a rag and shoves it in his back pocket, I nearly lose my head entirely.
I’m starting to feel like a creeper, so I hold up his keys, jingling them to announce my presence. Lukas turns and gives me a huge, breathtaking grin. He has a dark smudge on one cheek and it just makes him even more irresistible.
“Hey Freckles,” he says, eyes sweeping over my body appreciatively as I step closer.
“For the record, the whole dirty mechanic thing is really working for me,” I tell him, gesturing to all of him with a finger.
“Oh, yeah?” he asks, setting down a wrench and a car part on the bench.
I suck my lower lip between my teeth, biting it and nodding. “Oh yeah,” I tell him, brushing his hair out of his face. He smells manly but there’s that familiar laundry detergent underneath the engine oil and sweat and it makes me think about curling up in his sheets, tucked against his side.
Lukas puts his mouth next to my ear and speaks quietly. “I can’t touch you like this though. I’d get you all dirty.”
I shiver despite the heat. I love it when he does that. There’s something so… illicit about the feel of his breath on my neck and the low rumble of his voice next to my ear. Maybe it’s the fact that those words are just for me.
“I’m pretty sure that ship has sailed,” I whisper back. “You’ve already gotten me dirty once today. Twice last night.” I bite his earlobe gently.
“You’re killing me, Freckles,” he groans as I step back and smile sweetly at him.
“What’s the damage on my Civic?” I ask with a wince. It’s hard to ignore the fact that it’s torn apart. The engine has been pulled out and parts of it are staged around the workbench. It looks organized, but in a way that is completely foreign to me.