Page 9 of The Mechanic's Match
“Where it’s always been, Princess,” I yell back, rolling my eyes.
I hear her rummaging through the cabinets, humming some annoyingly catchy tune. She’s been here less than 24 hours,and she’s already turned my loft into her personal playground. My carefully organized tools? Scattered. My couch? Currently buried under her notebooks and other work shit. And now my kitchen? God help me.
“You only have instant?” she calls out, disbelief dripping from her tone.
“It’s coffee,” I grumble, wiping grease off my hands. “Drink it or don’t.”
She appears at the top of the stairs, her messy bun askew and my flannel practically swallowing her. It’s buttoned wrong, hanging crookedly off one shoulder, and somehow, that makes it worse. Or better. I can’t decide.
“Instant coffee isn’trealcoffee,” she declares, descending the stairs like she owns the place. “It’s caffeinated sadness.”
I smirk, leaning back against the workbench. “You want a cappuccino? You’re in the wrong damn town.”
Her lips quirk, but she doesn’t bite back. Instead, she crosses the room, her bare feet silent on the cold concrete. My flannel shifts as she moves, revealing a sliver of thigh that makes my throat tighten. I hate that I notice. No, scratch that—I hate how much I like noticing.
Jet darts around the corner then, full of morning energy and hot on the tail of Buttercup. The cat jumps up on the workbench, Jet following fast and letting out a series of playful barks before Buttercup, nails out, claws into my thigh and climbs me like a damn tree.
“What the ever-loving fuck?” I grit. “Jet! Outside!” The dog stops dead in his tracks, eyes flashing from mine to Buttercup before he gives up the game and saunters right out the doggy door like his work here is done.
“So,” she says, collecting Buttercup from her safe place on my shoulder, “are you always this cheerful, or is it just for me?”
I arch a brow, crossing my arms. “Cheerful? You think this is me being nice?”
She grins, that mischievous sparkle in her eyes both infuriating and… something else I don’t want to name. “Well, you did give me a place to stay and lent me thisvery fashionableflannel.”
I snort. “Don’t get used to it.”
Her smile widens, and for a split second, I forget how much she irritates me. There’s something about her—something bright and relentless—that I can’t ignore. It’s like she’s a burst of sunlight in a room I’d gotten used to keeping dark. And it’s pissing me off.
“You know,” she says, tilting her head, “you’re not as scary as you pretend to be.”
I push off the workbench, stepping closer until her teasing grin falters. “You think so?”
She swallows hard, her eyes flicking up to meet mine. “Yeah,” she says softly, though her bravado is slipping. “I think you’re a big teddy bear under all that grump.”
I lean in, my voice low. “Keep poking, Princess. See what happens.”
Her breath hitches, and for a moment, the banter dissolves, replaced by something heavier. Something that hums in the air between us, pulling taut like a wire ready to snap.
She clears her throat, breaking the spell. “I should… probably go make that coffee.”
I let her retreat, watching as she climbs the stairs. She moves quickly, but I catch her glance back once, her cheeks flushed.
I rake a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. What the hell is wrong with me? She’s chaos wrapped in sunshine, the exact opposite of everything I want—or thought I wanted. And yet, when she disappears into the loft, I find myself wishing she’d stayed.
By the time I head upstairs, the sun’s set, and the loft is dimly lit by the warm glow of the overhead light. She’s curled up on the couch, her laptop balanced precariously on her knees. The flannel has slipped again, exposing one bare shoulder, and her hair’s come loose from its bun, falling in soft waves around her face.
I stop in my tracks, the sight of her knocking the air out of my lungs. She looks… comfortable. Like she belongs here. And that thought terrifies me.
“You’re staring,” she says without looking up, her voice tinged with amusement.
“Maybe I’m just wondering how much longer you’re planning to stay.”
She laughs, a sound that’s entirely too pleasant for my liking. “So much for being a gentleman. I guess I’m stuck here until you kick me out.”
I move to the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge. “Don’t tempt me.”
She closes her laptop, stretching like a cat, and I force myself to look away before my imagination gets the better of me.
