“Hey, Sloane. Long time,” Roger greeted. He looked almost the same as he had in school. Maybe a bit heavier and a lot more tired. He grinned. “Heard you’ve been setting the internet on fire lately.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said with a snort. “But it’s good to see you.”

She glanced at Brady and arched her brow in question. He looked more annoyed than she thought he should. His shoulders were tense, despite the polite resting face he was wearing.

The same shoulders that she kind of, sort of, wanted to weirdly stroke when they were sans shirt?

Dammit, Sloane!

“So I told Roger about Ms. Peggy referring us to him for his boat, and he says he’s game,” Brady said. “But, wouldn’t you know it, there’s a catch.”

Sloane turned to Roger. “Oh?”

The man held his hand up, phone with it, to explain. “Not a catch, really; more like I need a favor first.”

“A favor,” Sloane repeated.

“A favor,” Brady confirmed.

Roger must have picked up on the not-so-great vibes. “Listen, I normally wouldn’t ask, but I’m desperate. Zelda is due in three weeks, and I’m swamped with work because of the festival, and, well, I’m not above holding a boat over an old friend’s head to get some help.”

His smile turned apologetic. It made Sloane nervous.

“Okay, so what’s the favor, then?”

…

Brady had a handful of ass, a mouthful of wood, and was questioning a lot of his choices.

The wood was from the handle of the paintbrush they’d just found in her brother’s garage. He slightly regretted not just dropping the thing when Sloane asked for a boost, so into his mouth it went, just like the flashlight usually did when he was working under the hood of his truck and needed a hands-free light. Now he was grunting around old, weird-tasting wood like a weirdo.

The ass was less of a bad decision and more of a consequence of one. It was of the Sloane variety, and the only way to get her to the box she needed at the back of the high shelf that he couldn’t reach, either, was to give her the height and stability to do it. Could he have done that by interlocking his fingers and letting her step into them instead? Maybe. But using his hands as a chair was a lot easier to control.

At least physically.

Mentally?

Well, Sloane might have been petite, but her ass definitely had some curve. It was, for lack of a better word, juicy.

Even if he was frustrated as hell at the reason why that juicy ass was in his hands in the first place.

Why was he standing in Callum De Carlo’s garage, trying to get a box of painter’s tape, a pan, and a roller?