Page 9 of Egg Me On

He didn’t answer. “There are a few other problems. Possible vacuum leak. Running lean.”

We’d been riding to work together for over a week, and this was more than he’d said to me in all that time. Too bad I only understood about ten percent of it. His knowledge was weirdly sexy, though, the way he innately understood something that was too complicated for me to even imagine the workings of. I stood awkwardly by as he leaned over the engine, poking something.

"It's been a great week at the shop," I said, trying to fill the silence. "We've been selling out by two most days. Turns out bikers really love breakfast burritos."

Cash grunted, which I'd come to recognize as his version of acknowledgment.

"The members are actually really cool," I continued. "Not what I expected at all. There's this older lady, rides a vintage Honda, she comes by every morning for French toast. And the group that works on customs on Thursdays? They pre-order like twenty sandwiches. Tipped me fifty bucks yesterday."

"Mmm," Cash responded, checking something on his phone again, cross-referencing the codes, maybe.

"And Dylan keeps trying to set me up with his cousin, which is sweet but awkward. I'm pretty sure his cousin is straight, anyway."

At this, Cash's head snapped up. "What?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, he thinks I need to 'make time for some fun.' His words. Says I work too much."

Something flickered across Cash's face. It was gone before I could decipher it, and I told myself it was my imagination. I always read too much into people and situations. Mira was always telling me that.

"Your O2 sensor's shot too," he announced, moving to the front of the car. "This thing's a fucking death trap."

He leaned over the engine, and I was treated to the magnificent view of his ass in those worn jeans. The fabric stretched tight across his backside as he bent forward. My mouth went dry.

I forced myself to look away, remembering how he'd stiffened when I'd touched his arm that first day. Straight guys didn't generally appreciate being ogled by gay dudes.

"What?" Cash muttered without looking up.

"Just... wondering why you're helping me. You don't seem to like me much."

His hands paused on the engine. "I don't dislike you."

"High praise," I laughed. "But seriously, you've been driving me to and from work all week, and now you're fixing my car. I'm not complaining, but... why?"

Cash straightened, wiping his hands on a rag he'd pulled from his back pocket. His eyes met mine, dark and unreadable, but he said nothing. Didn’t answer my question at all.

I didn’t know what to do with that.

He turned back to the engine, reaching in to check something. "You need a new PCV valve. And an air filter. Transmission rebuild. And about fifty other things."

I winced. "Sounds expensive."

"I can get parts at cost," he said, still not looking at me. "Labor's free." He slammed the hood and locked the door. “Tow will be here in an hour.”

My heart did a stupid little flip that I immediately suppressed. He wasn't being nice because he liked me. He was being nice because he was friends with Silas and Marcus, and I was their new pet project or something.

"I really appreciate it," I said earnestly. "But you don't have to—"

"Aiden," he cut me off. "Shut up."

I grinned at his gruffness, finding it more endearing than intimidating after a week of his silent protection. Because that's what it felt like—protection. The way he waited until I was inside to ride off, and always scanned the parking lot before he let me walk to my food truck. The coffee that mysteriously appeared at my food truck window every morning.

"I don’t need a ride tomorrow. I need to do grocery shopping," I said, changing the subject. "For the truck. I can just Uber to the store and pay the driver to wait..."

Cash sighed deeply, like I'd just suggested we rob a bank together. "What time?"

“I need more than your motorcycle can carry.”

He eyed me as if I were an idiot, his lips twitching, like he was about to laugh.

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