Oil on the Puddle
Bella's hunched over the hood of her truck, her hands clasped over the dipstick handle pulling with all her might. Jacob-warm, half-naked, and flirtatious- leans over to check her work, his body pressing against hers. Bella's breath quickens slightly, but she sets her jaw and forces herself not to think about the heat spreading through her.
She pulls again.
"Like this, right?"
Ominous and foreboding, the metal creaks.
"Fuck!" Jacob clamps his hand over hers. She's going to break the car if she's not careful. "No, you do it like this."
He guides her hand with his. A flick of the wrist and with a pop the stick is out.
But Bella's not paying attention, hasn't been since he grabbed her hand.
Heart racing and blood thumping tumultuously in her ears, she strains to hear him as he points to places on the thin strip of metal. She should be paying attention, needs to, to keep her car (and herself) out of trouble, but her hand's still in his, and his breath (hot, oh, so hot) is fanning her neck, and she can feel the languid pulse of his heart through her back.
She doesn't notice he's stopped speaking until his lips, just slightly, brush against her ear. Her heart skips, stops, and reboots.
Then he pulls away. Towel and dipstick weigh heavily in her hands.
Bella doesn't have to turn around to see the triumphant smirk on his face.