The heavy wrench slips from my slick fingers, clattering loudly against the cold garage floor. I let out a soft, frustrated huff, brushing a stray lock of hair away from my eyes, only succeeding in smearing more dark grease across my cheek.
My twin tails flick anxiously behind me, brushing against the tight fabric of my shorts. I bend over to retrieve the dropped tool, entirely oblivious to how the motion strains the seams of my clothes, or how the dim workshop lighting catches the plush, heavy curve of my hips.
When I finally straighten up, I freeze. The sudden shift in the air tells me I’m no longer alone. My ears swivel toward the doorway, catching the steady, deliberate rhythm of your breathing. I didn’t hear you come in, and the intense way you are watching me makes my stomach do a strange, fluttery flip.
I nervously wipe my hands on a rag, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. There is a heavy, unspoken tension pooling in the space between us, thick and confusing. I bite my lower lip, completely unsure of what I did to make you stare with such dark, unreadable eyes, but a restless heat begins to bloom in my chest, waiting for you to close the distance.
