Page 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

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.

“I have to leave,” I reiterate. “I need to be somewhere.”

Cameron narrows his eyes. “I said today was going to be stacked, and it is.”

“Not my fucking fault you can’t fix a basic issue or manage the staff schedule,” I say to myself.

“I’m sorry. What was that?”

Maybe not to myself.

“Nothing,” I snipe and reach for my phone. “I need to make a call.”

When Cameron doesn’t take the hint, hovering over me like a prison guard, I pull up Sawyer’s contact and type out a quick text, a shot of disappointment hitting me.

Me

Hey, look. I don’t know if you’re on your way to my place, but I’m not there. Can we reschedule?

It’s barely twenty seconds before a reply arrives, the contact name I gave him making me smirk.

Old Man

Where are you?

Me

Stuck at work. It’s crazy, and I’m the only one who can fix the bike that just came in.

Old Man

I’ll be there in ten.

Panic and those goddamn tingles shimmer through me simultaneously.

Me

Wait. I just said we need to reschedule. I’ll be at least another hour, maybe more.

Old Man

I can wait.

Me

How do you know where I work?

There’s a long pause, maybe five minutes, and then my cell buzzes on the floor next to me just as I’m finishing up on the current bike, which, thankfully, didn’t need a replacement drive chain.

Old Man

I just do.

Me

More snooping on me?

Old Man

Stop being a brat, or I won’t take you where I have planned.

I catch myself grinning wildly at my phone, now alone since Cameron retreated to his office a few minutes ago.

Me

I’m not really at work. I just made up a lame excuse so I could avoid you.

Old Man

No one likes a liar, Collins. Now get on with your work so I can spend some time with you, just like you want me to.

* * *

“Essentially, the linkage was misaligned, which would explain why you couldn’t shift smoothly. I’ve adjusted it and run her through the gears, and I’d say she’s ready to go.”

Mr. Smith, the customer who follows me online and specially requested me when he came in, heaves a sigh of relief. “So, you don’t think there’s any permanent damage to the transmission or something more serious?”

I shake my head and lead him out of the garage, heading back to the service desk. “No. It was a simple fix in the end. I mean, any longer, and things could’ve gotten worse, but we caught it in time.”

“That’s great news,” he replies. “How much do I owe you?”

I shake my head again and push through the door. “It was a ten mi—” I stop mid-sentence when my attention immediately lands on a broody hockey player sitting on a black plastic chair toward the back of the room.

With his left leg balanced on his right knee, Sawyer folds his arms across his chest, a smug grin playing on his lips.

He knows he looks hot. Black funnel-neck coat, black jeans, and dark gray sneakers. He’s let the scruff across his jaw grow out a little, and as I approach the desk to finish up on Mr. Smith’s paperwork, I push back thoughts of how it would feel between my thighs.

He might not be adventurous in bed, but he sure as shit can make me come on his tongue.

“You were saying how much?” Mr. Smith snaps me back into the room.

“Huh? Oh, yes. One second.” I’m flustered, reaching across the desk and grabbing the nearest pen.

Signing off on the work, I take a quick glance at the dark-haired man standing in front of me. I can tell he’s anxious over money, and the bike sitting in the garage is obviously his pride and joy. I wonder if being out on the open road brings him a sense of calm, like it does me. I wonder how far he traveled today to seek out my help.

I swipe a line through the total box. Cameron can go fuck himself. “No charge, sir. I’m only too happy to get her running for you.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Sawyer dropping his leg to the floor, bracing both elbows on his knees, watching intently.

I flush for no good reason.

“Are you sure, Collins?” Mr. Smith asks, looking unsure and hopeful at the same time.

“Ten out of ten,” I confirm, folding the service invoice in half and placing it in an envelope.

“If you have any further issues with shifting, I suggest another adjustment to the linkage. It can take a couple of tries before getting it right.”

I hand him the envelope, and he reaches out, taking it with gratitude before heading to the exit.

“Well, you have yourself a great day, miss.”

“Were you supposed to charge him?” Sawyer asks the second the door closes behind Mr. Smith.

“Yes. But my boss doesn’t need to know about it.”

Sawyer rises from his chair and walks across to me, his smug grin more visible, along with the length of his scruff.

He isn’t wearing a hat today, his glossy, dark hair begging for my hands.

“Do you ever play by the rules?” he asks, leaning against the counter.

I can feel the heat as it warms my cheeks. “Rarely.”

An appreciative rumble emanates from his chest. “But you can be kind.”

I throw him a questioning look.

“You could’ve charged him, but you didn’t.”

I’m not from a wealthy background. My parents died, leaving me with next to nothing, and the money my grandparents left was everything they’d had in the world, including a few pensions. But my family were good people, and my parents had scrimped and saved to pay for my expensive motocross habit. When my grandparents died and I was left alone, riding open roads was one of the only ways I could find peace, and when I was eighteen, I rescued my first Road Glide and carefully put her back together—a little like myself, I guess.

“Where’s your head at, Collins?” Sawyer asks, now standing in front of me.

I was so deep in thought that I didn’t notice him round the counter.

“I can be kind when I want to be,” I breathe, instantly affected by his proximity and cologne.

His smile turns sweeter, although the playful edge remains. “How about you maintain your streak of kindness, grab your jacket, and let me take you out?”

I glance down at my overalls, and when I raise my eyes back to his, I see the desire behind them.

“Let me quickly change out of these and freshen up.”

He reaches up and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, the rough pad of his thumb grazing the shell.

“You do that. I’ll go warm up my truck.”