Immediately, Kat glances over at me from the workbench while she cleans up her tools and supplies. She keeps her expression calm yet distant.
“You’re early.”
“I couldn’t wait, and I had the feeling it was done,” I say simply, hands in my pockets while I let my gaze sweep over her briefly before landing on the Panigale. “Seems I was right.”
Kat hums to herself noncommittally as she wipes her hand on a rag. “Lucky you. It’s ready.”
Taking in the sleek bodywork, there’s no mistaking how much cleaner and intense it looks now. The glossy black paint gleams viciously under the lights while faint bursts of color mingle together. All in all, it’s flawless.
Even if I didn’t give a shit about the thing to begin with, I can already feel my interest in it shifting thanks to her.
“You have the special touch when it comes to these things.”
“You sound surprised,” she states, letting me feel her eyes on me.
I shake my head absently before glancing in her direction. “Not surprised…impressed.”
Her eyes lock with mine for a moment, and for a beat, I swear I catch a glimpse of pride in them. Satisfaction, even. But of course, she keeps that part quiet.
“Good,” Kat murmurs, brushing me off already. “Then we’re done here.”
Ouch.
Before I can even consider letting the moment collapse right in front of myself, the words leave my mouth. “Not quite.”
Kat cocks a brow at me, seemingly caught off guard by the claim, and she crosses her arms. “Please tell me you’re not here to try and act charming.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Then don’t waste your breath,” she says with a disinterested sigh while she turns away from me, focusing on the workbench again.
Her tone is cold and sharp, almost like she has honed it over the years. But I catch the subtle tension in her body, almost like she’s holding back somehow.
Even if she doesn’t want to admit it, she feels something. I know she does.
“You know,” I begin casually, taking a few steps closer, moving away from the bike. “Most women don’t make me run in circles like this.”
“They must have bad taste, then.”
Something about the snarky comment nearly makes my lips pull in a grin. Almost.
Pushing the amusement down, I force my voice to remain level and steady.
“And do you think you’re immune to me?”
A bold step, but I’m getting impatient.
“I know I am,” Kat returns, not missing a beat in such an agonizing way.
“Keep believing that. But you really shouldn’t take your emotions out on your tools like that.”
Kat’s fingers instinctively loosen up on the paint canister in her hand at the mention of it, and I catch a slow, deliberate breath escaping her. She doesn’t look back at me.
“Take your bike and leave.”
Her words are firm and unwavering, but I feel like pushing.
“A polite littlepleasewould go a long way…”
