Page 11 of The Mechanic's Match
“Wow,” I drawl, resting my chin on my hand. “You really know how to make a girl feel welcome.”
He doesn’t respond, just focuses on his soup like it’s the most important task of his day. The silence stretches, heavy and awkward, and I decide I’ve had enough.
“So, do you talk during meals, or is this part of your whole grumpy mechanic aesthetic?”
His gaze snaps to mine, sharp and unyielding. “You’re the one who won’t stop talking.”
I lean forward, grinning. “Maybe I’m trying to draw out your softer side.”
“There isn’t one.”
“Everyone has a softer side,” I argue. “Even you.”
“Not me.” His tone is final, like he’s shutting down the conversation. But I’m not done.
“Come on, Fox,” I press, leaning closer. “What’s your story? Why is the big, bad mechanic so scared of a little human interaction?”
He slams his spoon down, the clatter echoing through the loft. “I’m not scared of anything.”
“Then why are you so determined to push everyone away?”
His jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think I’ve gone too far. But then he stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor as he storms to the door.
“Dinner’s over,” he growls, yanking it open. “Enjoy your chaos.”
He’s gone for nearly an hour. Long enough for me to clean up dinner, reorganize a few shelves, and regret at least half of the words that came out of my mouth. I know he spent time in the military, and I know that changes a man. Integrating back into society can be just as traumatic as being deployed—an internal battlefield. Just as I start to worry he’s not coming back, the door creaks open, and Fox steps inside.
His expression is unreadable as he kicks off his boots and hangs up his jacket before walking to the thermostat and punching the down button a dozen times. I watch from the couch, unsure if I should apologize or keep quiet. He beats me to it.
“You’re exhausting,” he says, his voice low and rough. “Do you ever stop?”
I blink, caught off guard. “Stop what?”
“Always talking. Smiling. Pushing.” He runs a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. “You’re like a damn avalanche in here, City Girl.”
I should be offended, but there’s something about the way he says it—like he’s more annoyed with himself than me.
“Maybe you need an avalanche,” I say softly.
His gaze locks onto mine, and the tension between us thickens. For a moment, I think he’s going to say something—something important. His grin slides to one side and he stalks to me, brushing my bottom lip with his thumb and then muttering, “Keep walkin’ around like you want me to kiss you and I just might do it, Princess.” He winks then backs away. “Goodnight.”
I watch him retreat to the loft, the door clicking shut behind him. I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. Because for all his growling and grumbling, Fox Miller has no idea what just hit him.
Chapter Six
Fox
The Devil’s Brew is buzzing when I step inside. The familiar hum of conversation and the clink of beer glasses is a welcome distraction from the chaos Amelia has brought into my loft—and my head.
Sliding onto my usual stool at the bar, I nod at Liam, who’s behind the counter tonight. He raises an eyebrow, his grin already too knowing for my liking.
“Long day?” he asks, pouring me a whiskey without waiting for an answer.
“You could say that,” I mutter, swirling the amber liquid in the glass before taking a sip. It burns, but it’s a welcome distraction.
Grady, Ridge, Zane, Cal, and Slate are crowded around a table near the dartboard, and it doesn’t take long for them to spot me. Cal waves me over with an exaggerated motion, like he’s been waiting all night for me to walk through the door.
“Great,” I mutter under my breath. “Here we go.”
