AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Clay?” his lively eyes search mine. “Guy friend?”
A warm glow stirs in my belly at his prodding question. He wants to know about my male friends. He’s judging his competition. “My little brother,” I answer.
The charge between us is sparking, dancing, becoming the familiar fire.
“You wanna pop the hood?” he offers in that delicious, deep, smooth voice of his. “I’ll take a look.”
He’s not talking into a mic. These words will not be heard by thousands. He’s speaking to me—only me. I can’t stand how happy that makes me feel.
Other Epic Elevate employees cross the lot. I see a few heads turn our way. They might be wondering why the Head Honcho is bothering with me—a Shipping Minion.
I know I’d be wondering that same thing if I saw Brock talking like this to someone in my department.
Offering help.
Brock doesn’t owe me any help.
But I don’t have to wonder why the CEO of this company is here, at my car, offering to look under the hood.
I know what is going on between us.
I don’t want to know, but I do.
We’ve been playing a game. It started last night, and today, it blossomed like wildfire on a windy day.
The only way to put out the flames is to get away from him.
I’ve been plotting all afternoon, trying to come up with a way to do my dog-care duties tonight without bumping into him. I counted on sneaking in that trip to the dog park I promised. Then, a few hours later, slipping in and out of his home unseen for that last walk of the night.
I figured if I could make it through the evening without any more contact with him, I would be able to clear my head.
So much for that plan, I think, as I fumble around under the steering wheel and finally locate the lever for the hood. I release it, and seconds later, Brock leans over my engine.
I start to feel bad, sitting like a lump in my seat, so I finally get out.
Bad idea.
Now he’s in full view. All six-plus feet of him.
His arms flex and bulge as he reaches under the hood and touches various parts that are not visible from where I sit.
His chiseled jawline is set in a firm line as he examines the old and rusty parts of my car.
His T-shirt-clad torso is bathed in golden evening sunlight. When a bit of the fabric pulls up, I can see his stomach’s a hard washboard. He’s in khakis that rest on his hips, no belt. He reaches up to place a hand on the edge of the popped hood. That might be the very top of his briefs, that hint of white and red fabric.
Don’t look.
He closes the lid.
When he steps my way, the gap between us becomes nothing but a magnetic field, begging to be collapsed.
I suddenly want to move closer to him, and I can feel how much he wants that, too.
This has to end.
I can’t take a minute more of this.
“Your battery is pretty corroded,” he says. “How old do you think it is?”
