“You might not want to stick around,” I said, hoping he left and praying he stayed. “You’ll be implicated as an accomplice in the sink’s murder.”
“Someone needs to dig the hole and ditch evidence.” Jackson glanced up, green eyes catching mine.
“I’m both impressed and frightened by your knowledge of criminal protocols. This isn’t your first sink murder, is it?”
His lips twitched. “You gonna give me up, Ollie?”
I wish to god I could. “Nope. I have a lot more things to do on Mom’s list. Can you fix the sink?”
Jackson held my gaze, his eyes turning soft. “Been a while since we hung out. I miss your company.”
My heart performed so many backflips I was dizzy. Somehow, I managed to nod and hand him tools without spontaneously combusting, but the day was still young.
Watching him work was like watching a telenovela with a strong mechanic caressing pipes. Those “gripping” hands firmly adjusted the wrench and I swallowed roughly. A bead of sweat traced down my temple despite the cool morning air filtering through the bathroom window.
“Ancient plumbing,” Jackson muttered, voice slightly strained as he twisted something deep in the cabinet. “Whoever installed this probably used a stone chisel.”
“Probably.” My voice came out slightly breathless. Standing this close was scrambling my brain. I just uselessly stood there, my gaze raking over his body while he wasn’t looking.
I wanted to straddle his lap and—
Metal clinked against metal, then Jackson pushed to his feet and turned both handles, yanking me out of the fantasy. I needed to get out of this room. Water sputtered then flowed clear and steady from the faucet. Jackson wiped his hands on a rag, and smiled proudly.
“There we go,” he crooned softly at the sink, making me wish I was a faucet. “Good as new.”
“Thanks.” The word barely made it past the tightness in my throat.
“Matt mentioned your car's been giving you trouble too.” He turned off the water and closed the cabinet. His hip bumped against me as he turned. “Making that grinding noise again?”
Not gonna touch that.
Heat spread up my neck. “Matt’s making it sound worse than it is. My car doesn’t grind.”
Jesus.
Jackson’s eyebrow arched in that way that always said I was full of shit. “Oliver.”
“What? Okay, so it grinds a little.” I held up my hand, index and thumb inches apart. “I just have to warm it up longer. Not a big deal.”
His eyebrow hadn’t lowered. Bastard.
“Fine, maybe it sounds like a dying walrus when I start it. But it gets me where I need to go.”
“Barely.” His hand landed on my shoulder, thumb brushing against my collarbone through the thin cotton of my T-shirt. Such a casual touch, meaningless to him but everything to me. “Bring it by the shop Saturday. Can't have you driving an unsafe car.”
The genuine concern in his voice made my knees wobble. “You don't have to worry about me.”
“Course I do.” His fingers squeezed gently before dropping away, leaving behind a wildfire where he’d touched. “What kind of friend would I be otherwise?”
Friend.
Right. The word hit like a small punch to the gut, even though it shouldn’t have. Jackson dated tall, curvy women with perfect smiles and the kind of confidence I’d never possess. Still, standing there in Mom’s tiny bathroom with sunlight catching the gold flecks in his green eyes, it felt almost like flirting.
Or hopeful wishing.
“Come on.” Jackson was already heading out of the bathroom. “All this manual labor’s making me hungry.”
All he’d done was tighten a nut. How had that made him hungry?
