KEEPING UP WITH JULIAN as he took long strides across my parking garage was nearly impossible. The still air made breathing difficult, and sweat began gathering in all its typical spots while I tried not to fall too far behind. My bed and my to-be-read pile of books were calling to me from a few floors above, but Julian was insistent. Arguing with him further would only involve a risk I wasn’t willing to take. If I opened my mouth now, he’d likely hear how wildly out of breath I was, and I didn’t need to give him another reason to make fun of me.
“It’s the white one, right?” he asked over his shoulder.
Luckily, I was able to answer with a nod.
Julian marched the rest of the way to my car without saying a word. My apartment complex allotted me the parking space in the furthest corner, which I didn’t mind unless I had groceries to haul in. Or unless I’d been wearing the same pair of heels for nearly twelve hours. Like right now.
“You should request a better spot so you’re not walking across this entire garage by yourself at night,” Julian said, assessing the situation with his hands on his hips.
I wiped my sweaty palms on my dress as I came to stand beside him, hating how sticky I felt. Usually the dankness of the garage felt cool on my skin, but the humidity stuck to me tonight.
“Why do you assume that I’m alone?”
I raised a brow at Julian and hoped I didn’t sound like I was still trying to catch my breath from keeping his ridiculous pace.
Julian’s gaze cut to me, sharp in its perusal. He pressed his lips together, his jaw clenching before he switched his attention to my car again.
“Maybe because you needed my help finding a date?” he muttered, chuckling beneath his breath as he held out a hand. “Give me your keys so I can back it up.”
Goddamn him. A flush rose from my neck to my cheeks, and I straightened in defiance.
“I can back it out myself,” I snapped, getting in my car before Julian could be more of a demanding ass. After reversing enough for him to have plenty of working space, I rolled to a stop and winced at the horrible squealing noise that happened whenever I so much as touched my brakes.
Julian had his arms crossed with his brows furrowed when I got out of the car.
“That’s the concern, I take it?” He glared at my front wheels and then my back ones as though he had the power to fix the brakes with laser vision. “Anything else you’ve noticed besides the squeaking?”
I shook my head.
“I tried to tell you it wasn’t an emergency,” I said, sensing he was about to say something to belittle the problem or indicate I was wasting his time—even though this was his goddamn idea.
But as I leaned against my car, Julian remained quiet. I could see the gears in his head turning, winding up. I waited, trying to be patient. But patience had never really been my forte, and when at least a minute had gone by without Julian saying a word, I dropped my keys on top of my car, hoping the loud clanking would get his attention. When it didn’t, I sighed.
“Just forget about it.”
“I’m not going to forget about it.” He jerked out of his trance and tipped his head toward my trunk. “I assume there’s a jack in here?”
I looked pointedly at his attire, sweeping my gaze up and down. “You’re really going to jack up my car and look at my brakes in your little attorney getup?”
Julian replied by stepping forward while shrugging off his suit jacket, dropping it to the garage floor. I frowned while staring at it, unable to think of anything but how dirty it would get, and when I looked up again, Julian was even closer. His eyes bored straight into mine while he hooked a finger in his tie, working it down until it was loose enough to yank one end out of the knot. His tie joined his jacket on the ground before Julian undid the top buttons of his white dress shirt.
If I thought I was sweating before, it was nothing to the stickiness on my palms once Julian began intently rolling his sleeves without breaking eye contact.
To my shame, I looked away first—just for a second—to watch his fingers capably fold fabric over veiny forearms. Shit. I knew he was trying to make a point, but I hated how effectively he was doing it.
“Didn’t realize you were afraid of a little bare skin, Rosie,” he said, repeating my words from earlier in a low-toned challenge.
Accepting Julian’s dare, I flicked my eyes over him and all his exposed skin, which rippled over an annoying amount of muscles. “I’m not, Julian.”
“Okay.” He cocked a brow, gesturing to his refreshed attire. “Is this better, then?”
The shrug I gave him was a definite attempt to act like I wasn’t bothered by his unbuttoned shirt, rolled-up sleeves, and annoying smirk.
“I mean…” I cleared my throat. “If you manage not to get that white shirt dirty, I’ll be impressed.”
The corner of his mouth kicked up even further, and to my horror, he damn near closed the distance between us, causing me to stumble back into the side of my car. Julian’s sharp eyes danced with amusement as he placed a hand on the car roof behind me, leaning in. His lips found my ear, his breath fanning across my skin.
“I’m not afraid of getting dirty, Lily,” he murmured before snatching my keys from the top of my car and stalking off to pop the trunk.
I swallowed past the sudden dryness in my throat. “Then have at it.”
Julian glanced up, smiling at me above the popped trunk. “I will.”
Leaving it at that, he began pulling equipment from the spare tire compartment, and I was abundantly relieved that there was some space between us again. Not nearly enough, but it would do for now. My attention switched to my feet, aching in my favorite pair of pumps. They were perfectly comfortable for a typical day in the office, but today was anything but typical.
Unable to bear it any longer, I kicked them off. Julian glanced quizzically at my feet as he walked by with his arms full, and I shrugged. “If you’re going to get comfortable, so am I.”
Even though dirt undoubtedly covered the ground, the cool concrete felt good on the bottoms of my feet. I’d just have to take a long, hot—well, maybe cold—shower tonight.
“Feet hurt?”
I nodded. “They’re killing me.”
“Maybe if you didn’t wear torture devices for shoes.” He scowled at my heels as if they’d personally offended him.
I decided not to dignify that with a response. Julian had made it clear on more than one occasion that he didn’t understand fashion in the slightest. Instead, I watched as he began jacking up the car to remove the front driver-side tire.
“How do you know it’s that one?” I asked.
“Heard it when you braked earlier,” he grunted, the muscles in his now-bared forearms flexing while he tried to loosen the lug nut. He gripped the breaker bar with both hands, throwing his whole body into it while he pulled his lower lip between his teeth in concentration. I watched with far too much fascination until Julian finally got the bar to twist with one final heave.
“Front driver side was the loudest one,” he continued as though he hadn’t just acted like a total muscleman show-off. “Although they all squealed. Hold this, will ya?”
I held my hand out without thinking, and Julian dropped the lug nut into it. Then I bit down on my tongue as I stood there for the others, hating that I was letting Julian—of all people—tell me what to do. It would benefit me in the long run, though.
“Have you had someone else look at this recently?” he asked, twisting back to look up at me after he’d removed the tire and some other car parts I couldn’t name. His auburn waves fell back from his face as blue eyes scrutinized me.
“I had my brake pads replaced—”
“They used cheap ones,” Julian cut in before I could even finish. “They’re not ceramic, and they should be.”
And with that, Julian began putting the wheel back together again.
“So I should go back and request ceramic brake pads?” I asked, wanting to make sure I understood my next steps.
“Don’t bother.” Julian stood, wiping grease-covered fingers on his black slacks, making me cringe. Before I could ask for clarification on what he meant by that, he jumped in the driver’s seat to pull the car back into its parking spot. When he slid back out, he added, “I’ll take care of it so it’s done right. I can pick up the supplies from my dad’s shop when we’re home this weekend and fix it next week.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I’ll do it Monday,” Julian insisted, swiping his jacket and tie off the ground. “Now, come on. It’s getting late.”
Couldn’t argue on the late part. I grabbed my heels without hesitating, eager to put an end to this night. But when I tried to straighten, shoes in hand, my entire world momentarily tipped. Careened. My scream bounced off the walls of the parking garage as a strong arm looped beneath my back and my knees, and I realized—with a fair bit of horror—that Julian was carrying me.
“What the hell are you doing?”
When he spoke, his words brushed across my hair. I felt them—like a breeze. “Seems a bit obvious, doesn’t it?”
“Maybe not as obvious as you’d think,” I hissed before trying to shift, wondering if I could roll out of his arms and back into a more composed position. But Julian’s grip tightened. His fingers pressed securely into my sides, just like they had at the football game last week.
“Julian, put me down,” I demanded when I realized I couldn’t escape on my own.
“No.”
“Julian.”
“I saw at least two broken bottles earlier,” he said plainly. “And I don’t know about you, but I’d like to get home. Which means I really need you not to slice your feet open.”
“If you had just told me that, I could have put my shoes back on.”
“You mean the torture devices?” he corrected. From the corner of my eyes, I saw the wry twist of his lips.
“You’re going to get my dress dirty.” I flicked his fingers, hoping he’d let go. He didn’t.
“No, I’m not. My hands are clean enough.” His voice dropped. “I’d never dare otherwise with you.”
“Sometimes you are absolutely infuriating,” I grumbled, hating how his body heat seemed to be pressing in from all sides. God, I hoped he couldn’t feel how sticky I was. A shower. I just needed a shower. And I needed Julian to stop getting so goddamn close.
The rumble of Julian’s soft laughter vibrated in his chest. I felt it—like an earthquake, shaking my world. I leaned into the comfort of it without thinking. What was wrong with me?
“Sometimes?” he questioned.
When he didn’t put me down even when we got to the elevator, I amended, “All the time.”
The doors slid open, and Julian stepped us beneath the fluorescent bulbs of my building’s outdated elevator. He tipped me back toward the ground slowly, and I had to fumble with my dress to keep it from riding up again as I slid down his front.
Infuriating. Absolutely infuriating.
He stepped back as soon as he could, undoubtedly scrambling to get away from me, and when I’d composed myself, I glanced around the elevator to find Julian on the opposite side of it. His eyes were trained on the ground, but they lifted when I faced him.
Julian and I were like magnets—always had been. We were two same-sided magnets, and the repulsion force was overwhelming. Undeniable. There were times, though, that one of us…flipped. And suddenly, there’d be a pull.
“All the time?” he repeated, eyes bright.
Caught in a magnetic force I was trying to fight, I found it hard to respond.
Julian’s expression tightened. He looked like how I felt inside. “Feeling’s mutual, Daisy.”
