Work Me Up

“Like Betty White, or…?” Selena tilts her head, studying the car too. The way she does it, though, makes a strand of hair fall across her cheekbone, and my fingers itch to brush it away.

I fold them into fists in order to resist. “I was thinking Boop, actually, but White works too.”

She grins. “So you watch old movies.”

“What can I say?” I run my hand through my hair, and I’m gratified to notice the way her gaze drops to the line of the plain tank top I’m wearing. Maybe I’m not the only dangerously distracted one here today. “I prefer things with substance. The kind of value that accumulates over time. You can’t fake that kind of style nowadays.”

“So you don’t think anything in modern times has value or substance.” Selena crosses her arms over her chest. Fuck me. The way she does it pushes her breasts up, making it even harder to keep my eyes fixed anywhere but on them.

I stare at Betty and her damaged window determinedly. “I never said that. I’m sure there are some things with substance created nowadays.” I flick my gaze back at her, teasing. “Just, you know, not a lot of them.”

Her face flushes, and her eyes narrow. I really do enjoy pissing her off. Except, doing it now has me thinking how much fun it would be to do that in the bedroom—tease and torment her right up until she’s on the edge of coming, making her so wet she’ll beg me for release.

Shit.

“I’m going to assume you aren’t implying anything about me,” Selena says in her best haughty rich girl voice. Then she tosses her head. I mean, actually tosses it. I thought girls only did that in bad teen movies.

I smirk. “You go right on ahead and do that,” I say, which makes her huff in annoyance. But I’m already moving, across the garage toward Betty, because if I don’t walk away from this girl right now, I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do. Something highly improper, anyway.

To judge by the clack of heels against the cement floor, Selena’s following me. “So, are you going to show me what I need to do, or should I like, pull up some YouTube videos or something.”

I know she’s probably joking, but I actually feel physically nauseous at the thought of somebody ‘looking up some YouTube videos’ and then laying a hand on my baby. “Hell fucking no,” I reply, a little more heated than I meant it to sound. I clear my throat and compose myself as we reach Betty, placing a hand on her roof before I turn to face Selena again. “I’ll be right here to shadow you closely every step of the way,” I say, trying my best to sound stern.

Something I nearly lose control of when she bats her eyelashes. “Well, that’s a relief. I definitely require close supervision.” Her cheeks flush as she says it, which makes me wonder if she actually thought about how that sounded before the words came out of her mouth.

This woman. I arch an eyebrow. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t want you to risk breaking a fingernail or anything.”

Her face flushes even more. I’ve gotta say, I like it. It makes me want to find out what else would make her blush this hard. Like if I ran my hands over the curve of those sexy-as-fuck hips of hers, all the way down to the backside I can see straining against the seams of her too-tight jeans.

“By the way,” I add, making her turn back toward me, just as she’d been about to peer over at Betty and the damage she did yesterday, “tomorrow, you might want to ditch the skinny-as-fuck jeans. And the heels. It’ll be hard to work in either one.”

She arches one eyebrow, grinning. “We’ll see about that.”

And damn. I am a sucker for a girl who’s willing to step up to a challenge. “All right,” I drawl slowly, tilting my head to one side. Then I slap the car door for emphasis. “So. First thing’s first. What do we need to fix here?”

Selena blinks a few times, rapidly, like she wasn’t expecting a pop quiz so soon into this session. “Um… the paint job?” She side-eyes the huge scratches in it, her mouth forming a worried little moue that only emphasizes how thick her lips are.

Those are the kind of lips that would look incredible wrapped around my—

Nope. Not going there. Not yet, anyway. Not unless she begs me, my animal brain helpfully supplies, and my cock gives a longing throb of agreement, before I suck in a deep breath to steady myself. “Not in the slightest,” I reply, which makes her shoulders slump a little in disappointment. “First thing you want to work on is the most internal damage. Which in this case would be…” I pause, just in case she wants to try another guess. But she seems more hesitant now, her arms folded over her chest, listening to me.