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“How much?” Liv repeats, finally glimpsing over her shoulder at him. “I’m sure Mr. Stoll wouldn’t mind.”
“Uhh…” Out of my peripheral, he steals a glance at me to see if it’s okay. However, I’m interested in how she’s going to play this when I planned on her washing my bike today. “Twenty an hour?”
“A hundred for mowing the front and backyard,” she states. “And I can do it right now if you?—”
“Remember all the shit you still have to do for me, Opie,” I remind her. “I still need my bike washed, and I need dinner.”
She waves a dismissive hand at me and doesn’t bother to look over. “You can wait. I still have daylight to do all that.”
I quirk a brow.
Interesting.
She’s a little hustler.
And, to be frank, I admire that shit. It reminds me of myself when I started my business and my ex got pregnant with my daughter.
“Well, if Hudson doesn’t mind?—”
“I don’t,” I reply to Pete. “If she wants to spend all night with me, she can.”
She rolls her eyes but then plasters a smile on for Pete. “Let’s get going then.”
It’s well after six when I come back outside to see where the hell Liv is at and if she decided to dip out before doing my shit.
Instead, she’s already working on it. Somehow moving my massive Harley out of the garage and into the driveway, where she has a soapy yellow sponge in her hand and a bucket of water next to the hose.
And she’s fucking soaked.
The gray cotton shorts she was wearing are plastered to her ass and thighs. Her skin is saturated with water and bubbles from the soap. The pink sports bra is darker now, but it’s still holding those beautiful jugs while she’s hunched along the side of my black bike and looking hella good next to it.
I don’t make a sound as I watch her. My cock provoked in my boxers as her wet blonde hair, that’s still in a ponytail, sways with each stroke of her bathing my bike.
Motherfucker.
She must sense me because she glances over the next second, then drops the sponge into the bucket and rises, giving me a frontal view of her body—and I wish she hadn’t.
Because her nipples are pebbled beads through the thin material of her bra, and it does shit to body parts that don’t need to move.
“Was there any special soap you had stored in the house?” she asks. “I used the stuff you had on the shelf.”
No, this is just fine.
“No,” I growl out, irritated with myself that I just got done eye-fucking a twenty-three-year-old girl.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Yeah, I noticed she was attractive before, but we didn’t talk.
Didn’t need to.
Now, she’s in my fucking space—at work and at home—and I didn’t think this through fully. I said it wasn’t a good idea, but I did it anyway.
“You look like you’re about to throw a fit,” Liv comments through my thoughts, and she’s not wrong. I’m about to call this whole fucking thing off.
“I’m starving.”
Her face skews before softening with a nod. “Alright…what do you want?”
