“He won’t mind that I’m here, will he?” I fell into step beside him as we headed for the furthest garage door on the right. “We spent all weekend together so he’s probably sick of me.”
I really should’ve thought of that before I agreed to come.
Seb barked a laugh. “Please. You’re the only person he genuinely enjoys being around. Besides me, obviously.”
“He said that?”
Seb gave a little wave to one of the mechanics we passed at the door and then brought his hands behind his back. A knowing smile appeared on his lips. “He doesn’t have to.”
A warm fuzzy feeling danced across my skin. Temporarily allowing the nerves to subside for a couple of seconds as we went deeper into the garage.
It smelled strongly of grease and something metallic. In one of the far back corners, sparks were flying from a welder, while nearby a car’s engine whirred before it backfired loudly. The latter caused me to nearly jump out of my skin while Seb let out a yelp and grabbed my arm.
“Jesus Christ,” he huffed, clapping a hand over his chest. “That is why I couldn’t work here. I have sensitive ears.”
“You ride a motorbike,” I laughed.
“That’s different.” He glanced back at the car when the man working on it started the engine again. Not wanting to be near it if it backfired again, Seb sped up his pace a little.
As we moved on toward the back of the garage, my eyes came to a white Sedan ahead of us. Its hood was open, and a pair of jean-clad legs poked out from underneath it. Seb happily approached the legs and lightly kicked one of the person’s black boots. I shouldn’t have been surprised when Dean rolled out, but my heart still backflipped. His eyes flicked quickly from Seb to me before he raised his eyebrows in surprise. Subtly taking in the sight of what I wore from where he lay.
This was the first time he had seen me in my receptionist clothes. Compared to the shorts I wore at The Den, or my sundresses, I probably looked a little overdressed.
I smiled and waved small. “Hi.”
“Hi.” His lopsided smile lifted the left side of his face which was smudged with grease, much like the rest of his white tank top and arms — arms that were slick with sweat and glistening under the hanging lights as he got to his feet. His expression became slightly more confused, as he wiped his hands on a rag and arched a brow. “What are you doin’ here?”
“We bumped into each other,” I said, motioning to Seb.
“I found her reading at a café,” Seb chimed in. “Thought she might want some company.”
Several strands of black, damp hair fell across Dean’s forehead as he nodded, tossing the rag onto a nearby workbench. Biceps twitching with the movement. He pulled the hem of his shirt up to wipe his face as he asked, “And you rode here on that bike with one helmet between you?”
“I drove carefully,” Seb said, rolling his eyes before he shoved the bag of takeaway into his friend’s chest.
“Did he?” Dean directed the question at me.
“If I said no?” I said coyly, eyeing Seb as the corner of my lips twitched.
Seb’s mouth dropped open in mock offense. “Throw me under the bus, why don’t you.”
“I’m only teasing,” I said, bumping his arm with mine. “Considering it was my first time on a motorbike, I felt completely safe.”
Seb pouted happily and bumped me back.
“I still think you should get another helmet,” Dean drawled, checking the contents of the takeaway bag before he lifted his eyes to me. “You sure you wanna hang out here?”
Amongst the tools, the noise, and the smell of fuel.
“It’s not like I have anywhere else to be.” I added a little sheepishly, “Plus I know there’s no chance of running into my mom here.”
Dean nodded in agreement, face at ease with consideration. “Fair enough... Follow me, I guess.”
As we moved through the clutter of tools and car parts, I couldn’t help that my eyes skimmed over his broad back and shoulders. The glance was brief, taking in the details of the tattooed wings etched down the back of his large biceps—
The toe of my shoe hit something hard before I stumbled forward, accompanied by the loud scraping of the toolbox I had kicked. I righted myself before completely faceplanting, but the sharp clattering of tools against the inside of the box caused several heads to turn.
Seb, who was walking beside me, stifled his laugh while Dean glanced back over his shoulder. More so at my feet and the tipped-over toolbox.
