Page 7 of Because I Liked A Boy
“Arrogant much?”
“Confident,” he corrects. “There’s a difference.”
I fold my arms. “Fine. Prove it.”
He gestures toward the line of cars, swagger in every step. I trail after him, pulse betraying me.
He stops at the Mustang, paint so polished it could blind. “This one’s fast. Corners sharp. Not for the faint of heart.” His gaze lingers on me, deliberate. “And faint of heart isn’t your problem, is it?”
Something twists low in my stomach, but I force my voice flat. “And what exactly is my problem?”
His grin tilts wicked. He steps closer, close enough that the heat from him creeps into my space. “You like control. You want power, but you’d rather no one sees you holding it. Which means…” He nods toward a black sedan, understated and sleek. “This one. Solid. Quiet. Predictable.”
“Predictable?” I raise a brow, refusing to step back.
“Calculated,” he murmurs, bracing a palm flat against the hood, his body leaning into the space between us. The tattoos on his arms flex with the movement. “Careful. Always holding something back.” His eyes drag over me, sharp and knowing. “But you’d get bored of safe.”
For one charged second, neither of us moves. My chest tightens, my pulse jumping, and I hate that he can probably hear it.
I lift my chin, matching his stare. “Congratulations. You’re officially the most arrogant mechanic I’ve ever met.”
“Mechanic, owner,” he says with a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “But sure. I’ll take arrogant too.”
“Good. Because that’s all you’re getting.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Princess.” His voice dips lower, smooth and taunting. “We’ll see how long it lasts.”
The air between us hums, thick with something I refuse to name. I roll my eyes, breaking the moment first.
But when he circles back to the sedan, his expression shifts. Less smug. More curious.
“So,” he asks, leaning against the hood, “what brings you to Maplewood?”
“Cars.”
“Cute.” His gaze lingers too long, too sharp. “But I meant you. You don’t look like the type to blow into town with a suitcase and no plan.”
“I’m exactly that type.”
“No.” His voice is easy, confident. “Too polished. Too sharp around the edges. People don’t get edges like that unless they’ve been through something.”
The words land heavier than I want them to. My throat tightens. I look away, pretending to study the sedan. “I’ll take this one.”
His grin softens, almost genuine. “Thought so.”
He tosses me the keys, the weight solid in my palm. Then he jerks his chin toward the office. “We’ll need to sort paperwork. Deposit, insurance. The boring stuff.”
My chest tightens. “And if I don’t have time for paperwork right now?”
Hunter’s smirk returns, sharp and amused. He leans closer, voice low. “Then you’ll owe me a signature later. Consider it… incentive.”
“You’re just letting me drive off?”
“Sure am.” His eyes lock on mine, steady, unflinching. “Call it professional trust.” A beat. “Or maybe I just like the idea of you owing me.”
The keys bite into my palm. I hate that a flicker of heat curls through me at the way he says it.
That’s when—
