Miss Mechanic

Dex’s tongue slipped out and ran over his lips. I didn’t mean to look, but it was such a deliberate move I couldn’t help it.

Heat flashed in his eyes when I met his gaze.

“In the nicest possible way, we’re never gonna be friends, Jamie,” he said in a low voice.

I swallowed. “We’re not?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

He looked me dead in the eye and said, “Because friends don’t want to fuck their friends.”

I inhaled sharply.

“See?” His lips twitched. “We can’t be friends, darlin’. There are a lot of things friends do, but that ain’t one of them in my experience.”

“Well, you obviously haven’t had very good friends.” I slapped my hand over my mouth.

His eyebrows shot up. “You wanna be friends knowing I want to fuck the living daylights out of you?”

My mouth opened and closed a few times, but all I did was end up clearing my throat and moving back closer to the front door.

Well.

That was short and to the point.

“Well, that—that might change things a little.” I swallowed. Hard.

Dex stepped toward me and pinged one of my unruly curls. “Of course it does. It makes a huge difference. Because now, you won’t be able to take one of my comments as a joke. Now, you won’t be able to have a casual taco lunch with me without wondering if I’m thinking about screwing you over the table.”

This escalated quickly.

So did my heartbeat.

“And that’s the reason I’m an ass to you, Jamie. Not because I don’t like you. I don’t want to like you, and the more I push you away, the more likely it is that I’ll never have to live with the memory of what it’s like to be lying over you, stark naked, with my cock buried inside you while you moan my name.”

Oh, Jesus.

How the hell did I reply to that?

“What does it matter?” I lifted my chin, even though all I wanted to do was run. “If we’re not going to be friends, what does it matter if you do fuck me?”

“Because we work together.” He slid his fingers down my jaw and cupped my chin. His thumb brushed across the curve of my lower lip, and I let out a shuddery breath. “And you don’t really want that, do you? You want to be friends.”

“You think you can tell me you know what I want?”

He leaned in, a smile playing on his lips. “Three hours ago, you didn’t want to be anywhere near me. Now, you want to be as close to me as two people can get? Three hours ago, darlin’, you didn’t want to be in the same building as me. Now you’re trying to tell me you want, what? My tongue? My fingers? My cock? All inside you? I don’t believe you.”

My stomach clenched, and I ignored the way goosebumps rose across my skin.

He ghosted his thumb over my lower lip once more, this time lightly tugging it down. His gazed flitted from my mouth to my eyes, hinting at indecision, at his inability to decide whether or not I was serious.

And right now?

I was.

I wanted to be friends, but if that would never happen, by his own admission, then what was the point? It was going to be awkward tomorrow no matter what happened.

Dex stepped back and adjusted his pants.

I glanced down and looked away straight away when I saw his cock obviously pushing against his jeans. The outline was clear, and hell, if I had another dirty dream about him because of this…

“I’ll see you tomorrow, darlin’.” He put his hand on the door handle, which was my cue to move.

I did. Like a squirrel that had been kicked.

His eyes sparkled as he laughed.

He left, leaving me with the sound of his laughter and the rapid beating of my own heart.

Chapter Nineteen – Jamie

He was fucking with me.

That had to be the explanation. There was no way he really felt the way that he did. No, not a chance. If he did, he wouldn’t have walked away, right?

That’s what I was telling myself. There’s no way he would say that and not act on it. Not after the way he’d kissed me—both times. So very different, but both so very real.

No, him walking away went against everything I knew about him. Was he bluffing, or was he really making a smart choice not to take this attraction further?

Was the even the smart choice? He admitted to pushing away, which meant that, in about ten days, I’d be out of my job.

I could accept that. Realistically, this wouldn’t work long term. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe that it would. I’d still do my best to prove him wrong, though. Even if it was only to make him admit he was wrong.

I was pretty sure he already knew that, though.

Of course, none of that explained why I’d gone for the denim skirt over the shorts this morning.