Page 13 of Nailed

Lauren

It had been a few days since I last spoke to Rafe and I was still stewing. Brock and Callum seemed to pick up on the tension but both wisely chose to avoid broaching the topic.

Rafe and I moved around each other like ghosts, not even so much as acknowledging what happened while the week played out.

By the end of it, there were just a few more things I had personally chosen to clean out from the loft area of the firehouse. I hadn't left all day, hoping that the guys would just let themselves out.

But when I finally surfaced for air, I noticed that someone else had chosen to burn the midnight oil. Muted scraping traveled up from the engine bay area, and I followed it to see Rafe working in low light, marking off measurements with chalk on the beams and walls.

My better judgment told me to run. But I stayed rooted to the spot, watching him move. His sleeves were rolled back to the elbows, strong, veined forearms exposed and flexing as nimble fingers picked up and dropped various tools. When deeply focused, his face was almost unrecognizable.

He didn't look angry or pissed or nonchalant like his default expressions. Instead he looked… Engrossed, like he was on another planet altogether. I knew what that place felt like.

I swallowed hard, dragging my eyes away from the tattoo snaking his right arm and disappearing into the rest of his sleeve.

“Just gonna stand there or are you planning on saying hello,” he said, not bothering to look up at me.

“I'm trying to figure out why you're still here,” I said cagily.

“I'm marking the precision layout for tomorrow,” he answered. “Not sure if you remember what exactly it is that I do.”

Callum had explained it to me some time back. Rafe was responsible for the team’ s structural lead, the so-called Raiser of the crew. No one had an eye for engineering acumen, or accuracy quite like Rafe. That was the skill he and Brock defended the first morning we met.

If Brock was a Swiss Army Knife, then Rafe was a Precision Laser Level. Callum's words, not mine. But I wasn't going to admit that I knew any of that because then I'd have to acknowledge just how right Brock and Callum had been in their defense of his importance. And I would really rather die.

So instead I just shrugged noncommittally. “Yeah, I do. You're the one who stays late to play with his crayons and rulers.”

I could actually see Rafe's jaw clench with annoyance but he just turned his back to me and continued with what he was doing before. “Keep in mind that these crayons and rulers are the only things that'll keep the roof from caving in on your head while you sleep. You can dream of me safely now.”

I rolled my eyes. “And here I was thinking you were only doing this for the overtime benefits.”

“And what kind of benefits would I be buying with all this overtime?” he shot back.

“I don't know. Maybe buy a second whore to make your next appointment a threesome?” I suggested.

His head snapped back and there was that annoying, easy smirk again. “Are you offering to join in for free, Lauren?”

“Not on your life.”

“Oh come on. We both know this is just your convoluted way of asking to get in my pants. There are easier methods, I promise you.”

“I'm not asking,” I said firmly.

He snorted, going right back to packing away his toolkit and ending the conversation just there.

I felt flushed.

I hadn't been able to unwind since our encounter outside with Tim. His bold claim, that I wanted to fuck him, seemed to hover between us. Those words electrified the air, an unspoken weight that only seemed to get heavier the more time went on.

He'd said it like it was an observation, not a joke. And even now, he was doing the same thing. Smirking, essentially daring me to call out his bluff and mocking the fact I couldn't. But I wouldn't be laughed at, not this time.

I spent my whole life living by my own rules and no one was going to start marking out limitations for me now. If he wanted to keep pushing me, we were going to see who was going to break first.

“I'm telling you,” I said.

My voice wasn't snarky or teasing. It was as bold as he had been, equally sure. Equally confident. His back straightened and he turned his head slightly to the side, eyes cast down. His hands stalled on his tools.

I took a step toward him this time, claiming space, closing distance. Rafe Merrick was a glorified asshole but he was a hot asshole.