Opening the fridge, I grab two bottles of grape juice and again glance outside. When I was seventeen, I had a horrible crush on Brad Portman. The feelings that stirred in me when the attraction was returned were some I knew could never be topped. Later, when he kissed me for the first time and fire exploded in my chest and belly before trickling to my core, I was sure nothing could come close to that euphoria, nor the feeling of when he closed his eyes tight with pleasure and pressed inside me, claiming my virginity.
Those feelings and memories, I swore would remain the hottest moments of my life, until I walked outside, juice in hand, to see Sean lift his sunglasses.
“BLUE MADONNA” BY BØRNS CROONS from my cell phone on the lounger as I wade through the water at the deep end. Sean stands propped against the wall on the opposite end. His powerful arms stretched along the concrete behind him, his eyes trained on me as mine drift to the midnight ink on his arm.
“So, what’s the deal with the tattoo?”
“Deal?”
I roll my eyes. “Some of your friends have it too, a lot of them. What does it mean?”
“It’s a raven.”
“I’m aware of that,” I say, my thighs and calves starting to burn from lack of exercise. “But what does it symbolize? Is it like a…best friend thing?” A giggle escapes me.
“You makin’ fun of me, Pup?”
“No, but you don’t think it’s a little weird you share a tattoo with that many grown men?”
“Nope,” he pops the ‘p’ sound. “Think of it as a promise.”
“A promise of what?”
He shrugs. “Whatever promise it needs to be.”
“Do you always answer questions in riddles?”
“It’s the truth.”
His eyes dip as I swim to the middle of the pool, my chest inches above the waterline, before lifting back to mine, the look in them enough to have me taking a mental picture.
“You want to tell me what you’re thinking all the way over there?” His question dries my tongue.
“I’m thinking I don’t know a lot about you.”
“Not much to tell. I told you I moved here when I was young. It’s a small town. As you can imagine, we came up with creative ways to occupy our time.”
“That’s when you met Dominic? When you were kids?”
He grins. “I was wondering when you’d bring him up again.”
“Is he always like that?”
“Like what?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Abrasive?”
This earns me a chuckle. “I think you know the answer.”
“So, what’s his problem? Mom didn’t hug him enough?”
“Probably not. She died when he was young.”
I wince. “Shit, I’m an asshole.”
“So is he. And he doesn’t apologize for it, so you shouldn’t either.”
“So, you’re all just friends with a promise? Why a raven?”
“Why not?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m getting nowhere with you.”
His smooth voice clouds my vision. “Why don’t you stop hiding behind the water and come a little closer, then I can get a better look at you.”
“I’m not hiding,” I hear the squeak in my voice and want to drown myself.
He lifts his chin in silent order, and I slowly inch my way closer. His posture stays relaxed as he sinks into the water so that his lips crest just above the smooth surface.
He’s still feet away, but his effect is lethal, my arms feel like lead now as I swim toward him. Predatory hazel eyes roam over me as if he’s deciding where to sink his teeth in first. I love it, the draw, the sizzle growing in the chlorine perfumed air. I’m in way over my head with this one, and we both know it.
“Penny for your thoughts?” My voice is shaking. The tension is too much. When I’m within reach, he strikes, capturing me by the waist and pulling me to stand before him. I yelp and then giggle as his eyes glitter over my chest, his breath hot on the triangle between my thighs skimming the surface. My nipples draw tight as his fingers ghost along my hip. He’s still crouched in the shallow end, while I stand above him, his every exhale hitting the thin material at the apex between my legs, whispering over my clit. I fight a moan.
“You want my thoughts?” He whispers roughly, “Is that what you want?”
I slowly dip my chin.
The rumbling of an approaching car snaps me out of my stupor, but Sean drags me right back in when his knuckles drift in a light dance along my stomach.
“I’m thinking we don’t have enough time for this discussion.” His voice is jagged as he tilts his head, his hand pushing the soaked hair away from my chest as he slowly stands to tower above me. He’s so close, the droplets of water like diamonds on his skin. My eyes trace a few scars on his pecs and biceps as I run my tongue along my lower lip, my core tightening in anticipation.
He leans in and presses a kiss to my temple, his fingers sliding down my shoulder with his whisper. “Thanks for the swim.”
Drawing my brows, I hear the repetitive roar of an engine out front.
“Wait…what about my car?”
“Parked out front.”
“You drove my car here? But you don’t have a key.”
“Worked at a garage, remember?”
“So, you’re a locksmith too?”
His mouth hitches in a smirk. “Sure.”
“Well then, thanks, I guess.”
“You’re welcome, I guess,” he mimics me perfectly, including the disappointment in my tone. I’d wanted him to kiss me, and the arrogant bastard knew it. I can sense his high from my frustration. He’s playing games. It should anger me, but I like this game too much already. He lifts himself from the pool, grabs his T-shirt and pulls it on. Disappointment thrums through me as he slips on his glasses, pulls a cigarette from his pack, tilts his head, and flicks his Zippo to light it. Glancing down at me, he lets out a plume of smoke. “See you at work.”
“WHAT SWEET HELL IS THIS?” I mutter beneath my breath as I grab another tub. I’m making calculators. Correction, I’m doing quality control on Horner Tech’s newly manufactured calculators. It only took an hour into my shift to make the decision not to piss away college and start critically thinking about my future. This is not my dream job, not by a long shot. Not long after I started my shift, I formed a respect for my co-workers. I’m sure it’s not their dream job either, but they do it religiously to provide for their families, and in no way can I fault them, nor judge them for that, regardless of how unsatisfying the work is for me.
But this can’t be my future.
I’ll go fucking insane. Three hours in, I’m glancing at my watch and again cursing the position I’m in. A year of this?
Not only that, I’ve been commissioned to work with the Chatty Cathy next to me, who appears to be the plant gossip and works at the speed of light, making me look like a fumbling toddler. All I have to do is give her a nod and she seems satisfied with the return conversation.
It’s when I’m in my fourth hour that I smell the familiar scent of cedar and nicotine. His breath hits my ear.
“How’s it going, Pup?”
I turn to see Sean mirroring me in wardrobe, khakis, and a short-sleeved collared button-down, which doesn’t do a damn thing to take away from his appeal. He’s got a clipboard in hand as he grins down at me. Ms. Chatterbox’s eyes volley between us, her interest piqued at the exchange.
“Pure adrenaline,” I deadpan, and he laughs as I scratch my ear beneath my hairnet.
“You need tunes,” he says, eyes widening at the woman beside me. He must be aware she’s got a motor mouth.
“I thought those weren’t allowed?”
“We might be able to work around it.”
Sean is technically my supervisor, which will make the job more bearable. He told me he worked at the plant for several consecutive years prior, earning him seniority, which he didn’t lose when he left. He’d only attended orientation that day as a f
ormality and to brush up on plant policies. And right now, I can’t think of a better position to be in than beneath him.
We silently stare off until he nods past my shoulder. “Missed one.”
“You’re distracting me,” I say cheekily.
“Good to know,” he gifts me a slow wink. “See you in a bit.”
When he’s at a safe distance, Chatty, whose real name is Melinda, gives me the side-eye as she grabs another tub from the stack just dropped off at our station. “How do you know Sean?”
I shrug, stacking up the empty tubs. “We met yesterday at orientation.”
“You be careful with him. And steer clear of his friends, that dark one they call the Frenchman,” she leans in, “I’ve heard…things about him.”
“Really?”
The Frenchman.
It has to be Dominic she’s speaking about. I detected a hint of an accent when he spoke and have little doubt there’s truth to her warning. I’d been introduced to that infuriatingly gorgeous, dark cloud last night. He’s the mirror opposite of the spiked sunray that’s been taking up my thoughts today.
Melinda looks to be in her early forties. Everything about her screams of southern values. From her old school perm to her high-waisted mom jeans to the cross draped around her neck. After just a few short hours of listening to her, my conclusion is that she’s not only the plant gossip but the town gossip as well, and no secret of mine will ever be safe with her. I have no doubt I’ll make it into her future dinner conversations.
“Yeah. They don’t mess around. Fast cars, parties, drugs, and girls.” She leans in close. “I hear they share women.”
This bit of news is far more interesting than her dear friend Patricia’s boating accident last year and the fate of her eleven-year-old cocker spaniel. “Really?”
She leans in even closer. “I hear they smoke the weed.”
I can’t help my giggle. “That wacky tobacky, huh?”
She narrows her eyes at my condescension. “I’m just saying, be careful. One of them got ahold of my cousin’s goddaughter, and let me tell you, it wasn’t pretty.”
I can’t help my bite.
“What happened to her?”
“No one really knows, and no one has heard from her in months. That boy broke her heart so bad she rarely comes home anymore.”
She pulls her cell phone from her pocket, darting her eyes around because phones are forbidden on the plant floor. She scrolls through before she lifts a picture. It’s from a social media profile and the girl displayed on the screen is gorgeous. I tell her as much.
“She was the pride of my cousin, but once he got his hooks into her, she changed. I don’t know.” She glances over her shoulder. “Those boys, pretty as they are, I think might have the devil inside them.”
From my first and second impressions, I find it hard to believe that’s true of Sean, but Dominic might be a different story.
As wrong as it may be, I sidle up to Melinda for the rest of the shift, suddenly in the mood for conversation.
BACK ACHING FROM LONG HOURS on my feet, I unlock my car and practically fall into the seat, turning on the AC to get out some of the humidity in the interior. Tilting the vents my way, I let the warm sticky air dry on my face before I pull my phone from my purse and see I missed a text from Christy. I can’t help my smile when I see I also missed one from Sean.
Sean: Come to the garage. I’ll ping you.
It’s been a long day. I think I’ll just go home.
Sean: Bullshit. You can sleep in tomorrow. Pizza’s on me.
Sean pings me the location and I weigh my fatigue against the rush of seeing him again. Decision made, it takes me ten minutes to get there, and when I pull up, I’m shocked by the size of the garage. Next to a glass-enclosed lobby are six bay doors, the largest at the end, I assume for commercial machine repairs. It’s nothing like I imagined. A few of the cars I saw at the party sit outside in a large lot. Stepping out of my car, I hear music blaring from the other side of the dented bay doors. Clearly, business hours are over, with little sign of life inside aside from a dim light in the lobby. As I approach, an unmistakable smell invades my nose.
These devil boys are smoking ‘the weed.’
I giggle as I take down my hair and run my fingers through it. There’s absolutely nothing to be done about my uniform. I approach the door to knock and see Dominic on the other side of the double-paned window with a King’s Automotive logo in bold, shielding much of the glass. The sight of him stops my curious footing as I drink him in. A lock of dark hair cascades over his forehead as he furiously clicks the side of the mouse on his computer underneath a stuttering yellow light, a lit joint between his perfect lips, and an open beer next to his monitor.
His lashes are so thick. I can see them dancing over his high cheekbones from feet away. He’s a fucking marvel to look at. His broad chest is cloaked in a grey T-shirt with the logo along with a few grease spots that trail down to his dark jeans. I can’t see this man looking bad in anything. Studying his hands, I imagine the damage they could do or the pleasure they could give. As if he can sense me watching, he looks up, and our eyes meet.
Bang.
It’s a shot right to the chest and my blood pumps overtime to keep up with the oxygen I’m now deprived of.
He studies me just as intensely for a few seconds before he moves toward the door. Jerking it open, he stares down at me, his expression unreadable, the joint hanging loosely from his lips when he speaks.
“What are you doing here?” His voice is slightly raw as if he’s been yelling all day, then had a hot shot of whiskey after.
“I was invited.”
“Allow me to uninvite you.”
“Why?”
He blows a plume of smoke from his lips, and I turn my head to avoid it.
“You don’t belong here.”
I’m not leaving. That much I know. Thinking on my feet, I pluck the joint from his lips and pinch it between my fingers. His eyes deaden as I take a timid pull on it, fanning my hand repeatedly to get the rest of the smoke away from me as quickly as possible.
“This tastes…” I inhale, “fucking awful.” I choke, and cough on my exhale.
His lips quirk slightly before the smile is gone. “That’s because you’re trying to be someone you’re not. You can’t stay, Cecelia.”
“I won’t drink.”
He takes his joint back. “Do what you will, sweetheart, but not here.”
He moves to shut the door, and I stick my foot in it. “If this is about my dad, then you should know I’m not his biggest fan either, okay? I’m just a result of his sinful fornication,” I mock in my best preacher man voice. “And them’s the breaks,” I glance around the lobby, “pun intended. He doesn’t own this town. Or me.”
He crosses his arms, my words not making a dent in his stance.
“He’s not the sheriff, okay? Since I’m new in town, bored out of my mind and stuck here for a year, I could use some friends. Now, let me in before I play girl and whine to your brother.”
“See that window?” He jerks his chin to the large window behind me.
“Yeah.”
“What does that say?”
“King’s Automotive.” I roll my eyes, reading his intent. “Fine, you’re the shot caller, right? Then let’s barter, Mr. King.” I take a step up, so that we’re close, not quite nose-to-nose due to his height, but so that I’m invading some of his space. It’s a bold move and I do the best to hide the shake in my voice. I pull a twenty from my pocket. “Beers on me tonight.”
Another jerk of his chin. His spoon colored eyes unwavering.
I shove the money back in my pocket. “Come on, Dominic, let’s be friends.” Batting my lashes in exaggeration, I glance past his shoulder, hoping Sean will see me and intervene, but I come up empty. “What’s it going to take to get in here?”
He doesn’t move or speak but robs my confidence piece by piece by just standing there as I try my best t
o muster up some sort of alter ego worthy of this opponent. I can see by his unimpressed gaze that I’m failing miserably.
But he’s right. I’m a wallflower trying to impersonate a mighty oak. However, I made promises to myself that I intend to keep. So, I do the only thing I can, I pluck the joint from his fingers and take a bigger hit before blowing it right in his face.
I’m so high from just two hits I swear I can see space. A deep rumble comes from his throat as he lets out an annoyed exhale.
To my surprise, the door opens, and in my spacesuit, I take a wobbly step inside. His voice covers me in goosebumps as he speaks when I move to walk past. “Don’t make me regret this.”
I present his joint back to him with pinched fingers, and he takes it. “I won’t, but don’t let me hit this again.” I make it halfway to the door leading to the bay on the other side when he stops me.
“Cecelia.” I could live every day of my life listening to the curl of his faint accent around my name. I glance back and see the warning in his eyes. I spent half my shift being lectured to about tangling up with these men, and it did nothing but intensify my curiosity. “I’ll say this once. It’s not smart, you being here.”
“I know.”
“Can’t know much.”
“Oh, mais j’en sais déjà beaucoup, Français.” Oh, but I know a lot, Frenchman.
I may have taken French in high school, but I’m far from conversational. However, the payoff of those classes is well worth it to see the mild twitch of his lips and muted surprise in his eyes.
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