In Love With Him

Chapter 19

Kennedy’s POV

The next couple of days blurred together in a haze of early mornings, rushed assignments, and the overwhelming dread that came with a full-blown group project already being assigned.

How was it already this exhausting?

Still, by some miracle, I survived the first week of school. Barely.

By the time the final bell rang Friday afternoon, I felt like I’d been hit by a school bus—not just metaphorically, but emotionally, mentally, everything-ally.

Max, on the other hand, practically bounced off the bus like a kid on a sugar rush.

“I’m so pumped for tonight,” he grinned, adjusting his backpack while matching my stride. “Cody and Jamal are bringing their Switch, and I’m making a pillow fort the size of the couch.”

“You mean you’re sleeping on the floor while they take over the couch,” I muttered with a teasing smile.

“Worth it.”

I shook my head, amused by his excitement, but secretly relieved. It meant I could maybe, finally, get a quiet moment to unwind.

We rounded the corner toward the house when I spotted him.

Dominic.

He was out front, hunched over the open hood of his car, sleeves of grease on his forearms, a rag draped over his shoulder—and no shirt in sight.

I froze for half a second. Just half. But it was enough for Max to race past me and disappear into the house, yelling something about beating the final boss later.

Meanwhile, I slowly approached, trying not to stare. Too hard.

But God. That back. Those arms. The way sweat made his skin shimmer just a little under the afternoon sun…

“Built the engine yourself?” I asked, forcing my voice to sound casual.

Dominic glanced over his shoulder, flashing that smugly proud smile of his.

“Yeah. Top to bottom. Cleaned it out and replaced all the original cylinders too.”

I stepped a little closer and peered into the open hood, noting the clean weld lines and the perfectly spaced wiring. I tilted my head thoughtfully.

“You didn’t use the OEM brackets for the intake manifold.”

His brows lifted slightly, surprised. “You noticed that?”

I gave him a tiny shrug. “They’re easier to break when they heat up. Smart using the reinforced set.”

He stood upright then, wiping his hands with a rag and tossing it onto the workbench nearby.

“You know a lot about cars,” he said, almost impressed.

I kept my arms crossed, leaning one hip against the fender. “I’m working on my own. I know a thing or two.”

His smirk deepened. “Can I see it?”

I hesitated. Not because I didn’t want to show him—but because, weirdly, the idea of him seeing something that felt so mine made me a little nervous. But eventually, I nodded.

“Sure. It’s in the garage.”

I led the way, opening the side door and flipping on the overhead light.

Dominic let out a low whistle the second he stepped inside.

“Damn… this yours? You rebuilt this?”

“Every bolt and frame,” I said proudly. “It’s a ‘62 Corvette Stingray. Stripped it down completely. I just need to finish reconstructing the engine and choose the final paint color.”

He walked around it slowly, admiring every detail. Then leaned in under the hood, where I’d left the engine half-disassembled.

“What’s giving you trouble?” he asked.

“That.” I pointed toward the intake valves. “They’re not syncing with the timing belt no matter what I do. I think it’s off by a half millimeter.”

Dominic crouched down and studied the section carefully. Then he reached up and adjusted the tension on the belt slightly.

“Try it now,” he said.

I flipped the switch and the engine turned with a soft, satisfying click.

I blinked in surprise. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He grinned and stood. “Just needed a little torque compensation. That was almost a perfect install, princess.”

My eyes flicked up to his—he’d said the word again.

That damn nickname.

But this time it didn’t make me cringe.

There was a beat of silence between us.

Not awkward. Just… thick with something I couldn’t name. The air felt charged.

His eyes flicked to my lips—God, did that just happen?—but before either of us could speak, a voice echoed through the garage.

“Hey! Who wants pizza?”

We both jumped.

Dad walked in with his tie loosened and a couple folders in his hand.

“Max has friends coming over,” he added. “Thought I’d feed the gremlins. You two want some?”

Dominic and I both said “Sure” at the same time—then looked at each other.

I saw the faintest flicker of a smirk on his lips before he turned toward my dad.

I looked away before he could see the blush creeping up my neck.

---

Dominic’s POV

The hood of my Camaro was propped open, sunlight beating down on my back, glinting off the polished metal of the engine I’d spent the last three days fine-tuning. A soft clink echoed as I adjusted one of the mounts, sweat rolling down my temple. I didn’t mind the heat—it gave me an excuse to lose the shirt and focus. Just me and the engine. No distractions.

At least, that was the idea.

Until I heard her voice.

“Built the engine yourself?”

I turned my head, and there she was—Kennedy—standing in the driveway with her bag slung over one shoulder, the late-afternoon light hitting her just right. Her dark hair was loose, her eyes curious, and something about the way she held herself—confident but guarded—made something in my chest thud.

“Yeah,” I said, offering a small smile. “Top to bottom. Cleaned it out and replaced all the original cylinders too.”

She stepped closer, peering into the open hood. I waited for some throwaway comment, but then she pointed something out. Sharp. Detailed.

“You didn’t use the OEM brackets for the intake manifold,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact.

I blinked, genuinely impressed. “You noticed that?”

“They’re easier to break when they heat up. Smart using the reinforced set.”

I couldn’t help it—I stood up straighter. “You know a lot about cars.”

She shrugged. “I’m working on my own. I know a thing or two.”

That got my full attention.

“Can I see it?” I asked.

She hesitated, like she wasn’t sure if she should share it with me. But then she nodded “Sure. It’s in the garage.” and motioned toward the garage.

When she opened the side door and flipped on the light, I stopped short.

Damn.

A ‘62 Corvette Stingray. And not just any rust bucket halfway through a restoration. This thing was stripped down, pristine, and begging for power.

“Damn... This yours?” I asked, circling it slowly. "You rebuilt this?"

“Every bolt and frame, It’s a ‘62 Corvette Stingray. Stripped it down completely. I just need to finish reconstructing the engine and choose the final paint color.” she said, her voice proud but modest.

I leaned in over the half-finished engine block. “What’s giving you trouble?”

She pointed to the intake valves. “That. They’re not syncing with the timing belt no matter what I do. I think it’s off by a half millimeter.”

I crouched, reached in, and adjusted the tension ever so slightly.

“Try it now,” I said.

She flipped the switch and the engine clicked with a satisfying purr. Her jaw dropped.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I grinned. “Just needed a little torque correction. That was almost a perfect install, princess.”

Her eyes flicked up to mine, and for a second—just a second—I saw it. That heat. That same quiet tension I’d felt on the couch the other night when my hand was inching up her thigh and Max ruined everything.

The air was thick between us, her lips parted slightly like she might say something. I could smell her shampoo—coconut and vanilla. Sweet. Warm. Intoxicating.

God, I was in trouble.

Before I could even think about what the hell I was doing or not doing, the sound of a familiar voice shattered the moment.

“Hey! Who wants pizza?”

Her dad.

I straightened up a little too fast, tossing the rag back over my shoulder like I hadn’t just been thinking about kissing his daughter in the garage.

Paul stepped inside, loosening his tie. “Max has friends coming over. Thought I’d feed the gremlins. You two want some?”

“Sure,” Kennedy and I said at the same time.

We looked at each other, and I couldn’t help the smirk tugging at my lips. She looked away before I could really see her reaction, but the pink coloring her cheeks gave her away.

I followed Paul back toward the house, trying like hell to push the tension out of my chest.

Yeah.

I was definitely in trouble.