Page 29 of Penalty Box
Now that he was standing, I had an unobstructed view of his bare arms in the wife-beater he wore. Ripped muscle gleaming with a thin sheen of perspiration. Good enough to lick. My mind hurtled back to the time he was in nothing but a towel, saving me from the fire chief, and nearly choked on my beer.
“Need help?” It came out a little strangled, but all-in-all, a smooth redirect.
“And have you steal my thunder? Not a chance,” he said, taking another swig.
I set down my beer and pulled my hair up into a messy bun. “You talk like you had thunder to begin with.”
That got a crack of a smile out of him. Small, and quick. Gone in a blink.
He gestured toward the open toolbox. “Third drawer down. Grab the torque wrench, and show me what you’ve got.”
“You sure you trust me with your tool?”
At first, it looked like my question set his mind on a different track, but then he said, “I’ve got two busted joints and a bruised ego. Not a lot left to lose.”
The tightness in my chest eased once I was getting dirty. This was my comfort zone. It always helped having something that could actually be fixed.
“Sorry I never texted you back.” The admission was concise, without any eye contact as he crouched next to me.
I kept my eyes on what I was doing. “I didn’t come here to talk about that. I came to see if you’re okay.”
“Whatever that means,” he mumbled. “You think showing up here in shorts with a few beers was going to magically make things okay?”
I gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I was hoping it might be a start.”
“You’re trouble,” he said with a slow sigh, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips.
“Nothing you didn’t already know, Calder. Now get in here with some light, would you? Make yourself useful.”
He slid under the truck, our bare arms touching, and put his phone’s flashlight on. I stared at it, then him.
“What? It’s all I have.”
I wanted to laugh, but didn’t. That was so Mason-coded, I couldn’t have scripted it better myself. “You have a stocked garage but no work light?”
“Gotta leave room for character development.”
I shot him a look, but reached over to guide the light anyway, fingers brushing his. Just slight contact, no big deal. Except it was. He felt warm, solid, a little too close.
“You’re in the wrong spot,” I muttered, angling the wrench.
“I go where I’m told. You’re in charge, remember?”
“Don’t you forget it,” I said under my breath, and scooted deeper, nudging him with my hip. “Now hold it steady. Ball joints aren’t as forgiving as I am.”
We fell into a rhythm then. He held the light, and passed me whatever I asked without question. Occasionally, he’d throw in a sarcastic comment just to keep me on my toes. I liked this version of him. The one that was less burdened by everything.
His eyes also kept flicking down to my cleavage. After the third time, I said, “You’re staring again.”
“Sorry, but… have youseenyourself?”
I bit back my smile, but there was nothing I could do about the warmth creeping onto my cheeks. I tightened the lower joint and rolled back, smearing grease on my shorts as I reached for the beer I’d left on the floor.
“Look at you,” Mason said from behind me. “Competentandhot. A real catch.”
I took a long sip, then wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”
He laughed, and it actually reached his eyes. “You’re good at this.”
