Page 12 of Revv
Cece opens her mouth like she wants to argue just on principle, then rolls her eyes and reaches inside the car through her window. The hood releases with a dull click, and I step in front of it, close enough that when she moves beside me, her shoulder brushes my arm.
Not much.
Enough.
She smells like warm skin, something sweet in her hair, and the leftover bite of the night air. My hand stills on the hood for half a second too long.
She narrows her eyes. “You know cars?”
“I know a lot of shit, Mama. There’s more to me than hard abs, bad decisions, and a mouth that gets me in trouble.”
“Right.” Her gaze drags over me, slow enough to be insulting and not nearly slow enough to be innocent. “That sounds exactly like something a man says right before he makes everything worse.”
“I’m wounded.”
“Qué pena. You’ll survive.”
“For you? I’ll try.”
Her mouth twitches.
Barely.
A quick little betrayal she kills almost as fast as it shows up. I almost point it out just to be an asshole, but I don’t, because apparently I’m growing as a person.
Probably.
I lean in over the open hood and check the battery again, feeling her standing way too close beside me. Not touching. She’s near enough that I notice every little movement without trying. The shift of her shoulder beside mine, the heat coming off her skin, that sweet fucking scent that seems to follow her everywhere and makes concentrating way harder than it should be.
My hand stills on the battery cable.
“When’s the last time you had this looked at?”
She crosses her arms. “Define ‘looked at.’”
“Jesus Christ.”
“My mechanic said it had character.”
“Your mechanic hates you.”
“My mechanic is my cousin.”
“Yeah? Then whatever family beef you two have, he’s taking it out on your battery.” I mess with the cable, then nod toward the driver’s seat. “Try it again.”
She slides in and turns the key.
Click.
Nothing.
I try not to smile and fail.
She climbs back out, sees my face, and points at me again. “I swear to God.”
“What? I’m not laughing.”
“You’re spiritually laughing.”
