Page 63 of Mess With Me

“Shit, I thought—”

He’s wearing a mechanic’s outfit with the top pulled off and tied around his hips. The white tank top he’s got on underneath is streaked with grease; it spreads onto his thick arms, too, which are holding something gray.

I don’t miss the way his eyes rake over my body for the briefest moment before he averts them.

He steps aside, holding something gray out to me. “Sorry. Here.”

What would he do if I dropped this towel?

The thought comes to me unbidden, but I have to bite my cheek to keep from laughing at what his reaction might be. Before breakfast, I would have thought he’d clap a hand over his eyes and snap at me to put some clothes on.

But after that moment with the orange?

I swallow as a feeling like something warm and liquid spreads through me. I walk toward the bedroom, which, of course, brings me to within a foot of him. He seems to have realized that a moment too late.

His hand gets tighter on the bundle in his arms. “I—” he begins. “These were in the laundry.”

His voice is rough. Strained.

A rush of something hits me, bolstering and amplifying that heat inside me. It’s the sense that right now, just for this tiny moment, I’ve got the power. He may be taking the lead outside, where we exist together in the wide world, but right in this moment, he’s at my mercy.

“Thank you,” I say softly, taking the clothes from him. Our fingers brush, and I don’t miss the way his eyes flame.

I linger just a moment too long. Even though we’ve only spent days together, I feel like those days have been amplified, given everything we’ve been through. So I know the war going on behind his eyes. And even though it’s probably the wrong thing to do, when I pass him, I lower the towel just enough to flash a good portion of my ass at him before shutting the door with my foot.

CHAPTER18

Sasha

On Sunday morning, I yawn and stagger out of the room in the pair of sweats Griffin lent me. The pants are comically baggy. Only the tie at the waist keeps them from falling down around my ankles.

The kitchen smells deliciously of bacon, and I can see from here there’s a full plate of breakfast on the table. Last night, after I was sure Griffin was back in his workshop, I pulled out that casserole and very indelicately ate a full quarter of it right out of the dish. It was heavenly. I’m not sure how this will top that.

Movement outside catches my eye. Griffin’s out there with Chester. The back of his arm rests on one of the Adirondacks on the back porch, while Chester sits on the rail across from him. I can’t hear what either of them is saying, though it looks like Chester’s doing most of the talking.

Griffin’s big hand curls around a mug of steaming coffee resting on the wide arm of the chair, and somehow, it’s that I fixate on as I head through the patio door.

“Good morning, boys.”

As I step outside, both men stand up.

Or Chester tries to. He stumbles as he slides off the rail, and I move for him, forgetting my hands are full. “Chester!”

Griffin deftly takes both my coffee mug and plate before they topple out of my hands.

“Whoopsie!” Chester rights himself easily enough. Just a harmless stumble. “Good mornin’ sunshine!”

Then, of all things, he drops to his knee. It cracks loudly. He visibly winces, but his smile doesn’t falter.

“Chester, what are you doing?”

But Chester doesn’t answer. He just takes my hand and says, “A beautiful woman such as yourself deserves absolute deference, I’ve always said.”

He gets a wistful kind of look in his eyes, and for a moment, I swear I see a flash of real pain there, like I saw when he mentioned his family. Then, in a blink, it’s gone and the bearded mountain man is back up on his feet with a subtle boost from Griffin at his back.

Over the old man’s shoulder, Griffin shocks me by giving me a smile along with a little wink.

A burst of butterflies flutters against my insides.

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