Page 50 of Kings Don't Break

“I’ve rested. I’ve recovered. I’m ready to do more than lay on your couch all day and night. You remember how good I was back in high school. That summer I worked at the shop.” My hands shoot to my hips, taking on an authoritative kind of stance that feels foreign—after years of being married to Ken, I’m not used to being so bold. Everything with him, from my tone of voice to my facial expressions had to be docile. Deferential at all times.

At the sight of me striking such a pose, Blake pauses long enough from working on his bike and smirks up at me.

“I do remember. You were damn good. They all doubted you. But you proved ’em wrong. You did that a lot when we were growing up.”

“Maybe it’s because there were boys named Blake Cash that sometimes doubted me.”

Blake jumps up from his lying position on the ground. His fingers slide through his golden hair in the way only he can pull off, his amusement rolling off him in a flirtatious wave that’s palpable.

“But I enjoyed seeing you put those boys in their place. Including me.”

On the receiving end of his smile, suddenly standing so close, I find myself flustered. My skin warms against my wishes, and when I draw my next breath, I’m out of air.

It shouldn’t be a surprise—Blake’s proximity has always had profound effects on me. I might as well be fifteen again when I first started noticing the facial hair he had growing in and how tall he’d sprung up over the summer. The girls in the hall at school hung on his every word, sighing dreamily in his wake, while I was the one walking by his side as his best friend.

Just his best friend.

Much to my disappointment the older we got and the more my hormones had me acting like a boy-crazy fool.

Even now, as he peers into my eyes with a spark lit in his, nothing’s changed. How is it possible that our chemistry could be this strong after so long? How are we able to pick right back up like nothing’s happened?

Blake seemingly reads my mind. His lips tip slightly wider and he releases a short chuckle. A familiar, deep-pitched sound that’s easy-going and infectious. That makes me smile too. He reaches out and palms the ball of my shoulder, giving it an affectionate squeeze.

And if I wasn’t flustered before, I’m damn sure flustered now. The flutter in my belly confirms it.

“Alright, Kori,” he says in his gritty drawl. “The job’s yours if you want it. But I’ve got a couple stipulations.”

I raise my right brow. “Stipulations… like what?”

“You work the shift I work,” he says. “And if he or any of his friends come around the shop, you come get me.”

“Blake…” I shake my head.

“Call me an overprotective ass for insisting on it… but I’m not letting anything else go down. It’s only been a couple weeks. You said it yourself—he’s not giving up easy. This could be the calm before the storm.”

“Fine. If you insist.”

I should be relieved Blake cares so much. All signs point to him being right; it’s true that this could be a calm period before the storm. It’s only a matter of time before Ken makes another move.

Yet I can’t get rid of the heavy guilt for even involving Blake in my mess of a marriage. It should be my burden and my burden alone.

“Alright, Miss Chop Shop Mechanic,” he goes on, gesturing to his bike. “Got any bright ideas about this next mod I’m going to be making? It’s time for these buckhorns to go.”

I fold my arms and strut around the perimeter of his bike as if performing an appraisal. “You’re right—these buckhorns are dated as hell. Whoever picked them out has bad taste.”

“You know what?” he growls, rushing toward me, his arms engulfing me in a ticklish hug.

His fingers dance up and down my torso as I break out in a shriek of involuntary laughter. Most of my bruises have healed, but the few tender spots give a twinge of protest. My laughter falls off for a wince that makes Blake stop at once.

Our happy, playful moment darkens as if a storm cloud has migrated in.

Blake drops his arms to his side, his expression tense. Not at me but for me. “Sorry… got caught up in the moment and forgot…”

“It’s okay,” I say, my hand on the achy part of my ribs. “I forget sometimes too. It’s easier when I do.”

He nods, still visibly tense. Pissed. “Tomorrow morning, you start. Better bring your A game.”

* * *