He followed Owens here? Or he had nowhere else to go? What was it?
Do I really want to know?
“Oh.” I push up onto my elbow now, mirroring his position. “Do him and Heidi have history or something?”
“You could say that. If it wasn’t for Kirby encouraging her to transfer to 53, who knows what shit he would have got away with. If you haven’t noticed, the department is a bit of a boys’ club. Shit like that gets overlooked all the time. It’s one of the areas I want to fix if I make captain.”
“When. Not if.”
He smiles, and his gaze softens further.
He’s... so close. His angles under the blanket of city lights and the few stars still visible, his jaw, his eyes, they’re—I could just...
I’m—
“Tenny! Get your ass down here and help me. These knobs aren’t going to polish themselves.” Davey’s voice is lit with mirth.
My cheeks flush, my neck smothered in a prickling heat.
I drop my head, laughing as the breeze whips over us. Stray strands of hair fall over my face, and when I lift my head, I find Miles reaching before he retracts his hand and nods to the ladder on the side of the engine.
“Yes sir,” I whisper.
His expression flattens.
I peel myself from the hoses and scramble down the side of the old engine. My feet barely touch the ground before a rag flies at my head. I snatch it from the air with a hand.
Davey gestures to the entire truck. “If it doesn’t shine, it’s up for grabs.”
“Done and done.” I find the closest piece of dull chrome and swipe up the polish spray before circling the rag over it in a steady rhythm.
I glance up more times than I’d like to admit as I help rub 53 to an absolute shine. Davey and I finally stand back, admiring our work as Miles climbs down the side ladder. With a side glance to Davey who is dancing in the moonlight, literally, to the house speakers blasting some upbeat tune, Miles presses a thumb to the grab rail by the back doors. “Missed a spot, Tennison.”
My mouth gapes.
He messes up my already falling out braid as he walks past. “Keep going, kiddo.”
Stunned, I turn and watch him stride into the house, hands in his pockets, not bothering to look back.
Kiddo.
Kiddo?
What the hell?
Right.
Why does that bother me so damn much? I rub Miles Hammond’s thumb print from the grab rail like it’s personally offended me in a magnitude of ways.
Kiddo.
Friends.
The little sister vibe.
Awesome.
My eyes roll before I have the chance to understand the heat that’s swelling in my chest.
