Page 104 of When We Were Us
When I pull up,Hank’s truck is parked just outside the garage, and I spot him crouched at the water spigot next to the porch. Grabbing our coffees and the box of donut holes, I glance across the gravel drive before stepping out of the Jeep.
He turns and looks over his shoulder. His eyes are in the shadow of the bill of his ball cap, but I see the tip of his tongue peek out before scraping his teeth over the corner of his bottom lip. He shoots me a grin and turns back. His shirt is stretched across his broad back, and the muscles in his bicep and forearm pop as he works a giant wrench back and forth, tightening the new spigot into place. How does this man make handling a wrench so incredibly sexy?
As I approach, he pushes to his feet and turns toward me, his smile going wide. The front of his light gray T-shirt is splotched with water, and I would give anything to see what’s underneath. I mean, I’ve felt it. But seeing him in the bright light of day is not the same thing as feeling him up in the dark behind a bar. One is not preferable to the other, but I wouldn’t mind putting the two together. And the way he’s looking at me? God, the things I would let this man do to me.
I’ve never been accused of being short, but I still have to tip my head back to meet his eyes when I stop next to him. My pulse takes a flying leap straight to my vagina when he flips his cap backward and leans in to press a chaste kiss on my lips.
Apparently, we’re just kissing now. Just like that. Right out here in the open. Huh. It’s unexpected and…easy.
“Morning.” His tone is light, but his gaze is scorching when he pulls back. He looks so damn happy with himself. I kind of love it.
“Morning,” I say and feel my cheeks heat. “I brought coffee and some of Nat’s donut holes.”
He hums appreciatively and wraps an arm around my neck, gently pulling me against him so as not to crush the drink carrier and spill the coffee on us both. I feel the kiss he presses to the top of my head, and I breathe him in—that spicy, lemony scent I’ve come to associate with him.
“I’ll be right in.” He pulls back and hooks a thumb behind him, like he’s got more to finish.
I stay rooted to the spot, my pulse wild in my throat and in my core. I let my eyes roam over his face. He’s got all that delicious scruff I’d love to feel on my inner thighs, and his lips part on a grin when my eyes focus on his.
“You’re staring, Wrennie Girl.”
My voice comes out all breathless. That nickname. It goes straight to my heart. Spoken in his deep timbre, nothing has ever sounded so good. I blink up at him. “Am I?”
His answering chuckle crinkles the skin around his eyes, and that damn tongue of his comes out to lick his full bottom lip. He throws the large wrench in an underhand motion, and it lands a few feet away next to a toolbox sitting open in the grass.
Taking the donut holes from me, he takes my free hand in his and tilts his head toward the house. “Come on.”
I let him lead me across the short distance to the porch but intentionally stay a step behind soI can watch his ass as he takes the four steps to the porch.
He tips a look back at me over his shoulder. “Wrenley Jo Hardcastle, are you checking out my ass?”
My eyes snap to his. He grins and I blush, slightly embarrassed that he caught me. But not enough to deny it.
I shrug with a small smile. “It’s a nice ass.”
He barks out a laugh and opens the screen door, holding it open with two fingers, and I have to duck under his arm to get inside. When I move to step around him, his eyes drop to my ass, and he lets out a low whistle. “View’s not bad from back here, either.”
“Subtle,” I say with a shake of my head and an eye roll.
“You started it.” His tone is laced in laughter, as he follows me into the kitchen.
Morning sun streams through the window by the table, bathing the kitchen in warmth. Hank moves to the sink and washes his hands before pulling out a chair and taking off his hat. His hair is matted to his head, and he runs his fingers through it. It’s slightly damp at the roots, and the way it sticks up in spots is very reminiscent of twenty-year-old Hank.
When I sit across from him, I notice the way his shirt stretches over his biceps when he moves, and those arms are very much adult Hank. Now that we’ve been spending more time together with less bickering and scowling, I’m seeing an entirely different picture than I originally did that first day in the garage. The man sitting across from me is a mix of old and new, and my heart clenches.
He huffs out a laugh. “You’re staring again.”
I shoot him a look. “Well, stop with all the…” I trail off, searching for words, but fail. So, I just wave my finger in his direction, my eyes traveling over all the parts of him that are distracting me.
“All the what?” His expression is open and relaxed. He sits forward, grabs the cup labeled Hank, and sits back, raising it to his lips. I want to bite his forearm.
“That.” I point at him. “That thing you’re doing with your arms and lips.”
His eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. “Drinking?” He takes another sip.
“Yes. And running your fingers through your hair. And that damn backward hat move, that’s just cruel,” I say with mock annoyance and a little pout before taking a sip of my own coffee.
He nods once with a tip of his lips. “Backward hat move, huh?”
