Page 60 of Control Freak

Matteo satacross from my desk, leaning forward, face earnest. “I know I’ve missed too many shifts, Holden. I’m sorry. I’m going to do better.”

I nodded. “You’ve got a lot on your plate with this new ex-con work program you’re running.”

“Yeah, I didn’t want to disrupt the shop by taking calls or meeting with the guys here, but I’ll figure it out. Meet with them at night or something.”

“Well, maybe there’s another solution. Let me ask, do you still need this job?”

He hesitated. “The Redemption Road grant pays me a salary to manage the program.”

I nodded. “So, you’re staying here because…”

“Well, you’ve all done so much for me,” he said quickly. “I appreciate you giving me a chance when I needed a job. I’m not just going to leave you high and dry. If it weren’t for your example, I don’t know if I’d have ever pursued the Redemption Road program.”

I smiled wryly. “Don’t sell yourself short. You did this. Because you’ve walked in their shoes. Those guys are lucky to have you.”

“But I know you’re counting on me to take on more hours when Bailey leaves in the fall,” he said. “I don’t want to let you down.”

“Well, we don’t want to let you down either,” I said. “Maybe it’s time for a change. For the good of everyone.”

Bailey had invested months into Matteo’s training, but mechanical work didn’t come naturally to the man. He was decent with his hands, okay with the basic maintenance jobs, but he didn’t understand vehicular engineering enough to diagnose and repair more complex problems.

Not that I could blame him. I didn’t either. I was nothing but a simple grease monkey, able to change oil and filters. I didn’t have the knack, not like Bailey. That kid grew up at our foster dad’s elbow, and for all the old man did wrong, he’d raised him in the religion of mechanics.

All the more reason to get the kid out of here and into college. He deserved a chance to find out what he really wanted to do, not just what had been indoctrinated into him.

And maybe Matteo getting out of here, too, wasn’t such a bad thing either. We could bring Flynn over from the junkyard. If Bailey started training him now, there should be time. Assuming he took to it better than Matteo.

I hashed out the details with Matteo, making sure he was on board and there were no hard feelings. If anything, he looked relieved to relinquish his spot here. That’s how I knew it was the right call.

A knock at the door interrupted us, and Bailey peeked in. “Emory and Shiloh just pulled up with lunch.”

“All right. Get everyone in here, and someone needs to fetch Flynn if he’s going to work at the shop.”

Bailey grinned. “I’ll do it!”

He took off like a shot, and I glanced at Matteo. “Am I going to have a problem with your guy?”

Matteo looked startled. “He’s serious about turning his life around, if that’s what you mean. You know his offense. You said that you understood.”

“I do, but…” I waved to where my little brother had just run off with a goofy grin on his face. “Bailey is impressionable. You remember how he gave you the puppy dog eyes for weeks.”

“Oh.” Matteo chuckled. “You don’t need to worry about Flynn. He’s got a younger brother of his own. He wouldn’t take advantage or threaten his situation here.”

I nodded. “It’s just that I don’t want Bailey getting attached to someone or finding reasons not to spread his wings, you know? It’s nothing against Flynn.”

Emory and Shiloh walked in then, saving me from trying to save face any further. Maybe Iwasjudging Flynn a little, but it was my duty to protect my baby brother. Not his virtue, per se, but his heart and his future.

Emory held the bag of food, but Shiloh was the most appetizing thing in the room. The wind had tousled his dark hair, and somehow, it made him look sexy instead of messy. His cheeks were pink from the cold. And as he rubbed his hands to warm them, my gaze stalled on those long, elegant fingers.

He wasn’t wearing the Ring Pop. He did, sometimes. It wasn’t just a prop for his shows. He loved sucking the dang things, which was hell on my libido, because he’d very effectively trained me into imagining my dick in his mouth when he did.

Just the sight of his fingers now made my stomach flip. Soon, I’d touch those hands. Allow them to touch me. It was thrilling—and terrifying.

Shiloh reached into the bag Emory set on the desk and began pulling out Zacos. “Let me guess…you’re sausage-and-peppers, right?”

He held out a foil-wrapped Zaco. I took it, careful not to allow our fingers to brush. When we held hands, it would be intentional. I’d need time to visualize it, accept it as a good touch, and proceed. I didn’t want to do it with an audience. Didn’t want it to happen at work.

His eyes met mine, lingered. I couldn’t look away either.