Mac blows out a breath. “Jesus.”
Cory just raises his eyebrows and turns back to Dom. “Anyway. Think we can use the Mustang’s ECU? It’s the same gen.”
“No,” I say, my attention flicking back to the table. “The Porsche’s firmware will fight it, and you’ll brick the system. We need an OEM pull from the same year.”
Dom nods, not taking his eyes off the TV. “Works for me.”
Movement draws my eyes back to the booth, where the guy is shrugging off his sweater, revealing a fitted white T-shirt that hugs his chest just right. His arms flex as he tosses the sweater beside him and takes a drink of his whiskey.
Nice.
“Alright.” I push up from the table, draining the last of my beer as I keep my eyes on him.
“For fuck’s sake, Alder,” Mac groans.
“Fuck off,” I mutter as I step away from the table and make my way towards the back booth. I flash two fingers at Sam behind the bar on my way, and he nods, grabbing a couple glasses to fill them with whiskey.
I slide into the booth opposite sweater guy, and I find myself staring into a pair of deep, stormy-blue eyes. They lock onto mine, and I hold his gaze, trying to get a read on him. But I see nothing.
Hm.
And the longer I stare at him, the more curious I get. He doesn’t look away or even fidget. He just waits me out, like he’s also testing me.
I knew I’d like him.
“What’s your favourite tree?”
His brow arches slightly.
Sam arrives at the table and sets two glasses of whiskey down in front of us. The guy doesn’t even flinch. He just calmly finishes the last of his drink and pulls the new one closer.
“Can’t say I have one,” he replies.
My jaw tightens, but I let it go. For now.
I break our eye contact and let my eyes travel over him. He’s even hotter up close. His light brown hair sticks out in every direction like he’s combed it with his fingers, if at all. And his stubble is in that sweet spot between lazy and intentional. Myeyes drift down the line of his defined arm to his hand, where his pen hovers over a page covered in… math equations?
I nod at the stack of papers in front of him as I take a drink. “Homework?”
The corner of his lips twitch, ever so slightly. “Marking exams.”
I reach forward and grab one from the top of his stack, reading the top of the page.Quantum Mechanics.
Damn.
Dropping it back onto the pile, I lean back and shake my head. “You’re a liar.”
His eyes squint a bit, but he doesn’t say a word. He just continues watching me.
I take another long, slow drink. But dude doesn’t slip.
“Everyone has a favourite tree,” I say in a low voice.
This time, he smirks. He drops the pen and leans back as his fingers curl loosely around the whiskey glass in front of him. His eyes drop to my hand around my own glass, and I watch him as his gaze follows the lines of ink from my fingers, up my arm, and then lingers on the forest and wildflower tattoo that curls behind my ear and down my neck.
“So what’s yours?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Can’t tell you that yet.”
