Every now and then between writing, I look up and just sit and watch him work. I love watching him work. I love how much he seems to enjoy it. Fixing cars to him is what writing is to me. It’s his passion. The thing that brings him happiness, and I’m grateful I can be a part of it.
“What are you writing in there?” he asks, and I glance up to see his brows knitted in curiosity.
“Nothing,”
He narrows his eyes. “Not writing me a love letter now are you? Because that’d be sweet and all, but I’m not into all that mushy stuff.”
“Of course not, you’re just into the down and dirty stuff.”
“Exactly. So what’re you writing?”
“It’s nothing, really. You want a drink?” I ask, changing the subject. If Logan knew what I was writing and fantasising about, he’d never let me live it down.
“Nice change of subject, and yeah, a drink would be great. Thanks.”
I head into the kitchen to get a drink, and find my mom stood over the stove, whatever she’s cooking smells divine.
“Hey honey, I’m cooking up some chilli and I’ve made too much. Do you want to ask Logan if he wants to stay for dinner?”
My stomach flutters at the thought of Logan having dinner with us. “Uh… yeah, sure. I’ll ask him.”
When I return, Logan is wiping his greasy hands off on his t-shirt, covering it in thick black oil. I had him his drink and he necks the whole thing in one gulp.
“My mom was wondering if you wanna stay for dinner. She’s cooking chilli and made too much.”
“Doyouwant me to stay?” he asks, stepping towards me so that he’s in my space and I have to crane my neck to look up at him.
“Yes,” I breathe out.
He smiles. “Then I’ll stay. Do you mind if I wash up before we eat?”
“Of course, you can take a shower if you want.”
He narrows his eyes, hiding a smile. “Is that your way of telling me that I smell?”
“What? N-No. I just… I only meant that-”
He silences my rambling with a finger to my lips, letting it linger there for a moment. “I’m kidding, babygirl,” he chuckles. Heat rises to my cheeks and he reaches up, brushing his finger over my heated skin. “I fucking love it when you blush.”
That makes me blush even more. “I’ll um, go grab you some towels, and a fresh shirt. You can use one of my dad’s old ones.”
He follows me upstairs and waits for me outside the bathroom while I find some towels and a plain black shirt that still hangs in my parents’ wardrobe. When I come out, he’s stood in the hallway, observing old family photos from when I was little that hang on the wall.
When he sees me approach, he glances at me and smiles. “You were cute when you were little.”
“I wasfatwhen I was little,” I argue, cringing as I take in the photograph of me on my eighth birthday, a photo of me with chubby cheeks stuffing my face with chocolate cake.
“You were not! You were adorable.” He turns to me and pinches my cheeks gently, making me squirm and giggle.
I hand him the towels and t-shirt and he disappears into the bathroom. I hear the shower turn on a moment later and I try desperately not to picture him naked as he stands just on the other side of that door. I try not to imagine him running his fingers through his hair as the hot water cascades over his hard, sculpted body.
A jolt of desire zips through me and I shake the thought away, heading into my bedroom just next door to the bathroom. I have my own door that connects to the bathroom and it would be so easy to just turn the handle and make my fantasies a reality.
But I decide against it. That’s just plain creepy.
I mean, spying on someone while they’re in the shower?Really Amy?
What is wrong with me?
