That night, I barely slept, too mortified by the thought of Keenan possibly overhearing me again. His words still echoed in my mind days later, teasing and tormenting me in equal measure.
"I wouldn't want anyone else hearing you." What did he mean by that? Did he want to be the only one hearing me?
The thought sent heat rushing to my cheeks, especially when I remembered his smirk. He said he enjoyed it, which only fueled the inappropriate fantasies that had begun to plague my mind—fantasies of him being the reason behind those sounds. But he didn't know that. And I prayed he never would.
The coffee maker gurgles mockingly as I stand in the kitchen, its sound grating on my already frayed nerves. Days of hiding in my house have left me jittery from caffeine and restless thoughts.
I'd tried everything to distract myself—books, TV shows, even games—but nothing worked. He was always there, lingering in the corners of my mind. Worse still, guilt had started to creep in. I'd promised him coffee, and now I felt like a terrible neighbor for breaking that agreement.
Avoiding him forever wasn't realistic—and deep down, I didn't want to.
The faint clank of metal and the steady hum of rock music drifts through the open window, signaling that Keenan is outside working on his bike again. My stomach twist at the thought of facing him, but I can't keep hiding.
I sigh as I finish my second cup of coffee, feeling the caffeine dull my craving but doing nothing to soothe the nervous energy buzzing under my skin. He brings out feelings in me I haven't felt in years—feelings that made me feel like a schoolgirl with a silly crush.
Taking a deep breath, I pour coffee into the mug I'd unofficially designated as his and wrap both hands around its warmth. My palms were clammy as I made my way to the door.
Through the window, I catch a glimpse of him in his garage. His leather vest clings to his broad shoulders as he leans over his bike, muscles flexing with every movement. He tosses tools aside with an air of frustration, his jaw tight and his brows furrowed.
He looks annoyed.
Maybe I should just leave it on his porch, I think nervously. No interaction is needed.
I creep toward his house as quietly as possible, hoping to avoid detection. But before I can make it halfway up his driveway, he wipes his hands on a rag and glances over his shoulder as if sensing my presence.
"Morning, Daisy," he calls out in that low gravelly tone that sent shivers down my spine. His gaze locks onto mine with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. "Thought you forgot about me."
I force a smile and swallow hard as I step closer to the garage. "Sorry... I've just been a little busy," I lied weakly.
The closer I get, the more it feels like walking into the lion's den—his presence magnetic yet overwhelming.
"I was starting to miss your coffee, Petal," he says with a smirk that makes my heart stutter. "Got me hooked already."
There is something about the way he said it—like he isn't just talking about coffee—that makes heat creep up my neck. Wordlessly, I hand him the mug. He takes it without hesitation and drinks it, seemingly unfazed by how hot it is.
"Needed," he murmurs under his breath before meeting my eyes again.
"You okay?" I ask softly, sensing an unfamiliar tension radiating from him. It is different from his usual relaxed demeanor.
"Actually..." He trails off before gesturing toward his bike. "I could use another pair of hands."
I blink at him with uncertainty. "Oh... I don't know anything about bikes," I admit hesitantly.
"Doesn't matter," he replies smoothly. "Just need you to hold this wrench steady while I tighten this bolt." His lips curve into a teasing grin as he adds pointedly, "Unless you're too busy... entertaining yourself?"
My breath hitches at his insinuation, heat flooding my face as memories of that night resurface unbidden. Biting my lip to suppress any reaction, I nodded stiffly. "Fine."
His grin widens slightly as if pleased by my defiance. "Good."
I kneel beside him near the bike, inhaling the faint scent of leather and gasoline that clings to him—a heady combination that makes my thoughts hazy. He places a wrench in my trembling hands, guiding them gently until they are positioned correctly.
"Hold it tight," he instructs in that low rumble of his voice.
"I am," I whisper back shakily.
As he works on tightening the bolt, our hands brushes occasionally—each touch sending sparks up my arm that maks it hard to focus on anything else. He leans closer than necessary, his warm breath ghosting against the side of my neck.
"Are you nervous, Daisy?" he asks softly, turning his head slightly toward me.
"Maybe a little," I admit sheepishly without meeting his gaze.
"Don't be," he says with a husky undertone that sent shivers down my spine. "I don't bite... unless you ask me to."
The wrench slips from my grasp as his words land like a thunderclap in my chest. My cheeks burn furiously as I scramble to recover both the tool and what little composure I have left.
He chuckles deeply at my reaction—a sound that resonates through the garage and settles somewhere deep within me. "Relax," he says with an amused smirk before returning his attention to the bike.
By the time we finish, my legs feel like jelly from kneeling so close to him for so long—or maybe its just from being near him. Keenan stands up beside me, wiping grease from his hands as he admires his handiwork.
"Thanks, Petal," he says with genuine warmth in his voice. "Couldn't have done it without you."
"You're welcome," I reply softly as he hands me a rag for my greasy hands.
He glances at me out of the corner of his eye with a sly grin. "Hmm... I like a girl who can get her hands dirty."
I freeze for half a second before fumbling for words that won't make things worse. "I'm used to getting messy," I blurt out before realizing how it sounds. "Because... dirt! Gardening! That's what I meant—I garden."
Keenan laughs—a deep rumble that fills the space between us—and shakes his head at me fondly. "You're too cute when you get flustered."
Before I can respond—or dig myself into an even deeper hole—he steps closer again until there was barely any space left between us.
"So," he murmurs in that low tone that makes goosebumps rise on my skin, "since you helped me with my bike... how about I return the favor? Want a ride?"
My heart pounds wildly at both the suggestion and what lays beneath it—an invitation laced with unspoken promises.
"I..." My voice falters as heat rises to my cheeks again.
"Or I can help you with what you were doing the other night..." He smirks knowingly as my eyes widen in shock and embarrassment.
I stand frozen under his intense gaze—the weight of both options pressing down on me like gravity itself.
"So what's it gonna be?" Keenan questions softly but firmly.
Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I meet his eyes head-on for once.