“What’s that thing do?” Jackson points to the fuel line.
“That brings gas from the tank to the engine,” I explain, surprised at my own patience. I’m usually not one for explaining shit to anyone, let alone kids.
“How does the engine work? Is it like a car engine? Can I touch it? Why does it have those shiny things on the side?” Jackson keeps firing questions, bouncing from one foot to the other.
I find myself answering each one, watching as Tommy tightens the bolt just like I showed him.
Kid’s a natural.
Then I hear a woman’s voice calling from outside. “Tommy! Jackson! Where are you boys?”
“Think your momma is calling for you,” I tell them, but neither seems the slightest bit concerned.
Tommy just shrugs his little shoulders and keeps working on the bolt, his face a mask of concentration.
“Why do you have tattoos all over your arms? Did they hurt? I want a tattoo of a dinosaur when I grow up,” Jackson continues, apparently deaf to his mother’s calls.
Before I can answer, a woman appears in the mouth of my garage, slightly out of breath.
“There you are!” she exclaims, relief washing over her features before her eyes find mine.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
She’s gorgeous. Auburn hair falling in waves past her shoulders, bright blue eyes the same as her boys, and curves in all the right places. Her jeans hug her luscious thighs, and even in the plain t-shirt she’s wearing, I can tell she’s got tits that would fill my hands just right. And those pink pouty lips. Fuck my life. Those lips were made for sucking cock.
My dick twitches behind my zipper.
Down, boy.
My new neighbor steps into the garage, her eyes darting between her sons and me. “I’m so sorry if they’re bothering you. Boys, you know you’re not supposed to wander off.”
“It’s fine,” I say, my voice cracking.
Shit.
Clearing my throat, I try again. “They were helping me with my bike.”
Tommy stands up, wrench still in hand. “I’m fixing the motorcycle, Mom!”
A smile breaks across her face, softening her features even more. “You were, huh?”
Tommy nods, beaming with pride. “Yeah. Dread showed me how to tighten a bolt.”
“Me too!” Jackson pipes up. “And Dread is going to take me for a ride. He promised!”
I didn’t exactly promise, but I find myself not wanting to correct the kid as I watch his mother’s face. There’s something about the way she looks at her sons that tugs at something deep in my chest.
The fuck is wrong with me?
“I’m Honey,” she says, coming farther into my garage and extending her hand to me. “Honey Mitchell. We just moved in next door.”
Honey.Fucking perfect name for her.
I take her hand, hyper-aware of how soft her skin feels against my callused palm. “Caleb Reeves. Everyone calls me Dread.”
“Dread?” Her eyebrow arches, curiosity dancing in her eyes.
I shrug. “Club name.”
