Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 112249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Malachi’s denim jeans hung low enough that she could see the black waistband of his underwear, and the sheen of sweat up his back glistened under the alley’s lights.
She didn’t get enough time to admire him before he noticed that he wasn’t alone. Gracen hung up her call first, but his amused laughter rolled down the alley as he stepped off the stool he’d been using to reach inside the engine of the old car. He wasn’t mad at her trick.
“I always hated how small this damn town is,” he told Gracen with a shake of his head.
“Where are you, right next door?”
“Yeah, my roommate and I rent the house across the street with the fenced backyard.”
She headed down the brightly lit—thanks to the security lights installed under the roof’s eaves—alley, passing Malachi’s familiar black Suzuki before she perched herself on an old barstool just outside the small garage.
“Sometimes I think it only feels small here and then it finds a way to remind you that isn’t the case at all,” Gracen said.
Malachi, turning to face her fully while wiping his fingers and hands with a rag he’d pulled off the mechanic’s table, eyed her with an arched eyebrow. She almost considered asking him how long he’d been working on the car, but the sweat-dampened hair hanging down in his eyes answered that question. “How so?”
“I’ve never met you before.”
That made his smile widen. “And?”
“Did you grow up here?”
“Just below Aroostook,” he replied, mentioning the small county just outside of town limits on the other side of the river.
“Me, too. Ah, well, in town,” Gracen clarified with a shrug. “Class of—”
“I didn’t go to public school,” he said, but not unkindly. “Either way, I didn’t make it past the tenth grade. A judge shipped me off to a boarding school in Ontario that was more like a bootcamp. But it was that or juvie, so at least they gave me some semblance of a choice. Can’t say I made the wrong one, all things considered, they got me a diploma and easy admissions across the board when it was said and done. I didn’t see one day of jailtime for being such a puke—it worked out.”
Gracen blinked away her surprise at his blasé attitude about a less than savory history someone else might try to gloss over with another person they didn’t know. She appreciated that he was upfront about it, but on the opposite side of the same coin, would he want her fishing for more information?
Better safe than sorry, she opted to say nothing.
Not that his direct nature stopped the swell of silence that came after he shrugged at her non-response. Gracen fiddled with the sleeves of her gray hoodie while Malachi continued working the grease from his hands.
Or trying.
“This rag isn’t getting it done—give me five minutes?” he asked.
It was almost painful for her to agree when the sight of his arms, roped with bands of muscles that spoke of strength, were far more interesting to watch as he cleaned his hands. She forced herself to let him do what he must with a quiet, “Sure.”
Beyond the roof overhead, Gracen admired the stars dotting the sky’s black canvas. Malachi’s quiet hey brought her back down to earth for a second.
Over his shoulder where he stood next to the car, just beyond the door inside the garage that must have connected to his friend’s apartment, he asked, “Did you still want the pizza?”
Was that a real question?
Malachi was still shirtless, too.
And she liked the way he stared at her.
More than she should.
Suddenly, her schedule tomorrow didn’t really register like it had earlier. She barely even felt that one glass of wine, either.
“Do you have any beer to go with it?” Gracen asked.
“I’m sure I can find something.” His sexy grin winked her way before he disappeared beyond the white door of the apartment. “Don’t go far.”
Right.
No, Gracen was good.
Her night already looked a hell of a lot better.
Chapter 6
I won’t be home until late. I met up with a friend. Don’t wait up, okay?
Gracen checked her text to Delaney for a reply only to find it hadn’t even been seen by her friend yet. She’d heard the familiar rumble of Delaney’s Jeep across the river—probably pulling into the Haus—but she hadn’t been able to see beyond the alleyway of the pizzeria to confirm. Not that it made a big difference.
Delaney would figure it out soon enough.
“Is someone interesting telling you something on that thing?”
The confusing question drew Gracen’s gaze across the now-closed hood of the mustang where Malachi had set up the greasy pizza box between them like a make-shift table. She pulled the stool to one side, and he produced another that appeared to be the same from the back of the dirt-floor garage.
The bottles of beer—dripping with condensation—clinked together when he sat them in the middle of the opened pizza box. Maybe she should be grateful that he cleaned up and put on a shirt when he brought the pizza out, but that wasn’t what she felt about it. It was hard to ignore the way the lack of grease smudges on his jaw and under his chin and his hair slicked back made his features more angular, though.