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“Do mine, huh?” I smirked. “What, lube up my workings? Check my dipstick?”
Izzy kicked out at me, but her feet couldn’t reach. She tightened the filter and checked it was snug, then screwed her undertray back into place. I took the bucket of old oil and jugged it up for recycling while she jacked her car down and refilled the tank. She checked the level and wiped off her dipstick, and our eyes met. Her tongue flickered out.
“You look good,” I said. “Greasy mechanic.”
“Who are you calling greasy?” She came around the car and thumbed grease down my cheek. I caught her wrists and took her hands prisoner, and crowded her back into the house. We blundered down the hallway caught up in each other, her hands on my ass, mine up her shirt.
“You smell like the garage,” I murmured into her neck.
“Yeah? Well, you smell like the locker room. Dirty man-sweat.”
“You like it.”
“So do you.” She rubbed the sleeve of her work shirt up in my face. I took a deep sniff of it and smelled her underneath, her light, floral body wash, her warm, clean skin. We found my bedroom somehow and stumbled inside, and Izzy froze against me.
“Did you hear that?”
I slid my hand up her side. “Hear what?”
“No, stop.” She caught hold of my arm and stood listening, head cocked. I heard nothing at first, then I heard a car door slam.
“Shit. Leon’s home.” Izzy pulled back. I followed her, wanting her, but she pushed me away. “C’mon, no, we can’t. The rules, remember?”
“He wasn’t home when we started. We’re grandfathered in.”
Izzy muffled a laugh. “Seriously, get off me. He’s going to hear.”
I stepped back, but she leaned up and stole one more kiss. I kissed her back, pinched her ass through her jeans. She ground up against me and the front door clunked open.
“Izzy?” Leon called out. “Your car’s taking up the whole garage.”
She dropped her head down and giggled into my shirt. I smacked her to quiet her and she snickered some more.
“Izzy, where are you? I’m parked in the street.”
She glanced over her shoulder, biting her lip. “Crap, is he coming?”
I listened, then frowned. “He’s checking your room. But when you’re not in there, he’ll come ask if I’ve seen you.”
Izzy started for the door, then paused to listen. She doubled back and scrambled across my bed. I grabbed at my covers to save them from oil stains, but she was already over and wrestling with my window. She heaved the sash open and clambered out, and she waved and winked at me as she darted away.
“Dammit, Leon,” I muttered, and wiped the oil off my face.
I took a sudden interest in Leon’s schedule, when his days off were, when he worked late. He thought I was pissed he’d missed a few of my games, my last one especially, where I’d scored big.
“He thinks I’m all butthurt,” I told Izzy, in bed. She was curled against me, her head on my chest, and I had my fingers in her thick hair. I loved the feel of it, all silky-smooth, the way her loose curls sprang back when I tugged them. Her hair wasn’t coal-black, like it looked from a distance. It was all shades of chocolate and mahogany and russet, black in the shadows, burnished in the light. When she tipped her head back to look at me, it streamed through my fingers.
“I don’t think he’s mad at you. Just weirded out. He asked me this morning if you were doing okay.”
“I’ll talk to him,” I said. “First thing tomorrow. I’ll tell him, I don’t know, I’ll blame it on you. Say you’ve been lonely in the stands by yourself.”
Izzy flicked my arm, and we both sighed.
“Tomorrow’s Monday,” she said.
“How’s things at work?”
“Ugh, those two douchebags, you know Mark and Jim—” She cut herself off abruptly and shook her head. “You know what, let’s not. I like our little nest in here. Our douche-free haven.”
