Previously…
It was just talk—until it wasn’t. Jeff brought the idea, and Harrison said yes, thinking he could handle it. But the moment she walks in, it’s no longer a fantasy. Now it’s real: the girl, the touch, Jeff’s gaze on him while everything he thought he knew about himself starts to burn away.
CHAPTER 5: THE CALL OF THE WILD
THE SOCKET WRENCH slipped in my hand for the third time.
“Shit,” I muttered, dragging the back of my hand across my forehead and smearing a streak of oil with the sweat. The heat under the car was worse than usual. Still air, no breeze, no circulation. Just the sharp, baked-in smell of rubber and grease and metal that’s been cooking all damn day.
I adjusted my grip and tried again, wrenching the bolt with more force than finesse. It finally gave, the tension snapping loose with a groan of metal that echoed up my arm. My knuckles grazed something sharp on the way out, and a second later, blood welled in the shallow cut across my first two fingers.
“Goddamn it.”
It was the last car of the day. A beat-up Camry that smelled like stale fries and too many years without a deep clean. I wiped my hand on a rag and listened to the shop door swing open behind me. Jeff was just getting back from his late lunch, his boots thudding across the concrete in a rhythm I’d know anywhere. He didn’t say anything right away, just moved past me toward his bay like it was any other afternoon. The clink of his tools and the low hum of classic rock followed—familiar, grounding. Normally, it all faded into the background. Today, every sound pulled at me. Every second stretched long. And every thought that hadn’t gone away since this morning came roaring back.
I slid out from under the Camry, wiping my palms on my thighs as I stood. “If you were gonna wait until five to come back from lunch,” I said, loud enough to carry, “you should’ve just gone home.”
Jeff didn’t even look up. “You miss me that bad?”
I rolled my eyes and tossed the rag onto the tool cart. “More like I’ve been stuck under this greasy ass car by myself while you were off enjoying air-conditioning and french fries.”
He finally glanced over, a half-smirk tugging at his mouth. “It was Thai, actually. And you seemed like you had it handled.”
“Yeah, handled it straight into bleeding knuckles,” I said, holding up my hand.
Jeff crossed the bay and took my wrist, inspecting the cut with a practiced eye. “You’ll live. But if you’re lucky, maybe I’ll kiss it better later.”
My stomach flipped. Just like that.
He let go and turned back to his own tools like he hadn’t just set my brain on fire with one offhand line.
I stared after him for a beat, then ducked back under the car, hoping the heat would be enough to burn away the look on my face.
I gave the bolt one final twist, making sure it was tight before easing myself out from under the car. My back ached, shirt clinging with sweat, and I blinked against the harsh overhead light as I sat up, wiping my hands clean on the rag tucked into my pocket. Jeff was still at his workbench, but he glanced over when he heard me move.
“All done,” I said, tossing the wrench into the tray.
“You need a ride home?” he asked, already reaching for his keys like it was a reflex.
I shot him a look. “Did you hit your head at lunch or just forget you’re my ride?”
He smirked, unbothered. “Figured I’d offer anyway. Makes me sound polite.”
I shook my head, lips twitching. “Well, your manners are appreciated.”
He jerked his chin toward the door, casual as ever. “Come on, princess. Truck’s out back.”
Once we got home, I didn’t even wait for Jeff to say anything—I made a beeline for the shower, peeling off my sweat-drenched shirt the second I hit the hallway. In the bathroom, I kicked off my boots, shucked the rest of my clothes, and stepped under the spray before the water even had time to heat up. The first blast hit like a shock, but I didn’t care. I leaned into it, watching the day rinse off me in slow, grimy swirls—black streaks of grease sliding down my arms, gathering at my feet, circling the drain like the end of something.
The door hung slightly ajar, and some reckless part of me wanted Jeff to walk in, shut it behind him, and press me up against the tile without a word. Just take control like he’d done before—rough, sure, like he already knew I wanted it. The image alone had me swelling fast, my cock stirring to full attention before I could stop it.
But he didn’t. So I just turned the water off, stepped out, and toweled off with the kind of practiced efficiency that comes from knowing you’re alone. I thought about putting on clothes before leaving the bathroom, but Jeff and I were past pretending modesty mattered. That line had been crossed, burned, and left smoldering.
Still, the second I stepped into the hallway, something felt... wrong. Not dangerous, not loud. Just off. The air carried something unexpected—sweet, floral, and sharp. Not soap. Not cologne. Perfume.
I wrinkled my nose. “Jeff, are you lighting scented candles again?” I called, walking toward his room.
Then I stepped into the doorway—and froze.
He wasn’t alone.
A woman was perched on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, a drink in her hand. She clocked me instantly.
“This your friend?” she asked Jeff, tilting her head toward me with a smile.
She couldn’t have been more than a year or two older than me—barely past twenty, if that. And I, in all my genius, was standing there completely naked, clothes bundled in my arms like a forgotten afterthought.
She’s gorgeous, bold, and already making herself at home in Jeff’s bed. And Harrison? He’s standing there naked, exposed, and about to find out what yes really means.
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