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Without thinking about it anymore, I pull up his number and hit dial. While it rings, I blame Everly for programming his number into my phone, knowing full well she was tempting fate.
It rings twice before his deep voice breaks the silence. “Hello?”
“My car won’t start,” I say, starting with the concrete details, so I don’t get stuck stammering on about feelings and regret.
“Oh, really?”
“I don’t know if you’re even working tonight, but I figured I’d call you first. See if you can tow it again.”
“Hmm…” He hums across the line. “I’m not working tonight, but I can come look at it. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Thanks,” I reply, trying to ignore the subtle rush of excitement I feel at knowing he’s coming here now. “I’m in the school parking lot,” I add, just before the line goes dead.
Fifteen minutes later, the familiar black and silver muscle car loudly announces his approach, and I look up to see him pulling into the spot next to mine.
The first thing I notice is that he looks good. I mean, he always looks good, but Pax is usually hiding in long sleeves and oversized sweatshirts. He cut his hair, which is now no longer hanging in his face. It’s cropped short, faded at the sides and long on top. It shows off more of his scars this way, which I find odd for him since he’s always so insistent on hiding them.
He has on a tight short-sleeve black polo shirt and jeans. My eyes are caught staring at him for a moment, wondering if he got all dressed-up just to see me. And I don’t know how I feel about that. Well, I know I feel good about it, but I know that I shouldn't. I wish I didn't care. I wish Pax didn't have this effect on me and I wasn’t so hung up on this one guy—but I am.
“Hey,” he mumbles after getting out and staring at me with those broad arms crossed over his chest. I’m immediately taken back to that night on the floor of the garage, how hot he was beneath me, and a spark of heat travels down my spine.
Nope. I need to stop thinking about that.
“It won’t start,” I reply.
He doesn’t respond, but I can tell by the furrow in his brow that he wants to say something.
“How are you?” he asks.
Taking a deep breath, I mentally prepare myself for a conversation that could either be great or terrible and what’s even worse is that I don’t know which way I want this to go.
So, I just shrug in response.
“Yeah, me too.”
We’re standing together in silence before I finally move away from the open door of my car. Gesturing toward the driver’s seat, I say, “Want to pop the hood? You already know I don’t know how.”
He laughs, a deep, sexy chuckle that just makes everything worse. Why did I call him? This was stupid. I’m going to end up heartbroken again.
“I’m sorry for being an asshole,” he says, without moving toward my car.
“It’s fine, Pax. Water under the bridge.”
He steps forward so there’s only a couple feet between us now. My heart rate starts to pick up speed.
“No, it’s not fine. I like you a lot, and I do this stupid thing where I sabotage anything good in my life, and I never fucking apologize, but you already know what a stubborn idiot I am. I think...that’s why we worked so well.”
He takes another step closer, and I can smell his cologne. It’s intoxicating.
“Pax,” I say, putting up a hand, but he closes the distance with another step, so my hand lands against his chest, and I don’t move it away.
“I came out to my team,” he says in the next breath, and my eyes snap up to his face.
“You did?”
“I don’t know what I was so worried about. Most of them knew, and they all have my back. Literally nothing bad happened after I opened up, so I don’t know why I was so worried.”
“I’m happy for you,” I say softly. My hand is still resting against his hard chest–I feel his rapid heartbeat beneath my fingers. He puts his hand over mine and takes another step closer, so we’re standing toe-to-toe.
