The Truth About Lennon

“Can I help you?” he asks.

“It’s dirty under here,” I say, wrinkling my nose.

“It’s the undercarriage of a car,” he says dryly. “Here, hold this.” He passes me a long, silver thingy. Almost immediately he grabs it out of my hand and then seconds later gives it back.

“Could you grab me a ratchet?” he asks.

“Sure.” Without thinking, I sit up, only to smack my head on the car. “Oh, shit! Fuck me.” I wince, rubbing at my forehead. Tears fill my eyes, a few of them escaping. “Shit, that hurt.”

Noah is out from under the car first. He grabs hold of my ankles, pulls me out, and yanks me up to inspect my forehead.

“Are you okay??

?

I am now that you’re touching me.

“No,” I whimper, holding on to my head.

“Jesus Christ, Noah. What the hell did you do to the girl?” Tommy says, walking up to see what all of the commotion is about. Tommy is one of Noah’s four mechanics. He’s a younger guy, probably fresh out of school, but he seems nice.

“He didn’t do anything. I tried to sit up—forgot I was under the car.”

“You can’t do that,” Tommy says.

Squinting, I look up to see him trying to suppress a smile. “Are you smiling?”

“No, ma’am.” He shakes his head, pulling his lips between his teeth.

I narrow my eyes and bury my face in Noah’s chest because my head is killing me, and not at all because I want to get closer to him, or because I love the way he smells.

“Hurts.”

The throbbing in my head is instantly gone when Noah wraps an arm around my waist—funny how that happened—securing me in his lap. “Tommy, can you have Sara grab an ice pack out of the break room?”

“She’s at lunch. I’ll grab it, boss.”

“Let me see.” Noah tries to pry my hand away from my head, but I resist. “Lennon,” he says, chuckling. “Let me see it.”

“This is your fault,” I mumble.

“How is this my fault?”

“Because, you bamboozled me.”

“I bamboozled you?” he asks.

“You told me we were coming down here to check on your bike—”

“Which I did,” he interjects.

“Yes, but as soon as I had my back turned, you made a beeline for the shop. You came here to work.”

“You’re right,” he confesses. “There are a few things I can do without putting too much weight on my foot, and I thought I could get them done.” He nudges my shoulder again. “Let me see your head.” This time I let him look at my forehead.

Noah’s eyes widen. “Holy shit.”

“What?” I reach for my head, but Noah slaps my hand away. “Oh my God, what? Why are you looking at me like that?”