Filling Her Up (Hot-Bites 5)

“Hey,” I answer, trying to bring my thoughts to the present. I hold the rag in my hands at my lower waist. I pretend I’m spending a little extra time getting the oil off of my hands when in reality I’m hiding the way my dick is tenting my damn coveralls. Jesus, my balls are going to turn blue at this point.

“I see you got my car,” she says, and she looks unsure of herself, but I can’t explain why. “Thanks for that.” But fuck if I don’t love that look of uncertainty on her face. I want to take her in my arms and show her just who she is, who she can be…

There’s a small voice in my head saying she’s meant to be mine, but I try to ignore it. It’s ludicrous to assume she is mine when I just met her last night. But that primal, possessive need in me is stronger than anything I’ve ever felt.

“Yeah. Went out this morning and hauled it in. Got bad news for you, Sunshine,” I tell her, the nickname slipping out with ease. It fits her, though. She’s warm and bright like the sun that moves across the mountains on a spring morning.

“What’s that?” she asks, watching me closely. She’s still skittish around me—afraid, even after I helped her last night.

I need to find a way to make her relax with me. Somehow, I’ve got a feeling that might not be an easy task. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not a pretty motherfucker. I’m tall, which can be intimidating, broad too. I tower over Cassie and could almost span her waist with one of my hands. That has to frighten her but there’s no way around it. She’s tiny compared to a brute like me. She has no way of knowing I’d never hurt her. If she weren’t just passing through, I might make it my mission to prove it to her.

But the very thought of her leaving town, of leaving me, has this uneasy feeling moving through me. I don’t like the fact she won’t be here for the foreseeable future. I want her by my side.

“You’ve got a blown head gasket,” I tell her, and wait for the blow to hit.

She blinks.

“Oh. Is that … bad?” she asks, clearly not understanding that her motor is shot.

“Yeah. It’s bad.”

“Like, how bad?”

“It will probably cost more than this bucket of rust is worth to fix,” I tell her frankly.

I should have tried to give her the truth a little more carefully because I can literally see the color drain from her face.

“But I don’t have that kind of money,” she whispers so quietly that I almost don’t hear her. “And I have to get to Boise in three days,” she adds, and this time her voice takes on a panicked tone.

I don’t like it. Cassie shouldn’t have to worry about anything in life—ever. That’s not what bothers me the most though. It’s the fact that she’s desperate to leave me … leave Shelby so quickly. She’s obviously on a deadline, and immediately I begin to worry that she’s going to meet another man. I like that even less.

“Sunshine, this is just a general gas station. Full service, sure. But, besides filling up your tank, washing your windshield, and fixing the odd flat here and there, I don’t really do mechanic work.” I don’t mention that I can take apart and put a car back together again.

“Is there someone else here in town I could go to?” she asks eagerly—way too eagerly.

“I didn’t say I couldn’t do it, only that I don’t normally do it, especially not here. That’s not the issue though.”

“It’s not?” she asks, clearly confused.

“Cassie,” I start, saying her name for the first time. I have to admit—at least to myself—that I like the way her name rolls off my tongue. It feels good. It feels right.

“Yeah?” she prompts when I don’t finish, too involved in repeating her name over and over in my head.

Damn.

“It doesn’t matter who works on your vehicle. There’s no way you’re going to get this piece of shit car back on the road and all the way to Boise in three days.”

“But I have to!” She sounds panicked as fuck.

“Why?”

“What?” she asks, taking a step away from me. Her face looks pale, and I have the strangest urge to pick her up in my arms and reassure her. I resist—but it’s not easy.

“I asked why you had to go to Boise,” I ask again, waiting.

She stares at me for a few minutes and I don’t understand her hesitation, but then I’m not about to press her either. I’m a stranger to her, and she’s skittish as a doe in the woods staring down a hunter.

“I … it’s personal.”

Her answer has the power to piss me off. There’s something about this girl that makes me feel like I’m losing control, like she holds all the power. There should be nothing about her that’s off limits, and she shouldn’t keep secrets from me.