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My mom wouldn’t stop blowing up my phone, but I had no desire to text her. I sent a text to my dad instead.
Please tell Mom that I’m staying with friends for the weekend. I’ll be back on Monday.
As usual, Dad didn’t have a problem with it.Have fun, sunshine.Nice and easy. It didn’t make my mom stop texting, but at least it made me feel better about not opening her messages.
When I woke up on Sunday, Manson was still fast asleep, but Lucas’s spot on the bed was now cold. Rising quietly, I slipped on a pair of Jason’s socks and my shoes before I went downstairs. A pot of coffee had been made, and I poured a mug before I walked out to the garage.
The morning was pleasantly cooler than usual, with a late summer storm gathering dark clouds overhead that flashed with lightning. Lucas was leaning over the engine bay of a BMW, a few years older than my own car, fiddling with something.
Setting down my coffee and coming up behind him, I wrapped my arms around his waist and leaned my head against his back.
“Mornin’,” he said, drawing me around in front of him so he could hug me in return. He had his gloves on, and was careful not to touch me with them, although I wouldn’t have cared if he did.
“Are you really working on a Sunday?” I said, and he shrugged.
“It’s a quick job, just an oil change,” he said. “But I know I should be taking a day off. Sometimes it’s hard to turn off the work side of my brain.”
“I’m sure it helps that you like what you do,” I said, pulling over a stool so I could sit closer to him while he worked.
“That does help. I like the work, it keeps me focused.” He motioned me closer. “Don’t sit down yet. Get some gloves on. I’ll show you how to change your oil so you don’t end up with another dead engine.”
Lucas was a patient teacher. He showed me everything we would need to use first — the new filter, gaskets, and tools. Then he put a ratchet in my hand with an oil filter socket attached, and directed me on how to remove and replace the filter.
It got predictably messy. Even with gloves on, I got streaks of oil on my arms, and at one point, Lucas made me pause so he could rub a smudge of it off my chin. He insisted we couldn’t use the lift. “You won’t have a lift available when you’re changing oil in your driveway.” So I got to use a car jack for the first time in my life.
“Go on, put some muscle into it,” Lucas said, chuckling softly as he watched me awkwardly clutch the jack handle with my too-long nails. “It won’t bite you, show it who’s the boss.”
As I moved the jack stands into place to keep the car elevated, Manson walked into the garage with a steaming mug of coffee.
“Little early for work on a Sunday, isn’t it?” he said. He took a long sip of coffee, closing his eyes for a moment as he savored it.
“It’s not work, it’s life lessons,” Lucas said. “All right, so now you’re going to take your ten-millimeter hex key...”
He continued to instruct me as I lay back on the wheeled board that would let me slide under the car — he called it a “creeper.” After the oil had drained, I was about to slide myself back out when I was suddenly grabbed by the legs andpulled.
Lucas crouched there, his fingers gripped around my ankles, a mischievous grin on his face.
“Did I scare you?” he said. I tried to swat him with the rag I’d been using to wipe my hands, but he dodged it and caught my wrist, pinning me back against the creeper. I struggled a little, not truly trying to get away, but giving enough of a fuss that he had to work to keep me down.
“You’re going to get me worked up if you’re not careful, Jess,” he warned me.
“Oh, no!” I said, dramatically. “That would beterrible.” I was still lying on the creeper, and he allowed me enough room to prop myself up on my elbows. The look in his eyes was hungry, and that was exactly what I wanted to see. I teased, “You might not be able to control yourself, hm?”
His eyes narrowed as he stood, offering me a hand up. “You have a job to finish, remember? Don’t get distracted.” But he was clearly very distracted already.
I was having fantasies of him bending me over the car as I poured the new oil. Lucas stood behind me, his hands on my arms as he guided me. He stoodsoclose; close enough that he was touching my back and when he had to adjust himself, I noticed.
Glancing back over my shoulder, I gave him an innocent, wide-eyed look as I secured the oil cap back into place. “Am I doing a good job?” I said. My ass was wedged up against him, and I smiled sweetly. “I just want to be sure I’m pleasing you.”
Across the garage, Manson snickered at my words. “She’s trying to wrap you around her little finger, Lucas.”
But Lucas was looking at me as if I’d already succeeded. “I can think of a few more ways you can please me, too,” he said, cupping his hand around my throat to pull me back. We pressed up against the front of the BMW, my hands braced against it. Lucas was practically grinding on me. He bit down on my shoulder, softly at first — then hard enough to make me whimper.
“Ah, Lucas...” I reached my arm back from him, and made eye contact with Manson as I did. He was sitting on a stool, leaning against a workbench with his coffee close by. He was intently focused on us, smiling in a way that wasn’t entirely pleasant. It was a pitying smile, as if he knew something that Lucas and I didn’t.
God, I loved when he watched us, it was such a turn-on. Lucas’s fingers squeezed around my throat and I groaned, grinding my ass back on him. “Mm, you’re so hard,” I said. I watched Manson’s face, eager to see his reaction as I said breathily. “You should fuck me right here, Lucas. Bend me over and split me open.”
Lucas snarled in my ear. Instantly, his hand was fumbling with my pants as if to pull them down. But Manson’s pitying smile widened into something far more sadistic.
