Page 69 of Changing Lanes

“What the hell took you so long then?”

I only quirk an eyebrow which causes both of his to shoot upward. Suddenly, I’m lifted off the counter and pressed against his rock-hard body. And I mean everything is rock-hard. The contact through my tattered shorts makes me gasp.

“Make another noise like that and we won’t be leaving the house at all.”

A devious laugh slides between us and the temptation follows us all the way out to his SUV.

* * *

“Can you grab that-” Beckett’s eyes widen at the lug wrench hovering over his shoulder and he jerks his gaze up to mine. “How’d you know what I needed?”

“I was helping my brother kick around the garage before I had my first bra.” His eyes drop to my chest and I cock my head at him, asking, “Do you mind?”

Without missing a beat and still openly gaping at my breasts, he nods his head up and down dramatically while answering, “no.”

I let out a breathy chuckle but only when I raise the tool in the air threatening to hit him with it, does he finally snap out of his trance.

“When you said you’d be the only one looking at me, I didn’t know you meant in a sick, perverted way.”

“You should always assume I’m looking at you in a sick, perverted way. My perversion knows no limits.”

Shaking my head, I hop down from my perch on his work bench to help him with the tire he’s trying to remove. We’ve been working together on various forms of transportation all day. It’s amazing to watch him go from being under a standard sedan to the exotic three-wheeler that was just brought in. There’s no question the guy knows his stuff and I bet Ty would love to pick his brain, if given the chance.

Beckett’s knowledge and confidence is also sexy as hell. I find myself fantasizing about his sure fingers about every few minutes and it’s becoming a bit of a problem the longer I’m here with him. He’s both fast and effective but also pays special attention to the minor details most people would likely ignore.

Like now.

The trike was dropped off with a complaint about steering in tight turns so after taking it out in a few twisties of our own, we’re back in the shop with it hoisted on the lift as Beckett adjusts the back wheel. Hands down it was the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed and I’m still riding the high of watching him in his element. His strong arms laced with throbbing veins expertly maneuvering through the sharp curves…easily top five fantasy material.

“What’s that look for?”

I look up to see Beckett boldly grinning at me and I shrug. “I like watching you work. It feels so familiar but different at the same time.” Like most things with Beckett.

His eyebrows dip. “How so?”

Where do I begin? Tysen would spend hours in our old one-car garage, constantly tinkering around with whatever junker he could get his grease-caked hands on. Even in his teens, his hands had grease clinging to every crease. Beckett’s aren’t like that though. You’d never even know Beckett worked on cars for a living by looking at him. His hands are slightly calloused from obvious hard work but nothing like my brother’s. And they’re clean, too. Like obsessively clean. His entire workspace is actually. Which is the opposite of my experience with my middle brother.

The smell’s the same though—a mixture of fuel, oil, and freshly laundered cheap cotton blend. Ty’s pants were cheap, but I doubt Beckett’s are. He’s…particular, I’ve realized. About everything. For someone who laughs his way through life he sure does notice everything around him.

Grabbing my water from lunch, I say with a sigh, “Another life.” One I miss with every ounce of my being.

My roommates’ other friend, Coty, comes out of their office with his gaze focused on the ground. As soon as he notices me, or more specifically my face, his eyes narrow and he swings a glare up at Beckett. Beckett gives his head a subtle shake in response.

This has been happening all day. My forehead is starting to scab up already even through the half-inch of glossy medicine Beckett insists needs to be there. I don’t have the heart to tell him that much isn’t necessary but he’s kept to his word that people wouldn’t bother me so far. I’d say they’re just scared of being slimed but Beckett’s severe glower alone has been doing a pretty good job keeping everyone away from our little bubble.

“Paige, right? I don’t think we’ve officially met. I’m Coty.” We shake hands briefly. It feels weird touching him, like I might get zapped with a taser if our hands clasp longer than half a second. “How are you holding up over there? Everyone treatin’ you alright?”

The pointed stare he gives Beckett is not lost on me. Or Beckett. The guy tosses his rag on his tool box, holding Coty’s watchful gaze with one of his own.

“Actually, I was thinking about moving out already. My roommates are terrible slobs.”

Coty’s eyebrows shoot skyward and we both glance over at Beckett. His arms cross over his chest, the veins in his forearms pulsing like they’re at one of Cynthia’s raves, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I’m just kidding. They’re surprisingly clean.”

My brothers were so messy that anytime we’d make bets, the loser would have to clean something in the house. It was the one thing everyone agreed on—the house was a pigsty and the boys were the pigs. Even our mom would try to get out of cleaning. That became a regular punishment in our teen years. I’m not sure if it did the trick though since they’re still shitheads and not at all clean. I miss them.

“I met your girlfriend last time. Angela? She was really nice.”