I crane my neck and look anywhere but those baby blues. “Yes, it’s amazing what a basic education can do for you.”
Knox laughs and I hate how much it loosens the straight line cemented on my lips. “You’d be surprised. There are some grown men who don’t know the difference between a Phillips head and a flat head screwdriver.”
I nod and force a tight smile to my lips. “Yeah, right.” But I knew all too well the kind of guys he was talking about. My ex was not handy and could barely hang a picture frame on the wall. Well, actually, he couldn’t. I had to do it after he got too frustrated from trying to figure out how to use the Stud finder.
Knox quirks his mouth, bending over to collect his tools and take them to his workbench. I take a brief moment to let my gaze inch up the coveralls tied around his waist to the white tank top that fits snugly against his broad back. If I squinted hard enough, I could even see faint black lines teasing me from behind the fabric. I bite my lip, inwardly cursing whoever blessed this man with arms that looked ripe enough to take a bite out of.
I wish my fake boyfriend were slightly ugly. Maybe some disfigurement or a scar. Nope, a scar would be even sexier. Dammit.
“I’m assuming you’re here to talk about our conversation from yesterday.”
My eyes snap back to his, and I want to die from the smugness painted there. A blush is locked and loaded underneath my skin, and it takes everything inside me to suppress it. Knox cocks his head and smirks cockily, waiting for my answer.
I clear my throat. “Yes,” I say, the word coming out thicker than I intend.
“And the verdict is?” he asks, grabbing a stray rag from the counter and wiping up the grease on his hands. Why was that kind of hot?
“I’ll do it,” I respond, sucking in a deep breath, “but there needs to be ground rules.”
CHAPTER 7
KNOX
Acool wave of validation smothers the doubts I’ve been having the last twelve hours since I propositioned Emery. And it doesn’t hurt that I caught her eye fucking me two seconds ago. Today was definitely my day.
“Fair enough,” I say, tossing my used rag into the bucket of dirty towels. “Are you hungry?”
“Excuse me?” she asks, her pretty pink lips pursing in disbelief.
“Do you want food? I’m not sure how else to say it, Bambi,” I comment, knowing the dull pink tint glowing under skin can get darker if I try a little harder.
She lets out a retrained breath. “I was hoping this would be a quick conversation. I’ve got shit to do today.”
“I never do anything quickly,” I fire back with a wink. Emery groans in response, and I feel like I’m on cloud nine.
“Knox,” she scowls, making mini me squirm with excitement. I blink hard and push myself back into business mode. Or whatever version I can offer.
“You’re the one who busted in here during lunch time,” I challenge, crossing my arms. “I’ve got shit to do today tooand it will be more productive if I can take my lunch break while we talk.”
“Oh,” she says, schooling her face into a neutral expression that doesn’t fool me for a second. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”
“See, Bambi. I can be reasonable. Now that we’re officially an item, you can put that in the column of green flags I know you subconsciously think about.”
I let her process my words while I kick off my coveralls and grab the spare T-shirt I keep near my toolbox. I strip off my white tank top and pull on the T-shirt. I swear I can hear Emery’s breath hitch from here, making the room go still. Hope stomps across my chest.
Truthfully, I could’ve thrown the T-shirt over my tank top, but Emery’s reaction makes it worth it. However, when I tug on my hat and face her, she’s already shoved herself back into the calm and collected human in front of me. Pressure weighs on my lips.
Her jaw twitches and her fingers fidget with one of the multiple silver rings decorating her hands. “Nothing is official yet.”
“You better stop acting so excited. I’m going to start thinking you like me for real.”
This time her eyebrows tip down into two angry arches, and I fear I’ve overshot my original goal of getting a blush out of her. This is pure rage, but I think I might like it more.
“Whoa, Bambi. I know a hangry look when I see one. Let’s get you fed, shall we?”
She closes her eyes, and I watch her lips move ever so slightly as she counts to ten. She used to do the same thing when we were teenagers, but it was usually after a call with one of her parents.
“Fine,” she whispers as quiet as a mouse, but then her sparkly eyes peer back at me, and I see a look of determination waiting there. “Let’s do this.”
