I lift my chin.
“Okay,” I concede. “Maybe a little. It’s ninety degrees and you look like a firefighter calendar.”
He smirks. “You always did appreciate community service.”
The church ladies swarm past us carrying buckets of suds. The high school cheer team squeals at something near the front line. Music blasts from a portable speaker—some upbeat country song about trucks and heartbreak.
I grab the nearest hose before I say something reckless.
“Where do you want me?” I ask.
His eyes darken. “Careful.”
“For the car wash,” I clarify sweetly.
He nods toward a muddy pickup pulling into the lot. “Front left.”
I stride over, flip the nozzle, and blast the hood with water. The spray kicks back harder than I expect. It arcs sideways.
Directly onto Levi.
He doesn’t move as water drenches his chest, beads rolling down the sharp lines of his abs. His hair darkens, plastering slightly at his temples.
The cheer team goes feral.
“Oh my God,” someone shrieks.
I freeze as he stalks toward me.
“You did that on purpose,” he says calmly.
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
I adjust my grip on the hose, trying not to laugh. “You were in the splash zone.”
He steps closer.
Too close.
His hand wraps around my wrist.
“Careful,” he murmurs. “That thing’s powerful.”
The nozzle jerks under the pressure and water sprays wildly, drenching both of us.
My dress clings instantly. Cold fabric sticks to my thighs, my waist, my chest.
The parking lot erupts in whistles.
“GET A ROOM!” someone yells.
I’m soaked. He’s soaked. And he’s still holding my wrist. Water runs down his collarbone and drips from his chin.
“This is dangerous,” he says, voice low enough that the words skim over my skin instead of through the air.
I meet his gaze, heart hammering. “Good thing I like playing with fire.”
