Instead of having hot, sweaty sex last night, Zak surprised the shit out of me, refusing my seduction attempt. But his sweet words soothed the ache of rejection squeezing my heart. He wants me as much as I want him—that much is perfectly clear. He couldn’t get that hard if he wasn’t into me. Right?

He came up to my apartment and we cuddled on the couch while watching Longmire on Netflix. We stayed like that for hours, until sometime around midnight he kissed me goodnight and left.

I sat, staring at the door, wondering what I could do to turn things around. Because I’m ready. I want him. Badly.

But wanting Zak has never been my problem. I’ve wanted him from the beginning.

Cursing under my breath I drop my head into my palms, why can’t I stop second guessing myself?

One second I’m so sure of how Zak feels about me, the next I’m wondering what kind of man turns down sex? And it’s not because I doubt Zak’s character, I don’t, not even a little bit. But myself? I still doubt myself. And I don’t know how to make it stop.

My alarm blares on the other side of my bedroom. I groan and rub the kink in my neck from falling asleep on the couch after Zak left. I woke a few hours later and made the move to my bed, but I couldn’t settle.

Rolling over until I almost fall off the mattress, I drop my legs over the side of the bed and wriggle until my tiptoes touch the cold timber floor.

Shuffling over to my dresser I turn off the alarm, pull out a set of fresh underwear, shorts, and a tank, then enter my bathroom with a yawn. I turn the hot water up and add a little cold to get the temperature just right. Shucking off my jammies I slip under the spray. The hot water feels incredible pounding on my tense neck and shoulders, a sigh escapes me as I relax and enjoy the sensation of pressure easing from my aching muscles.

By the time I finish my morning ritual, I only have ten minutes to spare before I have to leave for work. I make my coffee in a travel mug, rushing out the door I lock up quickly and hurry out to my car.

My Papa is already at the garage when I arrive, sipping his morning coffee as he leans against his old restored ‘67 Ford Galaxie. I smile at him as I approach, and he gestures for me to come in for a hug.

Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Morning, Papa.”

“Buongiorno, Principessa,” he greets and I curl into his embrace, revelling in the comfort only a Pappa’s hug can provide. When I pull away from him, his eyes narrow almost imperceptibly as he takes me in.

I wipe my hand over my cheek. Is there something on my face? “What?” I ask, moving my hand to my ponytail. There’s nothing out of place, but the weight of his stare is making me awfully self-conscious.

“You look…” his eyes roam over me once more, “Unsettled.” His thick Italian accent curls around the word, suspicion clear in his tone.

Twisting away from him, I call over my shoulder, “I’m fine, Papa, I promise,” I blow him a kiss as I retreat to my bay inside the garage. Damnit, how does he do that?

Ambling over to the locker, I stow my bag and pull out my overalls tugging them on over my tank and shorts. My old grease stained overalls bolster my mood, I earned every mark on them, they are my armour, and I am invincible when I’m in them.

By lunch time, I’ve fixed the oil leak in a little Ford Fiesta and started servicing a beautiful Chevrolet Silverado. My stomach grumbles, signalling it’s time to get some food. I take an extra couple of minutes to return my tools to their correct positions. A fact I’m constantly teased about, but hey who do the other mechanics come to when they can’t find their own damn wrench? Me.

Wiping my greasy hands on a rag I unbutton the top half of my overalls and tie it around my waist then retrieve my bag from my locker. It takes less than five minutes to walk to the deli two blocks down from Papa’s garage, and I’m hanging for a fresh panini. Grabbing my usual from the cold case I head outside to sit on the sidewalk and people watch while I eat.

Just as I relax back into the metal chair I chose, I notice Giano—one of my ex’s—weaving through the other tables, then he has the gall to curl his dirty hand around the back of the seat across from me and drop down into it like he belongs here.

My glare is soul deep. I envision him melting slowly, oozing through the slots in the seat, and pooling into a thick gooey puddle under the table. Smiling to myself, I go back to eating my lunch, pointedly ignoring his presence.

“Elisia, baby, don’t be like that,” he coos.

His voice makes my skin crawl. How did I ever fall for his shit? “Don’t call me that,” I snap.

He smirks. “What? Elisia or baby? You used to like it when I called you baby.”

“Either,” I shudder. “Just don’t speak to me at all. I can’t stand your voice.”

He guffaws, “You used to love it.”

A pitying smile curves my lips. “Used to being the key words there, fuckface. You ruined that, not me. So how about you leave me the hell alone and go crawl back to your wife!” I seethe, my smile long since having melted away.

The prick pursued me for weeks when he started working for my Papa last year. He was sweet, always bringing me flowers and complementing me as often as possible. He never spoke down to me like the some of the other men at the garage. Being a female mechanic isn’t a popular career choice and a lot of guys take offence to it.

But Giano never did. He was kind and polite, even pulling up the other guys when they gave me shit. Conveniently, he couldn’t wear his wedding ring at work. It’s not safe. We’d been seeing each other for almost three months when his wife brought his forgotten lunch into the garage for him.

He turned the whole thing on me. Apparently, it’s my fault for not asking if he was married before I agreed to date him. Dickhole.

The longer he sits there, the hotter my blood boils in my veins. His eyes stay fixed on my face, and I refuse to acknowledge him. Stuffing the panini into my mouth again, I take a huge bite, chewing deliberately.

He sighs audibly. “You’re being dramatic. And she’s my ex-wife now. All my loose ends have been tied up. We can be together now. That’s what you wanted. So, quit being such a little bitch about it.”

I snort and push away from the table, the metal chair legs screeching against the concrete footpath. “What the hell would give you that impression?” I don’t want to be with you, you arrogant asshole.” I don’t wait for him to reply, pressing my palms to the cold metal table top, “You’re a cheating scumbag. There is no conceivable circumstance in that I would ever want you back. If you don’t stop this…” I pause, leaning down until I’m just inches from his face. “I’m going to remove your testicles with your own bolt cutters.”

My eyes burn holes through him. He swallows, and I drop my gaze to see one of his hands is under the table, protectively cupping his balls. I raise a brow, urging him to respond.

Adjusting himself in his seat, he straightens, squaring his shoulders. “It’s not like that. She and I hadn’t been close for a long time. So, it wasn’t really cheating,” he tells me, running a hand through his slicked back hair.

My eyes widen and I shake my head, “You’re pathetic.” I snatch up my half-eaten lunch and storm away. What a self-centred buttmunch.