The bell tinkled, signaling the arrival of another customer, saving her from having to reply.
Though Brook Lynn stood on her tiptoes, she couldn’t see over the wide expanse of Jase’s shoulders. When she motioned for him to move, he simply crossed his arms over his massive chest, stubborn to his core.
Fine. She stepped to the side and peeked around him, her gaze locking on Brad. As he removed his sunglasses, she waited for tingles and heat, wanted to experience them, but...nothing.
Peachy. She smoothed her clothes in place and forced a smile. “You came.”
“Of course,” Brad said, returning her smile with one of his own. “You texted.”
Jase tensed, as if the store had just been invaded by zombies.
“Jase,” Brook Lynn said, “this is Brad Lintz. He owns Lintz Automotive, and he’s a true master of his craft. He’s kept Rusty, my car, running for years. Brad, this is Jase. My boss. My other boss, I mean.”
Brad held out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Jase bristled like a porcupine before he pressed his palm against Brad’s—and he must have squeezed too hard, because Brad flinched. Jase released him and stuffed his hands in his pockets, as if he didn’t trust them, and returned his gaze to her. His pupils had expanded, black completely overshadowing green. A sign of heightened emotion; one she’d seen every time she’d caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror after a fight with Jessie Kay.
He was...angry?
His body language answered the question, shouting yes! He grew stiffer by the second and even braced his legs apart, as if he meant to pounce.
“I should go,” he said. “Don’t forget the list.”
As if she would be thinking of anything else.
He stalked out of the shop before she had time to form a reply, acting as if his feet were on fire.
“Interesting guy,” Brad said.
“Yes.” But he wasn’t dating material. Brad, on the other hand...
He was a handsome man, with well-defined features, tidy dark hair and navy eyes. A combination she hadn’t seen often. He stood just over six feet—though at six-four, Jase towered over him. He was lean and when not wearing his work overalls, always well dressed.
“What kind of list?” Brad asked.
“Oh, uh, something for work.” She tucked Jase’s note into her pocket. And now it was time to nut up or shut up and ask Brad out.
What if he says no?
She’d survive. Maybe cry. Big deal.
“Brad,” she began. Sweat slicked her palms as sickness churned in her stomach. How should she do this?
Do you know what my shirt is made of? Girlfriend material.
I’d rather die.
I don’t have a library card, but do you mind if I check you out?
I’d rather die twice.
“Well,” she said, rubbing at her ears. With Jase here, she’d forgotten how badly they’d been bothering her.
“In your text,” he said, “you mentioned you had something important to ask me.”
“That’s true. I do.” Open your mouth. Create words. “Brad, would you like to go out with me?”
* * *
JASE PACED JUST outside the Rhinestone Cowgirl. He should go home. He had a crap-ton of work to do. He felt as if he was being watched, his neck practically burning with an increase of tingles, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Brook Lynn was currently in an enclosed space with another guy. Alone. Jase didn’t like that—even though he had no right to dislike it—and things just got worse.
He was boss; she was employee. He’d made sure she understood that.
He still didn’t like it.
The girl was chipping away at his armor, and she had no idea she was doing it. No idea that every smile, every joke, every touch between them destroyed a very necessary layer of his protection.
Hell. The armor was already close to disintegrating, wasn’t it?
And now this other man wanted her. That much was obvious. The adoration in his eyes had been sickening. And, if Jase had to guess, the feeling was definitely mutual. Brook Lynn had brightened when she’d spied him.
His hands fisted, the bones aching. He wanted to stomp back inside that store and kick Brad out on his ass. But of course he didn’t. He wouldn’t. It would be considered assault. Worse, Brook Lynn might not appreciate his helpfulness.
Nothing but disaster awaited him here.
He picked up the faint sound of footsteps, coming in behind him, approaching fast. Tensing at the possibility of a threat, Jase spun.
An older man dressed in overalls paused to give Jase the stink eye. “What are you doin’ loitering outside Ms. Edna’s shop, boy?”
Jase breathed, his heart rate slowing. “I’m...thinking.”
“Do yourself a favor. Go inside and buy your girl a fine piece of jewelry.”
Not what he’d expected the guy to say. “I don’t have a girl.”
“Guy?”
“No.”
“Single, then.” The old man looked at the shop door then back at Jase. He shuffled closer and held out his hand. “I’m Virgil Porter of Swat Team 8—we assassinate fleas, ticks, silverfish, cockroaches, bees, ants, mice and rats. You must be one of them city boys who moved here with Lincoln. And I know. Everyone calls him West, but that’s his last name, gosh dern it, and I ain’t calling no one I’ve shaken hands with by his last name. It’s rude is what it is.”
“I’m Jase. And I assure you, that’s my first name.” Unlike with Brad, he didn’t contemplate breaking every bone in Virgil’s hand.