Page 36 of Rebel Summer

“I’d rather do this than Legos. That’s how low I’ve sunk in my life.”

He debated for a moment until a hint of humanity showed on his face. “Alright. Don’t get used to such a cushy job, though.”

I pulled the top invoice and read the name Dax had scrawled on top. “Matt Hall. Are you done with his lawnmower?”

Dax climbed on top of the fishing boat he had sitting on a trailer on the far side of the garage. “I just finished. Put on there that I cleaned the mower and replaced the motor.” He paused while I wrote. “One hour of service time. And then add a line for parts ordered, and I’ll find the invoice for it later.”

I wrote down everything he said before moving on to the next invoice. We did this for a while—working rather seamlessly, I might add—until the pile was finished. Dax had moved from one project to the next, cleaning, bolting, removing, and all with a level of care I wouldn’t have expected of him.

“Quite the stall tactics you have, Books. But since it still benefits me, I’ll let it slide.”

I couldn’t see his smile because he slid under a golf cart, but I could feel it in the air.

Out of things to do, I sighed and began making my way toward the torture chamber when Dax’s voice rang out like a beacon in the dark.

“If you’re still desperate for a break, I was going to run to my house and grab some tools I left there.” He slid out from the golf cart and stood, pulling a set of keys from his pocket. He dangled them toward me. “I’ll allow you to go as long as you can confirm you haven’t taken anything today.”

Like a cat to a bowl of cream, I moved toward him. “You’d trust me to go into your house?”

“No, but I know where you live.”

“You do?”

The words were out before I thought them through. Of course he knew.

His eyebrows raised slightly. “Are you on something now?”

My cheeks grew slightly heated against my will, while he laughed. For the first time since I’d been back in his orbit, he’d brought up the night in the garage, shedding light on something we’d hidden away, and now I didn’t know what to do with my hands.

“Tell me you didn’t forget about your first brush with the law.”

“I was an innocent bystander.” The heat from my cheeks began spreading outward to my neck, and I wasn’t sure how to stop it.

He folded his arms, enjoying himself. “That first dabble into a life of crime is always a special moment. If only we’d known what it would lead to one day.”

Our gaze held, and something flashed across his face. My mind brimmed with the memories I thought I had squashed years ago. I took a step back and held out my hand for the keys.

He brought them closer, almost within reach, before he yanked them back before I could snatch them. “It’s the door on the right side of the house. You are to enter the premises and grab the red toolbox sitting on my table. Do not touch anything else. No trying on my clothes. No collecting locks of my hair. No going through my underwear drawer.”

I put a finger up to my cheek. “I hope I can remember all that.”

“Books…” he said, his voice low with warning. He held the keys out of my reach as I tried to grab them again. My hand landed on his chest, using him to steady me as I yanked them out of his hand.

Dancing away, I reveled in my newfound advantage. “I noticed you’re almost out of chips. Do you have any at home I could grab for you?”

He rolled his eyes, but I detected the humor. “Bottom cupboard to the right of the fridge. Grab the chips, grab the tools, then come right back.”

“I’ll try to remember all of that.”

“The brake is on the left. The gas is on the right,” he called out, sounding more cheerful than usual.

Fifteen minutes later, armed with chips and a toolbox, I slammed the door open into his garage once more. Dax looked up at the sound. I could only stare at him, my mind a whirl of possibilities. It was amazing what a person could learn about someone in such a short period of time.

I had to figure out the best way to play the game. Straightforward wouldn’t work. If Dax knew how much I wanted it, he’d never let me have it. If it was even something possible to have.

Feigning a calm I didn’t feel, I strode farther into the room and placed the toolbox and the chips on the counter. The chips were half gone, the hazards of eating my emotions during the ride back.

“What’s wrong?” Dax asked, eyeing me up and down before sitting down on his roller.

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