“Not at all. Sometimes I like getting all up under the hood and talking dirty to it so he stays faithful to me, y’know?”
Linc chuckled again.
The corner of her lips twitched. She swept a hand toward the engine. “I secretly love sweat trickling down my ass crack while I try to figure out what the hell is wrong with my car.” She winced, as though realizing her mind-to-mouth filter was malfunctioning in the heat.
Her barbs of sarcasm warmed something in his chest. People didn’t talk to him the way she did, and if he was honest with himself, he kinda liked it. She wasn’t like the girls who threw themselves at him in bars. In fairness, most of the girls in his circle were puck bunnies, more motivated by a desire to meet the players and be seen on a hot guy’s arm than having any interest in hockey or getting to know him.
Cleo didn’t want anything to do with him at all, and that in itself was a breath of fresh air.
He hadn’t noticed her until she’d dropped an eight inch, hot pink dildo on his foot at the mall, right before the semester started. The image of what she might go home and do with it, well,thathad plagued his every fantasy for weeks. Staring into her hazel eyes, it all came flooding back to him. If it was socially acceptable to look in his pants, he’d find blue balls.
She cleared her throat, and her head jerked as if to say, ‘Was that everything?’ Could she somehow see inside his brain? Did she know how hot the idea of her playing with that damn vibrator was? He doubted it. She seemed oblivious to how beautiful she was. Somewhere between hot librarian, and Hermione from Harry Potter.Shit. She’s still looking at me like I’m a fucking imbecile. Say something, asshole.
“Do you—?”
Raucous laughter interrupted him.
“You should go before someone sees.” She turned, unhooked the hood strut, folded it back into its place, and dropped the hood shut with a dull thud.
His face burned. She didn’t want to be seen with him. He couldn’t blame her. He might not like it, but she had a point. Jocks and nerds didn’t mix unless they had to, and for some unknown reason, he had ‘a rep to protect’. What the fuck did that even mean? A rep to protect? Like he’d somehow be disowned by his hockey brothers if he was seen talking to a bookworm? Would he? She wiped her hands on the thighs of her yoga pants and dragged her arm across her glistening forehead. Did he care if they did?
“Ready to go, Linc?” Will Morrison, senior and captain of the Snow Pirates hockey team slung an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. “Waffles wait for no man.”
Linc shrugged off his grip. “Nor beasts.” He jabbed Will in the ribs.
“Touché, man. Let’s eat.”
His gaze lingered on Cleo who was staring at her phone as though her glare might burn through the screen. He grabbed his phone from his back pocket and pulled up the number for ‘Grease Monkey’ – the not very creative nickname his friend Steve went by.
Linc: Favor?
Grease Monkey: It’ll cost you a signed photo for my little brother, a puck, and maybe something else depending on what you need me to do.
Linc: Silver Honda civic at the corner of 3rdand Cedar, facing the bookstore. Get her roadworthy again and send me the bill? If the owner asks, say it was a Random Act of Kindness or some shit.
Grease Monkey: You break someone’s car, hot shot?
Linc: Damsel in distress. She hates my guts and would never accept help from a no-brain jock, so let’s keep it on the DL, yeah?
He shuddered at the thought of what Cleo might do if she ever heard him refer to her as a damsel, and chuckled.She’d kick my ass, that’s what she’d do.
Grease Monkey: I won’t tell your boys you have a squishy heart under that hockey armor either.
Linc: You’re the best, Monk.
He slapped his phone against his palm before tucking it into his back pocket and catching up to his friends. He had no idea why he was drawn to help the prickly woman with the razor-sharp tongue who seemed to hate everything he stood for, but something compelled him all the same. Maybe he was just a no-brain jock, but he was also a helper, a doer, and she was standing running her hand through her hair, hip popped, and scowling as she talked to someone on her phone.
Cleo Martinez could definitely use some help.
***
“You should really do something with those, Linc. They’re awesome.” Russ sauntered into the room gesturing at Linc’s bed. It was covered in half-finished sketches and art books. The edge of Linc’s hand was blackened from the charcoal he was using on his current work in progress. He paused, making sure none of his sketches of Cleo were on display. Something about her had his fingers recreating the lines of her face on blank page after blank page, but he still couldn’t nail her eyes.
Russ was the only person alive who knew Linc could draw. He’d come home early one night and found Linc slouched over his sketchpad, smearing pastels onto the page. Linc had expected mockery and wiseass, but Russ had only been impressed and had demanded to see more examples of his work. They’d had this argument so many times that Linc’s only answer was to raise his eyebrows.
“I know, I know. Art’s nothing more than a waste of time.” He did a good impression of Linc’s dad’s gruff voice as he puffed out his chest and wagged a finger at Linc. “Gotta keep your grades up and head on the ice… but you’re good, Linc. Really damn good. You could go places with this shit.”
Linc stayed silent, maybe if he didn’t answer, Russ would drop it for a change. He rounded the lines of the shape he was working on with the side of his pinky, blurring the edges of the charcoal just a little.
