The next week settled into a rhythm that Kai could almost call comfortable. School mornings blurred with glimpses of the girls changing outfits like they were putting on a quiet show just for him. Lila in soft sweaters one day, flowy blouses the next; Sierra mixing athletic wear with subtle flair; Em leaning into bold crops and tight jeans. Each time their eyes met his lingering gaze, they'd smile—like they'd chosen that day's look with him in mind.
But the real pull was the garage.
Monday through Thursday after school, Kai rode with Marcus or caught a lift with Jazz. The work was steady—oil changes, brake jobs, a stubborn transmission on a farmer's old Dodge. Jazz was always there, coveralls or jeans smeared with fresh grease, curls escaping her bun, sarcasm sharp but warm.
Tuesday she wore faded black jeans that hugged her hips and a cropped gray hoodie under open coveralls, the hoodie riding up whenever she reached overhead. Wednesday it was high-waisted denim shorts and a red tank knotted at the waist, legs on full display as she slid under a Jeep. Thursday she switched to ripped olive cargos and a black sports bra under a loose flannel—practical, but the flannel kept slipping off one shoulder.
Kai noticed. Every time. And she noticed him noticing.
They fell into an easy banter. She'd tease him about "city boy hands" getting dirty; he'd fire back about her cursing in Spanish when a bolt stripped. Accidental brushes became less accidental—her hip against his reaching for the same wrench, his hand steadying her waist when she leaned over an engine bay. Tension simmered, low and constant.
Friday afternoon the garage was quiet. Marcus had left early for a supply run to Billings—overnight, back Saturday. A late-season snow flurry dusted the ridges, but down in town it was just cold rain tapping the tin roof. Only one job left: a simple tire rotation on a Subaru.
Jazz cranked the radio—old-school rock, volume low enough for talk. She'd gone for comfort today: soft black leggings that clung like a second skin and an oversized band tee (Metallica, faded) knotted high on one side, exposing a strip of olive midriff and the curve of her waist. No coveralls. Hair loose, dark curls brushing her shoulders.
They worked fast, routine now. Kai torqued lugs while she prepped the jack. When the car was up, they slid under together on creepers, shoulders almost touching in the narrow space.
"Pass the impact," she said, voice echoing slightly under the chassis.
He handed it over. Their fingers brushed—lingered half a second longer than needed.
She glanced sideways. "You're staring again."
"Hard not to. Those leggings should be illegal."
Jazz laughed low. "Bought 'em just for garage days. Comfy as hell." She arched deliberately as she reached for a bolt, shirt riding higher. "You complaining?"
"Not even a little."
The job finished quicker than expected. Rain picked up, drumming hard on the roof. Jazz lowered the car, wiped her hands on a rag, then hopped onto the workbench like always, legs swinging.
"Storm's gonna stick," she said. "Your dad won't be back till tomorrow. You stuck here till it lets up?"
"Looks like."
She studied him, brown eyes darker in the dim light. "Got beer in the fridge. And heat. We could wait it out."
He leaned against the bench beside her, close enough to feel warmth radiating off her skin. "Sounds better than walking home in this."
She hopped down, grabbed two bottles, twisted the caps off with the edge of the bench. Handed him one. Their fingers brushed again—deliberate this time.
They drank in silence a minute, rain loud around them.
Jazz set her bottle down. "So. You gonna keep guessing measurements every girl you meet, or is that just your icebreaker?"
"Only the ones worth guessing right."
She smirked. "And me?"
"Dead on first try. Means you're memorable."
"Flatterer." She stepped closer, close enough her curls tickled his shoulder. "You know I've never… gone far with anyone around here. Small town. Everybody talks."
Kai met her eyes. "I don't talk."
"Good." Her voice dropped. "Because I've been thinking about you since that first day. A lot."
The air between them felt charged, thick. He set his bottle aside, turned to face her fully. She didn't back up.
"Thinking what?" he asked, low.
"That you look at me like I'm already yours." She bit her lip. "And I kinda like it."
He reached out slow, gave her time to move away. She didn't. His hand settled at her waist, thumb brushing bare skin where the shirt rode up. She inhaled sharp.
"Jazz…"
She closed the last inch, pressing against him, hands sliding up his chest. Their mouths met—tentative at first, testing, then deeper. She tasted like beer and mint gum, lips soft but hungry. His hands moved—one at her lower back pulling her closer, the other tangling in her curls.
Minutes blurred. When they broke for air, her pupils were blown wide, cheeks flushed.
"Office couch is comfier than the bench," she whispered, voice rough.
He followed her to the small back office—worn leather couch, space heater humming. Door clicked shut behind them.
Clothes stayed on, mostly. Hands explored—his under her knotted tee, tracing the weight of her chest, the curve of hip; hers mapping his shoulders, nails scraping lightly down his back. Kisses turned heated, breaths ragged. She straddled his lap, grinding slow, both of them groaning at the friction.
When his hand slipped under her leggings waistband, she stilled him gently.
"Not yet," she breathed against his neck. "I want to. God, I want to. But… I've never. Want it to be right."
He nodded, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. "Whenever you're ready. No rush."
She smiled, soft and real. "You're too good, city boy."
They slowed—kisses turning lazy, affectionate. She stayed curled against his chest until the rain eased to a drizzle.
Headlights swept the lot—unexpected. A truck door slammed.
Jazz tensed. "That's not your dad."
Kai stood fast, moving to the window. A beat-up Ford F-150 idled outside, two men in camo jackets climbing out. One carried a rifle case; the other a duffel that clinked like metal.
"Customers?" he asked.
Jazz frowned. "We're closed. And those aren't locals I know."
The men circled the building, testing the side door—locked—then peering through windows. One shined a flashlight into the bays.
Jazz whispered, "That's the third shop they've hit this month. Tools, fuel cans, anything not bolted down."
Poachers, maybe. Or just thieves taking advantage of rural dark.
Kai's training kicked in—calm settling over him. "Back door locked?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Stay here. I'll talk to them."
"Kai—"
He squeezed her hand. "I got this."
He stepped out the office, flipped on the main bay lights. The men froze.
"We're closed," Kai called, voice steady. "Come back tomorrow."
The bigger one—beard, knit cap—smiled thin. "Just looking for a jump. Battery's dead."
"Jumper cables are put away. Try the gas station in town."
The second guy—skinny, twitchy—shifted the duffel higher. "Come on, kid. Won't take long."
Kai stepped forward, positioning himself between them and the office door. "I said we're closed."
Beard's smile faded. He took a step closer. "You alone here, boy?"
Jazz appeared beside Kai, phone in hand. "Sheriff's on speed dial. You got thirty seconds to leave."
Twitchy hesitated. Beard stared them down a few seconds longer, then spat on the concrete.
"Let's go," he muttered.
They backed toward their truck, climbed in, and peeled out—mud spraying from tires.
Jazz exhaled hard. "Holy shit."
Kai watched the taillights vanish. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Thanks to you." She leaned into his side. "That was… kinda hot, actually. Standing your ground like that."
He wrapped an arm around her. "Dad's rule: protect what's yours."
She looked up, eyes soft in the harsh light. "Am I yours?"
He kissed her slow, answer enough.
The rain had stopped. Stars peeked through breaking clouds.
"I'll drive you home," she said finally. "Before anything else shows up tonight."
The ride was quiet, her hand resting on his thigh the whole way. At the cabin she leaned over for one last deep kiss.
"Tomorrow?" she asked.
"Tomorrow."
He watched her truck disappear down the ridge, then went inside.
Marcus wouldn't be back till morning. Kai cleaned up, mind racing—Jazz's taste still on his lips, the weight of those men's stares.
He texted the girls a quick group message—the first time he'd done that:
*Had some trouble at the garage tonight. Couple guys scoping the place. Heads up if you're out late.*
Replies came fast.
Lila: *Oh my god are you okay??*
Sierra: *What happened? Need anything?*
Em: *On my way if you say the word.*
He smiled despite the adrenaline still fading.
*All good. Just stay safe.*
He set the phone down, checked the locks, and finally crashed.
Outside, the forest was silent again.
But Kai knew now—quiet didn't always mean safe.
And he was ready to stand up for what was his.