Page 49 of Tangled Desires

“Friendly my ass,” Sam mutters, holding me back.

Joe’s glare bounces between me and Joey. “Everyone, get back to work!” He motions to Sam. “Check the Land Cruiser.” The moment Sam lets go, Joe’s in my face.

“What’d I say about bringing this shit into my shop? You’ve got a problem, take it outside or deal like an adult. Take a break.”

“It’s barely ten—”

“Now,” he growls, leaving no room for argument.

I grab the nearest pack of smokes—Michael’s—and head outside. The brick wall’s cool against my back as I light one. The first drag burns my lungs, but it steadies the noise in my head. Barely.

That blonde hair, those sharp blue eyes—they filter through my head like a bloody reset button. All sass, ribbons, and snark, wrapped in a package that shouldn’t have this kind of power over me. But somehow, she pulls me back every damn time.

My brain’s chaos. Always has been—thoughts racing, emotions flaring, everything on full blast. But her sharp tongue? That fierce, no-bullshit attitude? It’s like she drags me out of the storm and plants me somewhere steady. How the fuck does she do that? I take another drag, smoke burning through the frustration coiled tight in my chest. Still doesn’t help. All I want is to see her. Just thinking about her—the sass, the ribbons, the way her eyes cut through me—takes the edge off, barely.

Michael’s beside me now, one leg propped up, smirking. “Help yourself, it’s fine,” he says.

I take another drag. “You should probably consider a career in sarcasm.”

Michael clears his throat. “Well, can I have at least one of myowncigarettes?”

With a sigh, I dig the pack out of my pocket and toss it to him. He catches it mid-air before muttering a thanks as he sticks acigarette between his lips. “Thanks. So, wanna talk about your Hulk moment earlier?” I keep my eyes on the smoke curling into the air.

“Cool, good chat,” he says dryly.

I snort.

“There he is. Thought you’d turned into the big green guy—was half expecting chest-thumping or some shit.”

“The Hulk doesn’t do that,” I deadpan.

“Then what? He breaks stuff?”

“Yeah, and saves the world.”

Michael squints. “What’s his catchphrase again? ‘It’s smashing time’?”

I roll my eyes. “‘It’s clobberin’ time,’ wanker.”

“Right!” He grins, flicking ash to the ground. “Marvel marathon tonight? Maybe a doob?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” I mutter, but my head’s already somewhere else. She’s stuck there, the way she always is—rolling her eyes at my dumb jokes but smirking, anyway. That spark, the fire, the way she crosses her arms like she’s about to rip me a new one. She’s all sharp edges, bright colours, and somehow, she’s my calm in all this chaos.

Makes everything else fade.

Michael’s scrolling on his phone, muttering, “Shit! We’re watching these in the wrong order.”

I glance over, frowning. “What?”

“We were supposed to start with Captain America, not Iron Man. Everything’s out of order now.”

I smirk, nudging him. “You had one job, mate.”

“Oh, piss off. You could’ve checked, too.” I laugh, about to fire back, when there’s a knock at the door. Michael shrugs. It wouldn’t be Joe, surely.Please don’t be Mum.I swing the door open and freeze. There she is—hands on her hips, eyes flashing, ribbons in her hair. Imogen.

“Midge?” I blink, thrown. “What are you doing here?”

She pushes past me, already on a roll. “Alright, here’s the deal. I need sleep—real sleep, not this tossing-and-turning bullshit. Sleep is crucial, Harrison, especially before the baby gets here. So, there are going to be rules, and you’d better not screw this up.”