I just keep my hands on the mower and my greasy hands and definitely don’t think about the fact that I could dirty him up right with them.
Not mine. He’s not mine, he’ll never be mine—stealing a kiss and fucking him for Scarlet’s pleasure isn’t the same as getting to keep him.
“You really that into lawn work, or you still dodging me?” Hunter asks, when the silence between us stretches into something that isn’t comfortable.
I shrug and tinker a little more.
“You’ve got no fucking clue what you’re doing, do you?”
I laugh at that because I really don’t.
Not sure if we’re talking about a lawn mower or life in general, but both are pretty accurate.
“Never stopped me from trying my hand at something, Hunt.” I say, tossing him a flirty smirk.
He answers it with patient exasperation.
“You’re an idiot, cacharro.”
I shrug and nod. “Yep.”
“She wants to see you.”
“She should get used to life’s little disappointments,” I say, dropping the wrench that’s I’ve done exactly nothing with, and pushing to my feet.
Hunt is there, a breath too close, smelling like spice and sunshine, watching me with that infinite patience. “It’s important.”
“She’s got a fiancé for important shit, Hunter.”
He watches me, quiet and calm and I sigh. “She can’t keep doing this. You can’t.”
“All she wants is for you to listen.”
“That is never all she wants,” I say. I turn away and when he moves to follow, I shake my head. “I’m going to shower.”
I stare at him and he waits, patient and calm and I shake my head.
When I emerge from my shower, I’m only a little startled to hear the sound of my lawn mower in the front yard, and not at all surprised to see Hunter, stripped out of his t-shirt, mowing with a precise skill that makes my mouth water.
It’s such a fucking Hunter thing to do.