Page 42 of Total Shutdown

I have so much I want to say. I don’t know if she’s an only child. I don’t know if she has any experience with kids or even wants them someday. But judging by the way she is with Ezra, she’d be a fucking great mom.

Ripping myself from unhelpful thoughts, I pull a hand from my pocket and test the water, grazing my index finger along the side of her hand.

“I’ll pick you up on Tuesday at five. That way, you can be home earlier, and I can get childcare for Ezra without him needing to stay over at his grandparents.”

Collins opens her mouth, but quickly closes it, her thoughtful expression replaced with a familiar mischief. “You also don’t want to stay up past your bedtime. I can’t imagine how tired I’ll be when I’m your age.”

I narrow my eyes. “Are you saying I’m old?”

She rests a condescending palm on my shoulder, though the warmth in her features contradicts her actions, and I feel the connection she seems hell-bent on denying pass all the way through me.

“Yes, Sawyer. Yes, I am.”

CHAPTERSIXTEEN

COLLINS

I’d say ninety-nine percent of the time, Head Dickface—aka Cameron—is full of shit. Unfortunately, just not today.

He wasn’t kidding when he said the shop schedule was stacked, and to make everything worse, each bike I’ve worked on has been a shit show. I swear some of them haven’t had a service in years despite what their owners said when Simon booked them in before he took leave—if he even asked, that is.

I’ve replaced three wrecked drive chains this afternoon alone, and by the corroded state of the one I’m working on right now, I’m guessing this will be my fourth.

Reaching into the pocket of my overalls, I pull out my phone and check the time.

Half past four. Shit. Sawyer will be at my place in thirty minutes.

My insides flip for the hundredth time since he asked me to go out with him a few days ago. Since my mouth ran away with itself and I answered yes, I’ve been countering anxious thoughts with the reassurance that this is the only time we’ll go out.

You said no more when you slept together, and now you’re going on a date with him.

Sawyer Bryce isn’t your type, Collins. He’s a family man. His brownstone home screams it, along with the old photos of him and Sophie posted online.

So, I had a snoop session too. Sue me.

“Collins, there’s another customer out front. He needs you to look at the transmission shift,” Cameron yells from his office, where he’s been parked all day.

With the scissor lift still taken by another mechanic who doesn’t really need it, I’m crouched by the wheel of the bike I’m servicing.

I spin on my heel to face Cameron. “I needed to be out of here, like, ten minutes ago.”

His face is scornful as he rises from behind his desk and approaches, hands in the pockets of his freshly pressed pants, not an oil stain in sight.

“I need you until at least six.” He thumbs over his shoulder toward the waiting customer.

I push down my anger, temptation to quit right on the spot dangling on the tip of my tongue. “Can’t you take care of a transmission issue?”

Cameron flushes. Ah, yeah, he can’t. Because he doesn’t know a hydraulic fork from a brake cable.

“He specifically asked for you. Said a Reel you posted about this issue recently went viral and people were leaving comments, saying you worked here or something.”

Yeah, I know; someone must’ve recognized the shop floor. I wanted to take the Reel down when I saw the comments, but others were finding it helpful, so I kept it going and figured it was too late anyway.

At least Cameron isn’t pissed I used the garage to film in.

I stand, rubbing my oily hands down my thighs, and he tracks the movement, causing me to recoil.

I can’t believe I slept with this guy.