Page 71 of The Bad Boy Rule

The corner of my mouth twitches, and I hold my stare. “Or you could stay.”

I don’t know why I offered or what the hell I’m thinking in the first place, but having her here while I work isn’t theworstthing.

Might pass the time faster.

Or maybe I say it because I just want her to be here. The revelation of that washes over me in a wave of unexpectedness.

“Or I could stay,” she murmurs.

I toss her a grin and grab my tools, then sit on the creeper.

Her hands flatten on the hood of her car, and she lifts herself, plopping down on top. She’s so damn short her feet dangle, and it’s… cute.

Fuck, I gotta get under this car.

Before I say or do some shit that I’m going to regret tomorrow.

I lie back on the creeper, using my feet to propel me beneath the car, and get to work.

THIRTY-FOUR

LENNON

“Bullshit.” Saint’s low, gravelly voice is slightly muffled coming from beneath the car he’s working on. The sound of metal clanging together fills the air around us, but I haven’t the slightest idea of what he’sactuallydoing under there.

I can only see the bottom half of him, thick, powerful hockey thighs covered in the faded blue coveralls that are covered in old grease stains. Thighs that I shamelessly rode until I had my first orgasm.

God, do not start thinking about orgasms here, I tell myself, biting back the grin by biting the inside corner of my lip.

“I’m serious.” I place the pizza box onto the hood of my car and do my best to push down the dirty thoughts that were just infiltrating my mind. “Jesus, my stomach is growling so loud I can’t believe you can’t hear it.”

Suddenly, he slides out from beneath the car, stormy eyes finding me. I notice the smallest smudge of dirt on his cheek that almost matches the short stubble along his jaw.

I watch as he sets the tools he was working with down beside him, then pushes off the contraption beneath him and stands, coming to full height.

“You’re telling me that you’ve lived in NOLA your entire life and been at OU for almost two years, and you’ve never had a pizza burrito from Jack’s? No fucking way.”

“I am.” I exhale a laugh. “But… if you’re done calling me a liar, then I guess I’ll finally be able to.”

My stomach shouldn’t dip when he flashes me an ultra-rare smile, but God, does it.

It might be the fact that I’m starving to death, but I’m pretty sure it’s just the Devereaux effect.

That’s apparently a thing. That I’m clearly falling victim to.

He swipes the large pizza box off my hood and saunters toward the exit, calling back over his shoulder, “You coming or what? If not, I’m eating both of ’em.”

As if. I’d wrestle him to the ground and steal it before that happened. I’m past hungry; I’m hangry, and he does not want those problems.

I’m practically power walking to keep up with his strides, following behind him as he walks outside of the garage and over to an old vintage truck that’s covered in patches of rust and peeling paint. It’s… seen better days, but it’s also really cool.

“This is Betty.” Saint lowers the tailgate and places the box onto the back. “Tommy’s one and only love. 1957 GMC that he’s been saying at least once a day since I was fourteen that he’s going to get around to restoring.”

I run my finger over the peeling blue paint along the tailgate, trying to imagine what it might look like if it ever was restored, and also wondering if Tommy will ever get around to doing it. “I bet it was amazing back in its prime.”

“Here,” Saint murmurs from beside me, voice suddenly low near my ear. I glance up at him just as his large palms slide along my waist, gripping my hips and effortlessly lifting me onto the tailgate.

Like I weigh absolutely nothing at all.

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