*
Hot water ran down my back as I braced my hand on the pink-tiled shower wall. My other hand went to my erection, stroking from base to tip.
I ran my thumb over the barbell piercing just below the head and hissed when my balls drew up tight.
This wasn’t going to take long, which was a good thing since I didn’t have much time.
Closing my eyes, I let my mind go to a place it hadn’t gone yet. While Mackenna had occupied many of my thoughts since meeting her, I hadn’t allowed myself to give in to the fantasy of being with her.
Now I couldn’t stop myself from imagining what it would feel like to have her touch me.
The hand on my cock wasn’t mine anymore—it was hers.
She was kneeling before me, her lips parted. Her delicate hand moved up and down as she stared at my dick with fascination and hunger.
Stroking faster, I envisioned Mackenna taking me into her mouth, applying just the right amount of suction. Her tongue flicked over the piercing. She moaned, and I imagined feeling the vibrations in my shaft.
The muscles of my abdomen and thighs tensed as I got closer to release.
She bobbed up and down while keeping a firm grip on the base, moving her hand in time with her head. Water ran down between the valley of her breasts, her nipples stiff and pink.
She took me in deeper, faster, her lips stretching wide to accommodate my girth.
When those big stormy eyes looked up at me, it pushed me over the edge.
“Fuuuuuck,” I groaned, the orgasm hitting me fast and hard.
I kept my eyes shut for a second, trying to hold onto the fantasy of filling Mackenna’s mouth with my cum. I wanted her to take it all. Every last drop.
The pulsing of my cock subsided and my hand slowed. I gave my dick one more tug before leaning back against the wall as I tried to catch my breath.
Holy shit.
If a simple figment of my imagination was that intense, what would the real thing be like?
*
Hank didn’t waste any time getting me right into the dirty work. After giving me one of Travis’s spare coveralls, he passed me off to Colton and told me to have fun.
First thing Colton had me do was shadow him on an oil change. He gave straightforward instructions, being sure to tell me how many quarts of oil to put in and how to check for leaks the customer might not know about.
Then he rambled on for a good ten minutes about different kinds of oil for different vehicle models, and my head started to spin.
I rolled up my sleeves and reached underneath the hood of the SUV we were working on next.
“You should remove your watch,” Colton spoke up. “Getting it caught on something is a good way to get injured. Plus, you don’t want to break it.”
Unbuckling the leather strap, I shrugged. “It’s already broken anyway.”
“I bet my dad could try to fix it for you,” he offered. “He loves to tinker around with that kind of stuff.”
“Seriously?” I asked. “That’d be cool.”
“Yo, Dad!” Colton hollered and Hank’s head popped out of the office. “Jimmy’s got a broken watch.”
Hank’s face lit up and he hurried over to us. Colton wasn’t joking—the guy was really excited.
“Lemme see here.” Getting out a pair of bifocals, he inspected the watch in my palm. “Can I?” he asked, as if he could sense it was important to me.
I nodded and let him take it.
Flipping it over, his eyes bounced to me over the rim of his glasses. “I can try to get it working again if you want.”
“Sure. It’s not like you can break it twice.”
There was an extra hop in his step as he retreated to his office with my watch.
Colton and I went back to work, and after we were done with another oil change, he showed me how to fill out the invoices for customers. Meanwhile, Travis replaced brake pads on a Ford pickup truck.
“Is that something I’ll learn how to do, too?” I asked Colton, curious about the process.
Grinning at my eagerness, he nodded. “In time.” Then he glanced at the clock on the wall. “Dad said you can leave at noon. It’s not very often that Travis and I are here at the same time. We thought we’d go over to Buck’s Tavern for lunch. You in?”
I took a second to consider it because I was antsy to get back to Mackenna’s house, but I also got the feeling she’d been getting annoyed with all my ‘well-check’ texts.
“Sure. I’ll just let Mackenna know I’ll be a little later.”
Colton laughed and shook his head as he muttered, “Ball-buster, for sure.”
Me: You okay?
Mack: For the 75th time, YES
Me: What kind of leggings are you wearing?
Mack: I thought you said you were only going to text me if it was important
Me: This is important
A picture came through. Flamingo leggings. I was grinning so hard my face hurt. I shot off a text, letting her know my lunch plans with the guys, then met Colton and Travis in front of the shop.
We crossed the street to Buck’s, and as soon as we got inside, the smell of fried food made my stomach growl. The tavern was long and narrow, with a sleek wooden bar off to the right and about a dozen square tables in the dining area on the left. We chose to sit by the front window.
“What kind of food do they have here?” I asked, looking at the old laminated card on the table that listed burgers and fries as the Friday special.
“If it’s fried, they probably have it.” Colton pointed at the tiny menu. “Taco Tuesdays are pretty popular. I would avoid Wednesday, though.”
“What’s on Wednesday?”
“The only day my ex works here,” he replied seriously.
Travis started cracking up. “That’s only half of the truth. The other reason is Buck started experimenting with Chinese food. Let’s just say it’s not his forte.”
I grinned. “Noted.”
Like me, Travis’s hair was longer on top, but his fell past his eyebrows. He raked a grease-coated hand through the brown strands. Neither of the guys seemed fazed by the grime a hard day’s work left behind. I’d tried my best to get my hands clean, but there was only so much a bar of soap could do. I would need to invest in a scrubbing tool. Or maybe not. Maybe in time, I wouldn’t be bothered by the dirt either.
A waitress came by, placing ice waters in front of us. After she took our orders, I turned the conversation back to work.
“So, what’s my schedule gonna be like? I’ll be there as much as you need me.”
“Monday through Friday, 9am to whenever the work is finished. We usually close up around 4:00 on busy days. No weekends at the shop, but sometimes we have transport deliveries,” Colton informed me.
“Sounds great. You guys have an awesome business,” I told him. “Must feel pretty good to own such a successful company.”
“It hasn’t been without struggles,” he said, looking serious. “Travis and I started helping out when we were fifteen, and there were times when Dad couldn’t afford to pay us. Thought he’d have to close up for good at one point.”
“I’m not putting you guys in a bind, am I?” I asked, wondering if Hank’s generosity was putting him in a tough spot financially.
“No way,” Travis chimed in. “We’re glad to have the extra help. A few years ago, we opened the truck testing lane to increase revenue. Then we added the transport company. I’m on the road a lot.” He hiked a thumb toward Colton. “Him, too.”
“Did you always know you wanted to be mechanics?”
They both nodded, then Colton added, “Growing up, it’s what I knew. I’ve always loved it.”
“My favorite part is trucking,” Travis said. “I can’t imagine doing anything else.”
Then his face lit up
and he glanced over at Colton. For a few seconds, they seemed to have some kind of telepathic conversation.
Turning toward me, Colton leaned his elbows on the tabletop. “Hey, what do you think of truck driving?”
I shrugged. “Guess I’ve never thought about it before.”
“You should consider it,” Travis said. “The power behind a semi. Life on the open road. There’s nothing like it. And we could use another driver.”
At twenty-two, Travis and Colton weren’t that much older than me. When they talked about their careers, I could hear how much they loved it. Just like Mackenna, they’d found their calling. And again, I was both impressed and a little jealous.
“It does sound pretty great,” I said honestly. “But I’m only here until August.”
“Oh.” Travis looked disappointed.
“Well it’s great to have you, even for a short time.” Colton elbowed Travis. “Especially with this guy’s wedding coming up. They’re taking a two-week honeymoon.”
“That’s right. Hank said you were getting married. Congrats, man,” I said to Travis.
“Thanks.” He had a goofy grin on his face. “And you’re invited.”
Although I appreciated it, I shook my head. “Don’t feel obligated to invite me. You guys don’t know me that well.”
Travis made a dismissive sound. “The whole town gets an open invitation. Literally. Angel decided to have it the same day as the summer festival because she wants everyone to be there. I heard you’re dating Mackenna Connelly. You should bring her, too.”
I smiled because I didn’t have to correct him on my relationship status.
Our burgers and fries showed up, effectively ending all talk of weddings, auto shops, and semi-trucks.
It was too early for me to tell if I would be good at my new job, but I knew one thing—I looked forward to finding out.
CHAPTER 17
MACKENNA
I had officially thrown in the towel on thinking I could get Jimmy to go away.
It didn’t matter if I was grumpy or annoyingly cheerful. Whether I was slinging insults his way or drunkenly throwing myself at him.
He seemed to enjoy all of it.
I was completely baffled.
And if I was being honest, I enjoyed his company, too.
It also didn’t hurt that his protective side was sexy as hell. He was totally hovering and I couldn’t even argue with him about it because, as much as I hated relying on someone, I felt safe when Jimmy was around.
It’d been a long time since I let someone be there for me. And right now, I needed him.
This morning, waking up to the sound of Jimmy’s strong heartbeat had been one of the best things ever until I realized I’d attached myself to him like a leech. That was embarrassing.
He was the only person I’d ever done that to. I’d shared a bed with my sister countless times throughout our lives and never attacked her like that. Usually I liked my own space when I slept, but for some reason I was drawn to Jimmy.
All day long, he’d been sending concerned text messages, and from the last one I knew he should be here any minute.
I rarely put makeup on. Most days I didn’t even brush my hair.
Now I found myself running back and forth from my bedroom to the bathroom, trying to find all the girly supplies I hadn’t unpacked yet.
“Aha!” I let out a triumphant shout when I found my makeup bag in the cardboard box labeled ‘not important’.
Dumping all the contents onto the granite countertop, I searched for my foundation, blush, and eyeliner. I probably didn’t have time to do the works, but something was better than nothing.
I glanced at myself in the mirror over the sink and noticed a pink tinge on my cheeks. I wasn’t sure if it was from excitement or the sun exposure while painting, but it looked good.
I threw the blush back into the bag and got the bronzer instead. After I was satisfied with the half-assed job I did on my face, I ran my fingers through my hair. I debated whether I should change my clothes. In the end, I decided to stick with the leggings because Jimmy seemed to like them.
After trading my oversized T-shirt for a fitted black tank top, I was ready for our date.
Was it a date? According to the conversation we had last night, it was.
If Jimmy really wanted to call it dating, then that was fine with me. The chance of me being interested in another guy was less than zero, so it wasn’t difficult to agree to those temporary terms. Surprisingly, I felt immense relief at knowing he wouldn’t be with anyone else either.
As I sat in my comfy chair and waited, the sound of the ticking clock on the mantel only fueled my anxiousness. My face felt hot, and my hands were cold and clammy.
When that soft knock came at my door, a foreign kind of giddiness buzzed through my body.
I peered through the peep hole. Jimmy was there, looking every bit the part of hot mechanic. His unzipped coveralls hung around his waist, exposing the black T-shirt he wore underneath. I admired the way it hugged his arms and chest just right.
I may have been intimidated by his tattoos at first, but that wasn’t the case at all now. He owned those tattoos. He was meant to have that ink on his body.
“Mack? You okay?” Jimmy’s muffled voice came through the door, and I realized I’d just been standing there ogling him through the peep hole.
Like a complete psycho.
Awesome.
After letting him in, I turned toward the living room and he followed.
“I came straight here,” he said, gesturing to the grease staining his clothes. “Sorry I’m so dirty. Just wanted to check on you first.”
There was a smudge on his forehead. Before I could second-guess what I was doing, I reached up and wiped it away with my thumb until the mark was gone. He smelled like sweat, motor oil, and sunshine. He smelled like a man. A hard-working man. And it was wonderful.
Grabbing a hold of his forearm, I tugged him down onto the couch with me.
He sat stiffly, holding his arms away from the leather. “I’m gonna get your couch dirty.”
“I don’t care,” I responded, not at all bothered by the mess.
“If you say so.” Shrugging, he relaxed into the cushions.
Curious about how his first day went, I asked him what he’d done and how he liked it.
Jimmy’s face lit up, and his hands slashed animatedly through the air as he told me about different types of oil and other things he learned on the job. I never knew someone could be so excited about car parts, but seeing him so fired up made those butterflies come alive again, ricocheting inside my abdomen.
“What?” he stopped mid-sentence when he was saying something about tires. “Why are you smiling like that?”
Bringing my hand up to my face, I realized I was grinning like a loon for no reason.
“I just—” I tried to think of how to explain it. “—you’re so happy. I guess it’s just contagious?”
Reflecting my smile, Jimmy brought his forehead to mine and brushed my cheek with his thumb.
“So, what are we going to do today?” I asked as sudden nervousness hit me. I had no idea how to do this. With no wall of liquid courage to hide behind, the brave, horny girl from last night was gone.
Would we jump right into ripping each other’s clothes off? Would there be foreplay? Most importantly, would I freak out or would I be able to keep my shit together?
My heart sped up at the thought of feeling all his tattoos. And the nipple piercings. And his lips on mine.
Equal parts anxiety and desire battled it out as I waited for his answer.
“Hold hands,” Jimmy replied.
Narrowing my eyes, I tried to figure out if he was serious. “You’re joking, right?”
“Nope.” He leaned back. “We’re gonna sit on th
is couch, watch a movie, and hold hands.”
“That’s it?” I asked, relief and disappointment simultaneously flooding my system.
Nodding, he held out his hand and I gave him mine. Linking our fingers, he pressed our palms together and my heart did that fluttery thing again.
I looked down at our hands, admiring the contrast. His were darker, rougher. I could tell he’d attempted to wash off the grease from the shop, but some remained in the crevices of his skin and under his fingernails. Something about it was incredibly sexy.
He rubbed his thumb over my knuckles. “You didn’t get to do this stuff, did you?”
“What stuff?”
“The innocent stuff,” he said. “The things you do when you’re not thinking about sex, when you’re just happy to be on a date sitting next to someone you like.”
I swallowed hard. The truth of his statement hit home, because that was a necessary step I’d been forced to skip.
Giving him a small smile, I nodded. “That sounds really nice, actually.”
“But first, I need a shower.” He leaned in close and pressed a kiss to my scar, just like he did last night.
Before I could read too much into it, he was walking toward the door, telling me to lock it behind him.
Jimmy had only been gone for ten minutes when he came back wearing black, low-sitting sweatpants and a plain gray T-shirt. The dark, damp hair on his head was in disarray, like he’d simply scrubbed a towel over it.
Sticking to his word, he held my hand all evening. It wasn’t boring, though.
I had no idea there were so many different types of hand-holding.
Sometimes he brushed the inside of my wrist with his thumb. Other times he idly played with my fingers while we watched the movies he borrowed from Beverly. He earned big brownie points when he massaged my palms, applying the right amount of pressure over every inch of my hands and fingers, soothing the stiffness from hours of playing guitar.
And when my palm ended up sweaty from nerves and constant contact, I shyly wiped it off on my leggings while muttering an apology. Jimmy just laughed before slinging an arm around me. Then he twirled my hair around his finger for a good twenty minutes.
Dropout (The Good Guys Book 3) Page 13