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CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

COLLINS

T he hot-as-fuck Blades captain is in love with me.

And I am all the way here for it. In fact, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since he confessed how deep his feelings were a few days ago.

Was I tempted to tell him I was falling hard? You bet your ass I was. It’s kind of absurd to me that I haven’t told him how I feel since I’m ten out of ten sure he can tell just by the way I smile at him. My body language speaks a thousand words my brain has always struggled to comprehend.

I don’t think there’s anything capable of bringing down my mood. I’ve been dancing around the garage all morning. Some of our regular customers have been throwing me inquisitive looks as they try to work out at what point I had a personality transplant.

The truth is, I haven’t. She was always in there—the part of me who longed to open up to the world and show her brighter colors. Fundamentally, I’m still me—black eyeliner, ’80s rock T-shirts, and enough sarcasm to power a small city—but I don’t feel the need to run any longer. I’m happy to sit in one space with people, and if they start to see all my parts in the process, then I’m okay with that too.

Because Sawyer motherfucking Bryce loves me.

“Collins, do you plan on finishing that bike today? The customer is out front, asking whether he should come back tomorrow and pick her up.”

I take it back. There is one person who could dampen my mood—Cameron.

Even though I didn’t witness it, I’m certain Sawyer told him where to stick his asshole behavior when he was last in here. After all, Cameron doesn’t give out afternoons and days off without good reason—and definitely not to me. Up until today, he’s been palatable, which is loosely translated as, I’ve only wanted to strangle him a half-dozen times each shift. Today though, he’s been vile, and I’m at full capacity with his bullshit. If it wasn’t for my otherwise good mood, I would one hundred percent be in custody.

Crouched by the exact motorcycle he’s referring to, I spin around to face him. “Mr. Booth turned the bike in this morning, complaining of noise. The sprockets on the chain are misaligned and loose.” I point to the offending areas. “Right now, it’s costing the customer more in maintenance and repairs than it would be to fit a drive belt instead, which would solve all his problems.” I stand up and quirk a brow. “I don’t know when you last went to check on Mr. Booth, but I spoke with him about five minutes ago and confirmed all this. He’s happy to wait it out while I get it done, although I did tell him it would take a few hours.”

I thumb at the beautiful vintage bike. “Unless you want to take the lead and fix it yourself?”

Cameron clears his throat, jaw twitching with rage. “You know I don’t have the time to carry out a task like that. It’s not something management would do.”

I consider not responding since my mouth frequently gets me into trouble at work. Although you will never catch me being silent when I have something to say. “Well, if you don’t have time to help me, can I make a request that you kindly leave me the fuck alone so I can do my job?”

Probably shouldn’t have thrown in “the fuck.”

Cameron looks off to the side, jaw still tense as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his wrinkle-free black dress pants. “Is this how it’s going to go from now on, Collins?”

I throw down the oil-stained cloth I was holding, propping a hand on my hip. “You mean me, on my own in the shop, working all hours to keep on top of the insane new flow of customers we keep getting? Yeah,” I scoff. “That’s how it’s been for months, so I guess that’s how it’ll be from now on.”

Cameron points to the middle of his chest. “You’re complaining about the garage being successful? That’s how I pay your wages and what keeps us in jobs. It’s no coincidence that since I took over the management here, we’ve seen an influx of new business.”

I huff out a sarcastic laugh. “Are you for real right now? Customers are finding us because of my social media. We’ve had five new inquiries off the back of my Instagram today alone.”

He looks doubtful. “Or is it because the world knows you’re boning a famous hockey player?”

A knowing smile twists at my lips. That’s what this is about.

“Go ahead and say what’s really bothering you, Cameron.”

He folds his arms across his chest. The petulance rolling from him reminds me of Ezra, although this guy isn’t twelve years old. Apparently.

“I just don’t appreciate you bringing your boyfriend to work, especially since he’s an asshole who can’t respect your boss.”

My previously good mood disappears altogether, and pissed-off Collins is kicking back into gear. “The only asshole I see around here is you.” I throw my arm out in front of me, motioning around the garage. “You waltz around here like you’re God’s gift or something and we should all bow down to your male superiority. And you know all I can think when I see you? How in the hell did the owner of this place give you a promotion since you know nothing about bikes? Literally nothing. That’s why you hide away in your office—avoiding being found out that if it isn’t a simple service, you have zero idea what you’re doing.”

Face beet red, he takes a step toward me. “What’s the matter, Collins? A little sore I got the job and you didn’t?”

The best plan right now would be to walk away and cool off—I know it.

Fuck that.

“No, Cameron. I didn’t want the promotion because, believe it or not, I enjoy what I do—bringing bikes back to life and getting my hands dirty.”

I feel my phone buzz in the pocket of my overalls, but I ignore it, determined to have it out with this guy once and for all.

“You wouldn’t have been offered the job anyway,” I hear Cameron breathe quietly.

“I’m sorry. You might want to speak up so I can hear your bullshit,” I reply.

He sneers, his anger getting the better of him. “I said, ‘You wouldn’t have been offered the job anyway,’ since the owner knows how unpredictable you are.” He takes another step toward me. “That’s what I tried to warn your boyfriend about when he was here—that you like to use men and then drop them when you’re finished. A little like your life.” He scoffs again, only harder this time. “You were fired from your last job, and you’re this close to it happening again.” He pinches his thumb and forefinger together.

Right now, I have five hundred dollars left from my grandparents and around a hundred in my checking account. Altogether, that’s not enough to cover this month’s rent, but I’ve had it.

No one speaks to me like that. No one gets a chance to make me feel anything less than what I am—a fucking good person who’s kick-ass at my job.

I pull at the buttons of my overalls, and his eyes drop to my chest.

He’s a fucking pervert, even now.

“Let me save you from any further aggravation, boss . I quit.”

* * *

There’s only so much comfort snacks and Richard Gere can bring. Okay, I don’t have a thing for him, but Julia Roberts? A queen.

I wonder what she would do in my position—no money, no job, and putting off a call to her landlord, asking for an extension on the rent. Vivian Ward would probably throw on her big-girl pants and sort her shit out, reminding herself that women don’t work for assholes with tiny-dick behavior.

I’m reaching across the couch to grab my phone when a couple of knocks stop me in my tracks, and I stare at my front door, confused as to who it is and how they got past the building entrance.

“Who is it?” I shout, already heading for the door and brushing pieces of popcorn from my Metallica shirt.

Attractive.

“The boyfriend you’ve been ignoring all day.” Sawyer’s voice filters in from the other side.

I grimace. I haven’t checked my phone since I felt it vibrate mid-Cameron conflict.

“I’m sorry,” I say, sliding the bolt across and pulling the door open.

Ugh, he looks glorious—all freshly showered with a backward Blades cap, dressed in gray sweats and a hoodie.

Sawyer immediately steps inside, kicking my door shut as his hands fall to my hips. He checks me over. “I’ve been going out of my mind. You didn’t reply to my texts, and then after practice, I called the garage, and Cameron told me he fired you?” He snarls, “What the fuck did he say to you? And, please, for the love of God, tell me that prick didn’t try to touch you because I will be in lockup so fucking fast.”

I hold up a hand, already feeling better for having my man around me. Even if he is a rambling mess. “Wait, he told you he got rid of me?” I burst out laughing. “He has some balls—I’ll give him that.”

All at once, Sawyer looks confused and relieved. “I thought he fired you because of me and what I’d said to him.” He flushes. “I told him to back the fuck off and stop making you work crazy hours. But you quit?”

I drop my head into his chest, nodding. “Yep. He was a prick to me and then rude about you, and that was the final straw.”

I choose not to tell Sawyer about the lecherous looks Cameron gave me; I don’t have the money for his bail.

I release a heavy sigh against him, worrying about where I’m going to find another job and lack of money taking hold of me. “I couldn’t work there anymore. I couldn’t stand to look at him, and he treated me like shit. I only held out as long as I did because I love what I do.” I inhale Sawyer’s clean scent, which eases some of the stress. “Trouble is, there aren’t a whole lot of Harley garages around town, and I’m going to struggle with paying my rent if I don’t find something soon.”

“Look at me, Collins,” Sawyer says softly.

I lift my head but keep my chin resting on his chest.

His soft green eyes take me in, and I relax into his body.

“Neither of those problems are actually problems—you know that, right?”

“They are if I don’t make rent in two weeks. I could also do with a fairy godmother to magic me a job if possible.”

He tucks a lock of stray hair behind my ear. I’m confident it still has oil in it from work earlier. “How much do you need?”

“I don’t want to take your money. I can work this out myself,” I reply. “It’s my mess to clean up.”

He leans down, resting his chin on top of my head.

We’re still standing by my front door, having not moved an inch since he wrapped his arms around me.

“No, it isn’t. He couldn’t get past his bruised ego, even for the best member of his staff. I’m so damn proud of you for walking out and knowing your worth.” He lifts his head and hooks a finger under my chin. “It’s too soon for you to move into my place, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I whisper back. “I don’t want to give up my garage and?—”

He presses a finger to my lips, smiling. “I know, Baby Girl, and I get it. You like your life and place. So, let me take care of you and pay for the rent.”

I’m ready to protest, but he presses his finger a little harder, hushing me.

“I don’t want any arguments; this is a non-negotiable for me. Let me take the pressure off and help out while you find another job.”

“I-I don’t even know what to say.”

He cups my head in his huge palms, dropping his lips down to mine. “You don’t need to say anything. You’re my world, and I’m here to protect you.” He blows out a long breath, closing his eyes gently. “Now, show me this bedroom of yours because I’ve been dying to see what it looks like. Plus, I could use the distraction, so I don’t climb back in my truck and beat the shit out of Cuntface Cameron.”