Rip let out a breath so deep and slow, his chest reminded me of a balloon that had been pierced with a needle, slowly losing all of its air.

I didn’t expect the next question out of his mouth. “Why do you still work at Cooper’s? And don’t give me some bullshit answer about owing Cooper or liking your coworkers either.”

It only took me a second to think of the truth. “I like fixing things and making them look nice again.” I bit the inside of my cheek, not sure how that sounded, but at this point, I was beyond worrying what impression Rip had of me and the things that came out of my mouth. He should have been used to it by now. “Like… it’s no big deal they aren’t perfect anymore—you know, if they were in an accident—because they’re still going to run. The cars I mean. They’re going to look and run better than before and still have a long, perfectly good life ahead of them. It’s like we’re giving them a second chance.” Well, hell. “I can relate to it a lot, I guess.”

He watched me for a long, long moment.

So it surprised me when he asked slowly, “What’s up with you and wearing your fun shit everyday?”

Oh. “I read a book a long time ago about being happy.” I didn’t care how that sounded or came across. “One whole chapter was dedicated to self-care,” I explained with a little smile. “Wearing something I think is fun everyday reminds me that things are all right. That I deserve to be happy. That I get to choose how I handle things. It made sense to me. I’ll take what I can get. I’m not going to die sad and miserable if I can help it.”

Rip didn’t say a word, but he watched me so closely then I didn’t know what to say.

And in the time it took him to form his mouth into a shape that words could come out of, I had sat up. His arm burned against mine. I didn’t know if he minded me sitting beside him, practically plastered to him, but he didn’t tell me to move away either.

“I know that face. Don’t feel bad for me,” I told him, carefully.

He was looking me right in the eye as he said, “I don’t. Not even a little, baby girl.”

Well. I smiled. “Okay then. Thanks for helping me today.” Then I went for it because why not? “You know, I think you’re pretty freaking wonderful when you aren’t mad at me.”

He didn’t smile back. His voice was warm as he said, heavily, “You’re welcome. Go to sleep, Luna.”

I looked at him for a second, as he looked right back at me with that face and voice I had no clue what to do with, and I said, “Go to sleep, Ripley.”

Chapter 22

I woke up mostly because my phone’s alarm clock was wailing right by my ear, but the crick in my neck that shot through my shoulders and spine helped too.

“Oww.” Groaning as I tried to fish my hand around for my cell, I forced myself to open an eye when I didn’t immediately find it.

And it was all of a second after I’d opened an eye that I realized where I was.

On the couch. Where I’d fallen asleep the night before. Or, really, more like four hours ago.

My hand found my phone tucked under my chest, and I dragged it out, tapping my finger across the screen from muscle memory to get it to shut up, just as something moved out of my peripheral vision. Something…

They were fingers. Long, thick fingers. And there was only one person I knew who had what looked like an M and C on his ring finger and pinky finger.

Those fingers were Ripley’s.

And Rip’s fingers moved right by my face as I lay there, on the couch, on my side.

He’d spent the night with me. Slept on the couch directly beside me. I’d barely had that thought when the pillow under my head moved.

The pillow under my head moved?

“Fuckin’ tired,” Rip’s voice—this even deeper, huskier sound than usual—said from close by as the “pillow” under me moved some more, almost like it was… stretching?

I had my head on his thigh, didn’t I?

“You all right?” that incredible voice grumbled.

I nodded, still trying to put my thoughts together. How he was there. How I had my head on his lap. Mostly how he was there.

He made this husky sound that could have been illegal. “Time is it?”

I peeked at my phone with my one open eye that was more than likely bulging now at my realization. “Six.”

The man I was using as a pillow grunted.

I moved my head to press my ear flat against the leg beneath me. I needed to get up. I needed to tell him thank you for everything he had done. And I needed to get up just because.

But I didn’t do any of those things.

What I did do was slide the tips of the fingers of my left hand under his thigh, like I was settling in to go back to sleep. Like he really was my pillow. Or like I had the right to touch him.

“I don’t wanna get up either,” Rip yawned, the fingers by my face lifting up… and landing on my shoulder, cupping it.

He didn’t say anything and neither did I. I couldn’t even hear him breathing. But I lay there, just for a minute, and thought about all the things I needed to do, starting with getting up and off him. But instead of all that, my mind said later.

The hand on my shoulder gave it a light squeeze that had my eyes going just that much wider. “Take the day off, baby girl. I gotta go into the shop for a few hours, but I’ll come back and help you after that.”

That had me opening both my eyes and staring straight at my cracked television. My beautiful, beautiful television. Okay, it was time to focus on what I needed to do. But I still didn’t immediately move. “I should get to work too. I can’t really afford right now to take a whole day off, but thank you.”

He yawned once more. “I thought you said you had homeowners’ insurance.”

“I do, but I’ve got a feeling they aren’t going to cover everything, and I don’t know how long it’ll take for them to cut me a check,” I explained. “I don’t want to end up being in debt for the next ten years buying everything on credit…” And there went the money I’d been saving for my granite countertops, I realized. Oh well, I guess. They weren’t going anywhere, and mine still did their job and would continue to.

Rip let out another yawn.

“Plus, I’m behind on what I didn’t do yesterday, and Jason never called me, so I have no idea what he did or didn’t do. I can deal with the rest of this stuff—” Never “—after work and during the weekend. I’ll make it work.”

There was silence, and the muscle under me hardened. The hand on my shoulder gave it another squeeze, just as gentle as the one before it. And Lucas Ripley moved his hand from above my arm to graze my cheek… and I held my breath as those rough fingers stayed there. “All right then, let’s go to work.”

Somehow, I managed to stir up a tired smile against his thigh—it was lovely to meet it, and unfortunately we would never meet again unless something like this happened in the future, but I hoped that wasn’t the case—and then I pushed against the cushion under me and sat up. Rip was sprawled as much as possible in a relaxed seated position on my couch, pretty much as melted into it as possible. I had gotten it because it was comfortable, not to be pretty, and with him on there… it was the best-looking couch I’d ever seen, if I said so myself.

With one arm sprawled on the armrest, his shirt was plastered completely to his entire upper body, wrinkled and rippled along his wide ribs, with stuffing from the ruined couch stuck to different places along his sides. His jeans were tight on his thighs… and opened in a V at the crotch, showing just a tiny triangle of black material underneath. That rough, handsome face had “sleepy” written all over it.

I don’t think he’d ever looked better. This sense of longing just…

Sheesh. How was he so freaking good looking all the time? I didn’t need a mirror to know I looked like hell. I’d been looking at myself in the mirror for the last twenty-six years. I knew my eyes were puffy, my face swollen, my mouth swollen. I hadn’t tucked my hair under my head before I’d fallen asleep, so it all had to be sticking out in random directions.