Relentless (Mason Family 4)

“I sneezed four times, actually,” I tell him, my guard slipping thanks to his I’m-not-going-to-lose-my-shit-over-this demeanor. “Most people do twos or threes. I always do fours.”

He breaks. A wide, knock-me-off-my-feet grin splits his cheeks. It renders me breathless but, unfortunately for me, it does not render me speechless.

“Four times in a row is basically a blackout,” I ramble on. “It’s terrifying. This has always been a big fear of mine and now it came true.”

“Fear of talking too much?” he teases.

My face flushes as I glance in my mirror at a car passing behind me. “No. Sneezing and getting into an accident, but thanks for that.”

His chin lifts to the sky, and a full, friendly laugh slips through the air. My body sags in relief. The pain in the back of my neck becomes a distant memory.

“I talk too much when I’m nervous,” I say, grimacing.

He grips the top of the window with one hand, his eyes still twinkling. “I was just kidding. I’ve never considered the dangers of sneezing and driving before. You have me wondering what other hazards lurk that I haven’t thought about.”

“There are tons of lurking hazards.” I tap at the air vent by the display. “Ever wondered if a snake climbed in your engine at night? And then it occurs to you while you’re driving that it could pop out one of these?”

He shakes his head, clearly amused. “I have not. I am also fairly certain this is impossible if that makes you feel any better.”

“Well, if you’re right, it does. But what’s your expertise in this area?” I narrow my eyes. “Do you even know anything about cars?”

He rewards me with a laugh again. “Get out of there so we can survey the damage and decide what to do.”

“So, that’s a no on knowing anything about cars,” I say as I climb out of the car.

A burst of wind greets me as I step onto the pavement. The contact of my shoe with the ground catapults me back into reality, causing me to look at the front of my car again. I so don’t need this headache.

Oliver walks around the car and stands beside me. He’s taller than me by a handful of inches, probably hitting six feet without shoes. He stands tall and confident, his body long and lean like an athlete but without the bulk of one. And, for the first time in a long time, I feel a crackle of attraction to another person.

I must’ve hit my head.

“Well, that’s disappointing,” I say, focusing on the mess in front of me and not at the man at my left.

“That depends on what you’re looking at.”

I don’t look at him, but I don’t have to in order to know he’s looking at me. His gaze is heavy on my cheek.

A chill fires through my body as I try not to read into his words or the way they—he— oozes sex appeal.

“My bumper is definitely not supposed to be touching the ground,” I say and then force a swallow. “That’s pretty disappointing.”

He switches his attention from me to the cars. “On the other hand, I’m pretty sure my mechanic can just pop my panel out, and I’ll be good to go.”

“Good for you.”

Knowing nothing about car repair except for the fact that it’s not cheap and the state of my front end is … hanging, all I see are dollar signs. Dollar signs that I do not have.

My stomach tightens as reality sobers me a little more.

“So, what do you want to do about this?” he asks.

Cry?

“I don’t know,” I say. “What do you do in an accident?”

He moves to get a better look at the damage. “According to Georgia law, we don’t have to involve the police unless there’s an injury, death, or property damage over five hundred dollars.”

“This is not the first time you’ve been in this situation, I gather.”

“What can I say?” He grins. “I was a mischievous teenager and I have four brothers. It’s a recipe for disaster.”

“Four brothers? Your poor mother.”

He laughs. The sound is easy and comfortable, as if we’re discussing the weather or family stories and not property damage. I don’t really know what to make of that.

“Well, there’s no injury and no death, but I have no idea on the amount of damage. Do you?”

“Probably fifteen hundred or so.”

Shit.

“That is,” he says, pausing for effect, “if you take it to a random mechanic and get ran up.” He slips his hands into his pockets. “My mechanic, though—I bet we could get him to do it for less than five hundred.”

A-ha!

I twist around and square my shoulders with his. “So, what you’re saying is that we estimate the damage is less than five hundred dollars, so we don’t have to call the police.”

“That’s what I’m saying. We don’t have to call the police if you don’t want to. I don’t plan on turning mine into insurance. If you are, we need to call the cops for a report. The insurance will want that.”