Page 75 of That Moment
On my back, beneath the front end, I scan the suspension we mapped last weekend. Her handwriting is on the parts list, and just seeing it makes a smile threaten to break my scowl.
“Don’t do that,” I tell myself. She’s late because she was out with someone. She’s late because she forgot about us.
Us? You fucking Idiot.
The ratchet teeth click, click, click as I tighten a bolt. I let the music take me away again, humming along, hoping it can drown out the image of Adrienne’s dress riding up her thighs as some faceless guy sets his hands where mine belong.
“She’s not yours,” I remind myself. “She doesn’t owe you anything.”
The bay door creaks open behind me. I don’t notice until the metal clangs softer and the guitar abruptly cuts mid riff.
“Seriously?” I bark, sliding out from under the car. “I was listening to that.”
She’s standing there, fresh-faced, hair in a messy knot, no makeup, flipping the radio knob with a smirk. “Morning to you, too, sunshine.”
Her tone is light and teasing, like she hasn’t kept me waiting damn near an hour.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says, stepping fully into the light, keys jingling in her hand. “Traffic was stupid.”
I grunt and grab the wrench again. “Got started without you.”
She sets her bag down, eyes flicking over me like she’s checking for damage. “Hey, I said sorry.” She moves closer, fingers brushing my arm.
My jaw locks. My forearms flex against the hood.
“I called,” I bite out. “I texted.”
She sighs, already turning toward the counter. “I’m sorry, my phone died. I barely remember crawling into bed.” She drops her gaze, her tone sheepish now, like she really is sorry. She pulls the dead phone out of her purse, the charger tangled around it. She plugs it in and places it on the counter.
The jealousy twists sharply in my gut before I can choke it down. I jerk my chin toward the coffee. “Brought you one. It’s cold now.”
She pauses, brows lifting just a little. “You did?”
“Yeah.”
Guilt flickers across her face before she grabs it, pops the lid, and heads for the microwave. “You’re sweet when you’re grumpy.”
I snort, focusing on the bolt in front of me so I don’t have to look at her. The machine hums behind us. Her phone pings as it powers back on. She doesn’t even check it.
The microwave beeps. She pulls the cup out, takes a sip, and moans softly. “God, I needed this after last night.”
She’s clearly trying to make me jealous at this point. I roll my eyes and ignore the comment, but my grip tightens on the wrench so hard it pinches my palm.
She leans in the doorway, coffee cradled in both hands. “Aren’t you gonna ask if I had fun?”
I keep my eyes on the engine. “Did you have fun?”
“Yeah,” she laughs like she’s recalling a memory. “It was good to get out. We danced, laughed… You know, girl stuff. You would have hated it.”
She leaves out the rest, but I see it, that flicker of hesitation, the way she looks anywhere but at me. Something in me snaps. The wrench slips, clangs against the hood, then hits the floor hard enough to make her flinch.
“Jesus, Scotty?—”
“You know what, no. Actually, I don’t give a fuck if you had fun.” My voice comes out louder than I intend, but it gets the point across. I step toward her, closing the space between us. “What I want is to fuck you so rough it’s the only thing you can fucking think about until the next time you go out. So when you’re sitting there laughing, dancing, flirting with those other men, you remember damn well who’s been inside you.”
I take advantage of her shock-parted lips and kiss her deeply and greedily. She answers with a low sound that punches straight through my chest. Her fingers fist in my shirt, hauling me closer, already giving back everything I’m taking.
“Scotty,” she breathes against my mouth.
