I look over. “Now what?”

He drops a nasty, hundred-year-old bag thing on the ground. “There should be a flathead screwdriver in there. Use it to pry off the hubcap.”

I got this.

I couple minutes later, I look up victoriously, hubcap by my feet.

He remains unimpressed.

“Wrench,” he snaps.

Wrench. I can do wrench. I helped my dad with a handful of odd jobs back in the day. I dig around until I come up with the wrench and hold it up for praise. He gives me only the slightest of nods.

“Now use it to remove the lug nuts, but don’t remove them all the way.”

I giggle again. I know. I know. But jack and nuts? Come on.

I listen as he points out the lug nuts, then use the wrench to loosen them, trying to ignore the fact that it’s like a million degrees and the temperature only seems to be heating his cologne to intoxicating levels.

“I hate you,” I mutter, as a trickle of sweat runs between my boobs.

“You’ll thank me someday.”

“When? After the apocalypse when the Triple A turns into an iceberg, or something?”

“I think the icebergs are melting.”

“I’m melting,” I snap, throwing my weight against the wrench to loosen the last of the lug nuts, remembering his instruction to not remove them all the way yet. “I don’t suppose you want to help?”

“Nah. I’m hot.”

I flip him the bird, and he takes a little bit of mercy, and hunches down to squat beside me, pulling a weird-looking thing out of the bag. “This is a jack. Don’t make it juvenile.”

I don’t respond. Too hot.

I watch and listen as he shows me how to position it, then cranks it to lift the car a few inches.

“Now you can take the lug nuts off all the way,” he says.

“Oh wow. Can I?”

Still, I admit there’s a weird sense of satisfaction in all of this, and I do as he instructs, noticing the way he stands back, keeping an eye on the occasional car that whizzes by. I mean, I don’t know what he’s going to do if one careens our way, but it’s nice that he cares. Sort of.

Ten minutes later, the old wheel is off, spare is on, lug nuts put back in their place.

Other than doing a cursory tightening of the lug nuts using his man muscles, or whatever, he lets me do the whole thing myself, and when I finally stand back up, I’m sweaty and dirty beyond belief, and no small amount of proud.

Even his impassive expression can’t keep me down, and I grin up at him.

To my surprise—and okay, pleasure—he smiles back.

Not a grin, but a smile. It’s slight, but it’s also a little bit proud, and my heart catches in my throat as I realize how much I want to make him proud. At how much I want him to want me, not just as a piece of ass, but as someone important. Someone worthy of him.

Someone worthy of his loyalty.

I tug at the hem of my jean shorts and pretend to curtsy at my tire-changing performance. He’s staring at me hard, as though contemplating something.

The second I straighten back up, I know exactly what he was debating.

To kiss me or not to kiss me.

The heels of Reece’s hands push into my ribcage as he pushes me against the car.

My breath comes out in a whoosh as I collide with the hot metal of Horny, but Reece captures the gasp with his mouth. I forget all about my sweat, all about the fact that my hands are grimy, and that he was hardly a gentleman in making me change the tire myself.

My hands are greedy on his shoulders, the back of his head, his waist, and his hands are equally greedy, touching me everywhere.

His mouth tastes like the mint of his gum, his lips a little bit salty from the sweat.

The kiss turns fast and hungry, and also somehow a little bit sweet for all its spontaneity.

We both ignore the honk of a passing car. Then another honk. It’s finally the long, irritated honk of a semi that reminds us that the side of a highway isn’t the smartest place to make out.

“What was that?” I ask, slightly out of breath.

His gaze drops to my swollen mouth, flicking briefly over my body, before returning to my eyes.

“You want me.”

I blink. “That’s what you have to say? You kissed me.”

“You kissed me back.”

I touch the corner of my stubble-grazed mouth and scowl at him. “So? What are you going to do about it?”

Reece tiredly runs a hand over his face. “Hell if I know, Lucy. Hell if I know.”

Chapter 23

LUCY, EIGHTEEN, REECE, NINETEEN

“Hold on!” Lucy called, scooping another bite of chocolate pudding from the little cup, and with the spoon still in her mouth she opened the front door.

She blinked. “Reece! Um, you’re knocking now?”

He smiled and shoved his hands in his pockets, looking sheepish. “Door was locked. Not used to that this time of day. Forgot my key.”

“Ah,” she said, gesturing him inside. “Yeah, I lock it when I’m home alone. Rapists and murderers and whatnot.”

“And yet, you opened it without knowing it was me,” he said, following her into the kitchen.

She pointed her spoon at him before dipping it back into the chocolate pudding. “You bring up a good point. I’ll write that on my list of Life Tips for College.”

“If you need a list to tell you not to open the door to strangers, I’m having second thoughts about letting you leave in three months.”