I nod, my molars grinding at the dig. Not even sure why, it’s not like this is even my vehicle, but I feel personally affronted at the not-so-subtle insult nonetheless. Probably because the connection I made with Brooks during our back-and-forth emails left me with a feeling that Brooks is an all-around genuinelygoodguy—one who doesn’t deserve to be mocked like this.
“Ohh, okay, okay. Strong, silent type. I get that. You know what they say about still waters,” he hums.
“I’m afraid these ones are pretty shallow,” I reply dryly, lying to get him off my back. “Listen, if you don’t mind, I’m just going to replace these so I can be on my way.”
I continue to head for Brooks’ antiquated yet practical car, but Kai still can’t take a hint. He trails along behind me, leaning on his hip against the headlight, arms crossed over his broad chest. He’s objectively attractive, I’ll give him that, but in a way that says he’s just another Trista-Lynn. It looks like he prides himself on how he looks, and he’s just cocky enough to flaunt it shamelessly. He probably takes those platypus-lipped selfies like she does, too.
Just stop! Stop it with those thoughts, Waters!
“You a mechanic?” Kai asks, quirking an eyebrow up at me.
“Sometimes,” I answer vaguely.
“Oh? So what do you do the other times?”
“Lobsterman,” I tell him.
Kai bites his lip and nods. “That explains the rugged good looks. Bet you don’t even go to the gym to get those muscles…” He actually has the audacity to reach out and grab at my bicep.
“I lift weights at home,” I reply dryly, shrugging him off.
That’s not totally the truth. It’s been a while since I’ve done anything with the dumbbells at home. Besides stubbing my toe on them, that is. Exhaustion, and not just at the physical level, sets in more and more often lately, and I can’t bring myself to pick one up. Doing curls with a rocks glass, though, well that's another story altogether.
“Oooh, alright. Whatotherkinds of workouts do you do at home?” he asks suggestively.
“I have a punching bag,” I tell him. “I’m decent with it, too,” I add, hoping he will take another hint to leave me alone or receive a decent right jab to the cheekbone.
No such luck.
“Fighting—much like other activities,ifyou know what I mean—can be good cardio! I practice Kajukenbo. Maybe you’d like to try me out on a mat sometime?” He waggles his eyebrows.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.”
“Damn,mea wela. You’re a stone wall.”
“What did you just call me?” I ask him. Probably should not be inciting more conversation by asking, but curiosity got to me first.
“Hot stuff,” he replies. “I grew up in Hawaii, you know. I was telling you about it before…”
I roll my eyes. “I tuned you out.”
He scowls, acting affronted, like this is the first time someone’s ever said that to him before. It’s probably not the firsttime, but it may very well be the first time anyone’s openly admitted to it. “Well, that’s not very nice,” he huffs.
“Not here to be nice,” I tell him.
He gestures down at the car. “Then why are you helpingBrooks?” he says Brooks’ name, like the sound of it leaves a sour taste on his tongue.
“Like him better than you,” I deadpan.
“Ouch!” he feigns a wound to the heart, but it only takes a second before he’s acting unperturbed again. “I think I can probably change your mind.”
“How do you say ‘go away’ in Hawaiian?”
“Not telling, because then you’ll tell me to do just that.”
And yet, once again, he doesn’t take a hint and do just that.
He hovers and watches me as I work on Brooks’ car.
