The next morning, I was ten minutes early and still felt like I was ten years too late.
The shop was half-awake. The old radio crackled something bluesy in the background. A fan turned lazily overhead, too tired to care. The scent of oil and leather lingered in the air like it belonged there more than I did.
Then I heard his voice.
"Didn't think you'd show."
It wasn't sarcastic. It wasn't cold.
It was a warning. Wrapped in gravel and steel.
Jesse Locke stood in the back, wiping his hands on that same ruined rag. He wore a faded black T-shirt this time. Tight across the chest, loose at the collar. His biceps flexed every time he moved.
I swallowed something dangerous.
"Early bird gets yelled at less, right?" I tried.
He grunted. "We'll see."
He motioned me forward with two fingers, like he was used to people obeying without question.
I followed. Of course I did.
---
He handed me gloves. Old ones. His, maybe.
"Clean that shelf," he said, nodding at a cluttered mess of tools, bolts, wires, and God knows what.
I grabbed a cloth and got to work.
"Ever even held a wrench before, or are you just here to look pretty?"
He was behind me now. Close enough that I could feel the weight of his gaze against my back.
I smirked. "I can do both."
Silence.
Then—
"You know how much trouble you're asking for, don't you?"
I turned around slowly.
He didn't move. Just stared. Like a man doing math in his head. Calculating how bad he could ruin me and still sleep at night.
"I'm not a kid anymore," I said, wiping sweat off my brow.
"No," he said softly. "You're worse."
And there it was—that tone.
Low. Firm. Measured like it was meant to sit in my spine and crawl deeper.
The kind of voice that made your knees forget they were meant to hold you up.
---
The day dragged.
He didn't flirt. He didn't touch me. But the space between us was heavy with things we weren't saying.
By the time I finished stacking tires in the back, my shirt was stuck to my skin, and I was exhausted from pretending I didn't want him to pin me against the wall.
"You've got attitude," he said from the doorway. Watching me.
"Yeah?" I leaned against a tire. "You like that?"
His eyes narrowed. "It won't work on me."
"But it used to."
His jaw clenched. Bingo.
"Kade," he warned. Just my name, but it sounded like a rule I was already breaking.
"I like the way you say that."
He didn't move.
But I swear the air thickened between us like a rope pulling tighter.
"Go home," Jesse said finally. "Cool off."
I tilted my head. "What if I don't want to?"
His gaze dropped to my mouth for just one second.
"One of us has to behave," he said, turning away. "And I've got twenty years of practice."
---
I stood there long after he left the room.
Swallowed by silence.
And arousal.
And something worse.
Hope.