Page 39 of Very Unlikely
I want to kill him just at the thought of him touching Summer.
“Maybe you should leave it to the professionals, Sum? His ride looks pricy. You don’t want to fuck it up.”
“Itisexpensive,” Cody jumps in like he needs to defend Summer from me. “But I trust her.”
“Unlike you,” Summer mutters in a whisper before she shifts her narrowed eyes to Cody, who’s in the process of removing his shirt.
They don’t remain slit for long.
As her eyes rake Cody’s body, Summer’s eyeballs pop out of her head. She looks like she’s about to have a coronary. If she does, you can be assured as fuck Cody won’t be performing CPR on her. I don’t care how much Summer’s fuck-me-eyes beg him to. I didn’t ignore urges for years to let a fool like Cody Larson slide in and claim victory.
Summer deserves someone smart and sweet.
That someone isnotCody.
After stepping past me like I’m not summarizing the multiple ways I could rearrange his face with my fists, Cody says, “You can use my shirt.” He hands Summer the above-mentioned shirt before she can tell him to go row up a creek without a paddle. “I also have some hose in the trunk. It’s not as thick as a radiator hose, but—”
“Any hose will work,” Summer interrupts while swallowing rapidly like she does any time I whip off my shirt. Although I feel hot enough to blow a gasket, my turbines cool a little when she adds, “But your shirt won’t help. It’s a little thin to be used as a protective barrier. But that’s okay, I can use my jacket.”
“Alright,” Cody murmurs, his voice way too hitched for my liking. He’s not solely stoked about Summer’s assistance. He’s admiring the curves he didn’t know she had since they’re usually hidden by the checkered print long-sleeve jacket she’s in the process of removing.
Instead of putting his shirt back on, Cody tosses it into the backseat of his relic sports car before pacing to his trunk to fetch the hose. While he does that, Summer starts ‘tinkering’ with his motor, oblivious to the fact he removed his shirt more to rile me than her. I can’t help but be protective of Summer, and douchebags like Cody do everything they can to keep me on my toes when they learn that.
After angling my body to block Cody from Summer’s view, I murmur, “You should have left him stranded, Sum. He doesn’t deserve your help.”
The hiss escaping her mouth while removing clamps from a section of hose that has an obvious split replicate the moans she did this morning, but regretfully, her words are nowhere near as enticing. “Don’t be an ass, Lenigan69. He had nothing but kind things to say about you when he asked who I was waiting for.”
I roll my eyes, mindful Cody would say anything to get in her favor, but before I can tell her she needs to keep her guard up around ballers like him, he returns to her side with a piece of hose that looks more like a radiator hose than a garden hose and a stupid lopsided grin. “Will this work?”
“That is perfect.” A feeling I’m certain I’ve never experienced before bombards me when Summer accepts the hose from Cody. Their fingers only briefly brush, but she smiles up at him like he offered her the sun. “Now, we need something to hold it in place.”
“The hair ties?” Cody pipes up like he’s a contestant on a quiz show. When Summer nods, encouraging his stupidity, he runs a hand over his blond buzz cut. “Unfortunately, I don’t have the hair for hair ties, but I could rustle up supplies from the crowd if you need them.”
When he waves his hand across the procession of people that grew thicker the longer Summer showcased her fantastic ass by leaning over the hood of Cody’s car, Summer’s cheeks redden. She hates being the center of attention. “It’s okay. I have some.”
The crowd that’s an even mix of males and females hover closer when Summer tugs out the black hair ties keeping her blonde locks off her face. A collective hiss breaks across the crowd when their removal sends a waterfall of curls falling down her shoulders. They’re not solely mesmerized by how different she looks with her hair down, they are also in awe about the lack of threat on her face when she uses her flannel jacket to remove the radiator cap.
The steam whizzing out could burn her even more than the scalds charring my ego from the number of admiring glances she’s getting, yet she acts as if she has nothing worthwhile to lose.
Once Summer has the section of hose connected with her severed hair ties and enough steam absorbed by her teeny white singlet top to make it see-through, Summer pulls over a hose from the side of the stadium parking lot. “You should ask your mechanic to drain the radiator when he fixes the leak. Tap water isn’t good for classic engines like this,” she advises Cody while filling his now-repaired radiator with tap water.
Once it’s full to the brim, she switches off the hose that’s made the front of her shirt even more risqué, then spins to face Cody. “There you go, as good as new.” Before he can praise her as his face is showing he’s dying to do, she adds, “But this fix is only temporary. The radiator cap is fitted loosely so the hair ties will hold, but you must take it to a mechanic who knows what he’s doing with these types of relics.”
“Someone like your dad?” Cody asks, stepping closer to her.
I step closer too, except my steps aren’t toward Summer. They’re to fill the minute gap between Cody and her with my imposing frame. Someone is about to lose, and it isn’t the men eyeballing Summer’s perk pink nipples from the sidelines like they have a chance with someone as smart as her.
For the second time in the past twenty minutes, Summer sidesteps me with the skills of a quarterback, then she continues her conversation with Cody like I’m not in the room. “Yeah, but Buffalo is a little far to travel.”
“Not when you want the best.”
There he goes with his fucking winking again.
“Could you see if he has an opening for me? I’d greatly appreciate it.” He hands Summer a business card like he’s a businessman instead of a scumbag baller who takes home a different girl every week. “I could have her transported to him, then arrange collection at the end of the summer leg.”
“Sure. He’d love the chance to work on a ‘47 Comet. It’s been on his wish list for years.” I grow envious of Cody’s ride when Summer runs her hand along the front fender. “You don’t find classics like this anymore.”
“No, you don’t,” Cody agrees with his envious gawk nowhere in the direction of his car. He’s staring straight at Summer, his gawk so white-hot, I’m afraid her skin is going to get scarred more by his watch than the blistering Florida sun. “That’s why you have to do everything you can to keep them.” Summer’s eyes lift from his ancient sports car when he asks, “Did Lennox tell you about the after-game party I’m hosting tomorrow night?”
