Page 87 of Rebel Summer

“I can hand you tools,” I began, ticking things off with my fingers. “I can get your playlist up to date. I can keep you hydrated.”

Leaning back against the counter with his ankles crossed, he broke in. “Keep me hydrated? Can you explain what you mean by that?”

But he was also a master at getting reactions. He used to thrive on that, so if I was going to stick around, I needed to get a grip. He teased me to get under my skin, not for any other reason.

“I can grab you a Coke.”

“The Coke that I brought here?”

“Yeah. And I’ll grab it for you.”

“What if I get thirsty for something else?”

My eyes flew to where he stood watching me with a playful expression.

“Stop,” I warned.

He laughed softly before walking to the door. “I meant a lemonade or a Dr. Pepper. What did you think I meant?”

He left the room, and I waited with bated breath. Dax didn’t lock me inside with an evil laugh, threatening to call Beau and have me framed, so I guess I should be grateful. But he was going to tell me no and kick me out. I knew it. He liked being alone. He didn’t seem to need anybody, and I couldn’t figure out why that thought bothered me. To my surprise, he returned to the secret garage, this time carrying two cans of Coke and a bag of Sun Chips. He shut the door, tossed the chips on the counter, and handed me one of the cans.

“I was supposed to get that,” I said, popping the top, ridiculously excited he came back.

“I still haven’t decided if what you can offer me is worth twenty hours or not, but I’m interested in playing this out. I’ve got some work to do underneath the car, and I could use an extra pair of hands.”

My first thought went to Jane and Cat and our golf cart fantasies we had about Dax while eating lunch at the cafe. I took a sip of Coke to give my mouth something to do instead of smiling.

Dax grabbed something behind the door. He turned and held out the blue fabric of what looked like a pair of coveralls.

“Put these on.”

I set my drink on the workbench and flung out the worn material several times. I wasn’t sure how long it had been sitting in this shop, but I was going to do my best to rid the garment of any critters that might have crawled inside and made a home.

“Whose is this?” I asked, stepping one leg inside.

Dax rummaged through a few tools on the workbench. “Mine.”

My motion of getting dressed skittered to a stop as his words sunk in, giving meaning and an intimacy to a crumpled pair of work coveralls.

“Do you ever wear them?”

Dax set a handful of tools on the counter. “Sometimes.”

I zipped up the coveralls over my jean shorts and tank top. “Twenty hours,” I told him again.

He looked me up and down, smiling at whatever he saw, and to my disappointment, he pulled a black shirt over his abs before grabbing a small box of tools he’d been adding to while I had changed. He nodded toward two rollers he had set out side by side and motioned me toward one. “We’ll see.”

The challenging look he gave me made me forget myself and crawl awkwardly onto the roller—or at least, give it my best attempt. The roller was extremely unforgiving for a newbie and kept sliding whenever I tried to heave my lower half on. Twice I landed on my butt while it slid out from underneath me. Dax bit back a laugh as he moved his foot to hold the roller steady without saying a word.

“I can do it by myself, it's just hard to maneuver in these clothes,” I said, adjusting my position on the hard plastic.

“I have no doubt.”

He slid onto his roller with the ease of a ninja warrior and scooted it next to mine. “Pop quiz. What’s this thing you’re lying on called?”

I scoffed. “That’s too easy. Give me another one.”

A smile broke out across his face, giving him such a boyish charm that I had to suck in a breath to quell the butterflies taking flight in my stomach. “I’d love to hear your answer.”

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