Page 6 of Falling for the Mechanic

Running a hand down my face, I consider how much I’ve drunk. Too much to drive. Finally, I sigh. The decision is made before I even think it through. “Think you can walk a few blocks? If not, I’m leaving you at the bar.” I won’t actually, but my threat is enough to make her bob her head.

Swaying, I make her walk in front of me to make sure she doesn’t lose her balance. Each little sway of hers has me jerking every time I think she’s going to go down. My hands are constantly hovering, ready to catch her.

Does she realize how much of a handful she is? I should be annoyed by now. Should be.

Reaching outside, the air is much cooler than it was when we showed up. I take in her outfit and wonder if it’s enough to keep her warm.

I don’t consider what to do, automatically shedding my jacket. The thought of her shivering is intolerable. I work in a hot shop all year round. Honestly, it takes more than some cool weather to make my teeth clatter.

“Here.” Speaking too forcefully, I try to reel it back before I scare her. I’m not good at this. “Don’t want you getting sick. You’re already going to give me a hard time for your future hangover.”

Blinking at my offering, a fuller smile overtakes her expression when she realizes what I’m doing. It’s a smile just for me, and it hits me square in the chest.

Fuck. Are all women this pretty, or is it just her? Just some infuriating, complicated woman who crashed into my garage and my life, and now she’s turning everything I thought I knew upside down?

Ever so slowly, she takes my jacket and slides her arms into the sleeves. She disappears into the worn leather, and the sight of her wrapped in something of mine does something dangerous to my heart rate.

While I’m trying not to see how good she fills something that’s mine, she’s flapping the sleeves because they’re too long, giggling to herself in amusement.

What am I to do? Roll them up for her? Not a chance. Not unless I want her to get the wrong impression.

Then again, is it wrong? She has me feeling all different sorts of ways, and I’m not sure what to do with these feelings. They’re unfamiliar and terrifyingly strong.

Once the jacket dilemma is finished, I attempt to start making our way toward my home. Since it’s not too far away, I assumed we’d be able to take on the challenge.

Boy, I can’t remember the last time I was so wrong.

She’s a pretty liar. She leans more into me at every chance she gets, her feet not working at the same pace as mine, as soon as we try to leave the parking lot.

If I let her go, something tells me her body will give out and she’ll crumple into a pile on the ground.

What if she scrapes her knees or palms on the way down? Fuck, what if she gets hurt at all? The thought makes my chest ache.

“Hold on.” Steadying her the best I can, I turn around and bend at the knee. “Hop on. We’ll get there faster this way.”

She lets out a giggle, but she doesn’t move. When I look over my shoulder, I see her tilting her head in confusion. Once I explain to her that I’m going to carry her, she still doesn’t move.

“I’m heavy.” Two words I don’t want to hear. They’re laced with an insecurity that makes me want to find whoever made her feel this way and have a chat. “Are you sure?”

Once I nod, huffing a bit under my breath, she finally moves. Am I impatient with her taking too long, or do I want to touch her so badly that I’m fighting the urge to just scoop her up and prove to her she’s weightless?

Once Chelsea caves, she melts against my back and immediately wraps her legs around my body. For someone self-conscious, she clings to me like a monkey. Maybe she’s afraid I’ll drop her? The thought is offensive. I’d never let her fall.

My suspicion is proven correct as I stand.

She makes this cute squeaking sound before I cup the underside of her thighs to keep her upright. Her breath is warm against my neck.

These leggings of hers are going to be the death of me. I can feel her body heat seeping through the fabric. Somehow, she doesn’t burn my palms as I give her body a slight, testing squeeze. She feels perfect. Right.

If she asked me, she’s perfect the way she is. Wouldn’t change a thing.

“Dad called me fat.” She groans against my ear and chokes me out with her arms as she tucks her chin into my neck. “But here you are, carrying me like I weigh nothing. So strong. I swear, everything about you is so weird. Never met someone like you…”

She mumbles more words against my skin, but most are incoherent.

A chuckle rumbles out of me from her backhanded compliment, and I walk with ease. She really doesn’t weigh as much as she thinks she does, and if anyone says otherwise, they can go shove it. I could carry her for miles, even while my mind is muddled.

One of her arms shifts, and her fingers touch my chin, then my lips. Her touch is feather-light, exploratory. She gasps softly. “Are you smiling? You can do that?”

I can’t help the next laugh that slips out, tickling her fingers in the process. “Surprising, isn’t it? Forgot I could do it, too.” I don’t reveal to her that she’s now on a small list of people who can make it happen.

Listening to her ramble as I walk, I hardly tire the entire way. Each step I take makes me feel lighter than the last.

Chelsea wants to say I’m the weird one? She’s the one who has flipped a switch the moment alcohol hits her system. Have to admit, I like her feeling happy like this.

This version of her, loose-limbed and trusting on my back, feels like a gift. Much better than the saddened version of her sitting in the garage. I know, with a certainty that shocks me, that I don’t ever want to see her like that again if I have anything to do with it.

“Hey.” Reaching the familiar gated community, I have to set her down so I can punch in my pin.

My back feels cold without her. Unfortunately, she insists she can walk the rest of the way, so I don’t have the excuse to pick her back up.

“I don’t know how long you have left in town, but if you need to get away… ”

The words are out before I can stop them. It’s a risk, opening a door I usually keep welded shut.

Should I offer up the garage as a safe space for her? Hell, when I lost Dad, and everything went downhill, the garage was that for me. It’s about all I had.

The smell of oil and gasoline was the only thing that could drown out the silence.

Can’t say I would mind if she were around.

Her presence would change the very atmosphere of the place.

Might be a bit of a distraction, but if she’s like this when she’s feeling good, then will I really have a reason to be in a bad mood?

“If you’re not a pain in my ass, you can hang out at the garage. Just can’t be in the way.” I grunt as she leans against me as we start walking. I have to move slowly so she can keep up with me, and I find I don’t mind the pace. “If you even remember this conversation, the offer is there.”

Chelsea hums like she’s thinking about it, a soft, sleepy sound, but she doesn’t give me any kind of answer. Giving me nothing to cling to, I’m left wondering when the next time I’ll see her will be, once I send her off with her car.

The thought of her driving away for good feels like a door slamming shut on all this strange, new light, and the preemptive gloom of it is enough to make my steps heavy again.

More reason not to let myself get too comfortable. Not to do something reckless that neither of us can take back.

So, I’ll give her a place to sleep and send her on her way.

What other choice is there?