Page 23 of Cole

Cole looked at me, waiting for me to confirm or deny that statement. I had a sudden, heady feeling of power. Cole was like a lethal weapon, and right now, it felt like I had the power to point it wherever I wanted. If I told him that this man had been making inappropriate comments… a shiver worked through me at the thought of Cole bursting into action with all the swagger and skill of the other night.

“Yeah, he offered to help, but I told him that I’d called someone.”

Cole watched me a little longer, inviting me to elaborate. When I didn’t, he looked back at the guy. He gave him a lengthy inspection, from the toes of his shoes up to his thinning hair.

“That’s very neighborly of you,” he said at last, and flashed a smile that didn’t look impressed at all. “But I’m here now. You can go about your day.”

The guy hesitated. “But⁠—”

“I said go now, while I’m in a good mood.” Cole’s voice wasn’t quite so light now, and the man heard it.

He nodded and made for his car.

We both watched him drive off.

“I don’t have to let him go, if he was a dickhead,” Cole remarked, still watching the car as it moved away.

I shook my head. “He wasn’t convincing me to get out of the car for anything. I’m not that naive.”

“I wasn’t asking about what you had to do to feel safe. I was asking about what he did that made you feel unsafe.”

I turned and looked at him. His blue eyes were on me now, and I recalled the backroom at The Clutch and the way he had smelled up close, as I’d bandaged his hands.

“Thanks for the offer, but I can’t really go around having creeps’ arms broken, or something, just for being suggestive and inappropriate.”

“Why not?” Cole asked, turning to look at my car. He moved past me toward the hood.

“Well, for one, you have to work, I suppose. You can’t be doing that all day,” I rambled.

Cole’s mouth pulled up at one corner at my lame joke.

Then he got down to work on the car. With the hood open, he poked around inside with reassuring ease. The man knew cars. He took his leather jacket off, his black T-shirt hugging his muscled back as he leaned over the engine. I was staring. I couldn’t help it. There was something absolutely, devastatingly sexy about a man who knew his way around the inside of a car, and wasn’t scared to get grease on his hands. Someone who solved problems.

I walked away a little, aware that I was just staring and imagining all kinds of things, which was just as gross as the guy who’d been trying to get me out of the car.

“Ok. She’s good to go just now, but you need to bring her in for service as soon as you can,” Cole called.

I turned back to the irresistible sight of him working on the car. Oh. My God. He’d taken his T-shirt off. My brain short-circuited.

He had streaks of grease against his skin, and the tattoos, holy hell, the tattoos were something else. His entire upper body was a tapestry. I wished I could know what had gone through his head when he got every single one. Where had it been? Who had he been with?

“Yeah, I missed my last service,” I told him.

He nodded. “I can see that.” To my disappointment, he pulled his T-shirt back on.

“So, I can drive from here? It’s ok?”

“It’s fine, but like I said, as soon as you can, get a full service.”

“Ok, good. What’s your bank info? I’ll send you a bank transfer.”

Cole shook his head.

I hurried to my car and reached inside for my purse.

“Cash?”

“No charge.”