Chapter 8- My Girlfriend
1642 Words
For a moment, I just stood there, frozen on the porch, my hand still clutching the doorknob.
Because there he was.
Lucas.
He was lying on his back under a truck parked in the driveway, half his body hidden beneath it. The sound of metal clinking echoed softly as he worked, calm and focused. His movements were sure, steady—strong. Oil smudged his forearm, and when he slid out from beneath the truck at the sound of my voice, time stopped.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt.
The sunlight hit him just right, tracing every line of muscle, every curve of his chest. His skin was tan, smooth, glistening slightly from the heat. I froze where I stood, my brain short-circuiting.
Oh.
Oh, wow.
He dragged a hand over his face to wipe away the sweat, and I swear my breath hitched. His abs moved with the motion—hard ridges that looked like they’d been carved by hand. His jeans hung low on his hips, showing that deep V-line that made my stomach twist.
I was staring. Openly. Completely.
My cheeks burned as my eyes darted up to his face, hoping he hadn’t noticed. But of course, Lucas wasn’t the type to miss anything.
He caught me instantly.
His mouth curved into that faint, knowing smirk—the kind that said gotcha. He leaned against the side of the truck, wiping his hand on a rag, every motion slow and unhurried, like he was fully aware of what he was doing to my poor, scrambled brain.
“Hey,” he said, voice low and rough. “You looking for something?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My throat felt dry again, like all the air had suddenly vanished.
“I—uh—yeah,” I stammered, forcing my eyes away from his chest. “Breakfast. I was looking for breakfast.”
He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “Didn’t I already feed you?”
“Yes,” I blurted, “I mean, yes, you did. I just… wanted to say thank you. And, um, apologize again. For last night. And your car. And your floor. And—”
He let out a quiet laugh, cutting me off. “Avela.”
The way he said my name—low, calm, but edged with something teasing—made my stomach twist.
“Stop apologizing.”
I sighed, rubbing my arm awkwardly. “I can’t help it. I made a mess of everything. You shouldn’t have had to deal with all that.”
He shrugged. “It’s nothing. Besides…” He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I couldn’t just leave my girlfriend at the bar, could I?”
I froze. “Your—what?”
He grinned, like he’d been waiting for that reaction. “Girlfriend. You don’t remember? We made a deal last night.”
My mind scrambled. “What deal?”
“Fake dating,” he said simply, leaning back against the truck. “To make Cameron jealous. You accepted that I'll be your boyfriend. And you, my girlfriend.”
My eyes widened. “Oh my God. That wasn’t— I didn’t think you’d actually—”
“Well,” he said with a lazy shrug, “You agreed and I promised to help you. I don’t break promises.”
I blinked up at him, trying to find my footing. “So… you’re serious?”
He nodded once, expression unreadable. “Completely.”
Something fluttered in my chest—half panic, half something else entirely. “Right,” I managed. “Of course. The fake boyfriend thing.”
He gave me that slow, crooked smile that made my pulse skip. “Exactly.”
For a moment, the silence between us stretched—thick, heavy, charged. His gaze lingered, and I couldn’t tell if he was teasing me or studying me. Maybe both.
I broke eye contact first, glancing down. “Still, I’m sorry about everything.”
He sighed, almost amused. “You really don’t listen, do you?”
“I’m working on it,” I muttered.
He laughed softly, the sound deep and warm.
Then I said, “I think my car’s still at the bar.”
“Already handled,” he said.
My brows pulled together. “What do you mean?”
He nodded toward the side of the house. “It’s in my garage.”
I blinked. “Wait—you went back for it?”
He nodded again, like it was no big deal. “Couldn’t leave it there overnight. Someone might’ve messed with it.”
I just stared at him. “You went all the way back—after taking care of me, cleaning up my mess, and dealing with my drunken rambling—to get my car?”
He shrugged. “Yeah.”
I didn’t know what to say. My throat tightened a little. Cameron had never done something like that. Not once.
“Lucas…” I said softly. “That’s… actually really kind.”
He gave a small smile. “Don’t get used to it.”
“I already am,” I said before I could stop myself.
His gaze flicked up sharply, locking on mine. For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. Something flickered there—something I couldn’t name but felt deep in my chest.
I looked away first, clearing my throat. “Anyway, I’ll shower and get out of your way soon.”
“Take your time,” he said, bending to pick up a wrench. “You’ll find a bag on the counter.”
I blinked. “What bag?”
He didn’t look up. “You’ll see.”
I frowned in confusion but turned to go inside. Sure enough, on the kitchen counter sat a plain black bag. I opened it—and froze.
Inside were black pants and a soft white top. Simple but stylish. And exactly my size.
My eyes widened. “How—?”
He couldn’t have known. Unless… my face heated. No. He couldn’t have guessed from—
Oh God. My cheeks turned red just thinking about it.
I shook my head, mumbling to myself. “This man is something else.”
The hot shower helped a little. The water washed away the headache, the shame, the hangover—and maybe a bit of the confusion too. But when I slipped into those clothes and saw how perfectly they fit, my heart started pounding all over again.
How did he know?
When I stepped outside again, Lucas was still by his truck, this time wiping his hands on a towel. He glanced up as I approached, and for a second, he just looked at me.
Really looked.
Something dark flickered behind his eyes—something that made the air between us spark.
“You clean up fast,” he said finally, voice lower than before.
I smiled awkwardly. “Thanks for the clothes. They fit perfectly.”
“I guessed.”
“Pretty good guess.”
He smirked. “I’m good at measuring things.”
I choked on air. “Excuse me?”
He grinned, not even pretending to hide it now. “Relax. I meant—sizes. Tools. Mechanics, remember?”
“Right,” I muttered, cheeks blazing. “Tools.”
He chuckled, clearly enjoying how flustered I was.
Then he moved—closer this time, not too close, but enough that I could smell him. Soap, metal, and something faintly warm, like cedar. My pulse jumped.
“Your car’s ready,” he said, “Oil’s fine, tires are fine. You’re good to go.”
I looked at him, still trying to catch my breath. “You checked it?”
“Just making sure you’re safe,” he said simply.
Safe. The word did something strange to me.
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
He nodded, stepping aside to open the car door for me. The small gesture—so casual, so natural—hit harder than it should’ve.
I slid into the seat, fingers tightening around the steering wheel.
Lucas leaned down, one arm resting on the doorframe. His face was inches from mine now. I could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the sunlight catching in his eyes.
My heartbeat went wild.
He smiled—slow, dangerous. “Take care, girlfriend.”
The word sent a shiver down my spine.
“Right,” I said, trying to sound normal. “I’ll, uh, see you when I’m back from Paris.”
He tilted his head slightly, that same teasing glint in his eyes. “Can’t wait. Don’t keep your boyfriend waiting too long.”
I swallowed hard, nodding. “I’ll… try not to.”
He straightened up, still smiling, and closed the door gently.
The second he did, I exhaled shakily, pressing a hand over my chest. My heart was beating so fast it almost hurt.
Through the window, I saw him walk away, the morning light catching on his shoulders, his back, his easy, unbothered stride.
He didn’t even have to try—he just was. Effortless. Calm. The complete opposite of Cameron in every way that mattered.
And that was the problem.
Because as I sat there, trying to steady myself, one thought refused to leave my mind.
Cameron might have been my past.
But Lucas…Lucas was starting to look a lot like danger.
The kind that didn’t just break hearts.
The kind that made you want to risk it.
I started the car, but my hands still trembled.
As I drove away, I caught one last glimpse of him in the mirror—standing there shirtless again, arms crossed, watching me go. His lips curved just slightly, like he knew something I didn’t.
My stomach flipped.
“Fake boyfriend,” I muttered to myself, trying to sound convinced. “Just fake.”
- Writer
