Page 15 of Grease Monkey
She scoffs. “Yeah, right. Wyatt, ‘the perpetual bachelor,’ living his best life in the skies and Bowie off in the wilderness with his camera for company?”
“Ah, baby, don’t worry,” Dad coddles, spinning her around and lightly tipping her chin up. “We can always have fun pretending to make more kids while we wait for one of our boys to give us grandbabies.” He shoots me a wicked grin as he loops his hands under my mom’s thighs, lifting her to wrap her legs around his waist and she giggles.
“You guys are disgusting,” I say through choking noises as I grab the beer bottles and my discarded hoodie. “I’m going to wash up and try to scrub my brain of this entire conversation.”
“Okay, okay, we’ll stop,” Mom says, wriggling out of Dad’s hold. Beaming, she hands over a packet of spark plugs. “Here.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, my voice sounding uncharacteristically unsteady as I look at the cardboard package that could ruin my day. Dad nods and I swallow thickly. I’ve put so much time, effort, and cash into restoring this car. She’s the first step in knowing my dream is achievable: if I can fix this baby from a hunk of junk into something sexy and fully functioning, I can make it as a mechanic.
Tearing open the packaging, I carefully fit the spark plugs and drop the hood. Mom squeals with excitement as I round the car to the driver’s seat and glance back at Dad with trepidation.
Here goes nothing.
Chapter Six
Teddy
February
My car is fully functioning. Every time I turn the key and hear the ignition tick over before that classic Mustang roar… chills, fucking chills rack my body, and a sense of pride and accomplishment surges through me. I did this. I made this piece of engineering growl, and it’s like music to my ears. Long gone are the days of relying on Dad’s truck for work. Now it’s nothing but me and my baby on the open road. And with this, the plan to move back to Phoenix is in full motion now. While I might not know everything I need to make it on my own, this is no longer a pipe dream. It’s real, and I can practically taste it.
The only thing that would make all of this better would be seeing Ana again. For two weeks, I’ve been ghosted. Left on read. I’m starting to think asking when I’d get to see her ‘O’ facemighthave been a mistake. What did I think the reply would be?Sure, no problem. Your place or mine?I wanted to apologize, but after I fitted the spark plugs and heard the engine’s powerful roar, my last message to her was forgotten until the following day. By then, it felt weird to say anything. So instead, I’m hiding like a goddamn pussy, conflicted with leaving her alone and craving to speak to her, to touch her soft skin, to be around her again.
I turn up the volume of the radio, drowning out the hammering of the rain on the roof as I finally drive home after a long-ass boring day of inventory. Driving past a bus stop, I double take, looking up to the rearview mirror and spot Ana alone, like thinking about her makes her appear like magic. She’s soaked through, her flimsy jacket doing nothing to protect her from the weather as she holds it over her head. Her curls are flat and sticking to her face and her navy shirt clings to her body like a second skin, plastering to the curves of her tits, her flat stomach, and disappearing into the short private school skirt hovering above her knees. I’m still staring at her through the window, waiting for a stoplight to turn green, my thumbs drumming a beatless tune against the wheel.
Leave it, Teddy. I’m sure she’s fine.
…Fuck it.
Yanking the wheel hard, the car almost aquaplanes in the middle of the road as I do an illegal U-turn and pull up beside her. Thank fuck no one is around to see that.
“Ana?” I call loud enough to be heard over the rain. “Are you okay?”
Her arms tighten around her waist as she nods with a shiver. “I, uh… yeah, I just missed the bus.”
“Your mom lets her precious princess take the bus like some commoner?” I gasp jokingly, although, come to think of it, it actually is surprising. Mrs. Adler is so concerned about their public image, I’d have thought the idea of being caught dead setting foot on public transport would be a hard no.
“Of course, I’m allowed to take the bus. I’m not a child,” she snaps, folding her arms across her chest and fighting a shiver.
I hold my hands up in surrender. “Okay, sorry, didn’t mean to upset you.”
Her shoulders drop from around her ears and her face loses some of the tension held there. “Mom doesn’t know I take the bus. It was hard enough convincing her to let me walk to school. Usually when the weather is bad, she picks me up, but she’s out running errands for another campaign meeting, or charity lunch, or whatever Dad has planned.”
“So she expected you to walk home in the rain?” I ask, almost with a growl. How fucked up is that.
Ana glances up the street before shaking her head. “No. I told her Shay’s mom was driving me home.”
I laugh at the little white lie she told her mom, like it is some huge act of defiance against her strict rules set by her parents. She smiles, nervously itching the back of her neck.
“You won’t tell her?”
I shake my head and draw a cross over my heart. As if I’d willingly speak to her mom, let alone tell her something that isn’t a big deal like taking a bus. Oh, the horror.
“Do you want a ride?” I offer. She looks at my car, weighing up the pros and cons of getting in the vehicle with me. “C’mon, baby, get in. We live next door. I’m going that way anyway.”
She bites her bottom lip, and fuck me if that little movement doesn’t make my dick stir in my jeans.
She nods, hitching her bag farther onto her shoulder, and runs to my car. I stretch out over the console and open the passenger door. As she slides in, I study her placing her tote bag and balled-up jacket between her feet in the footwell and tugging at her skirt. The hairs on her arms, as much as they are soaked from the rain, are standing on end, tiny goosebumps prickling her skin, and she fidgets in the seat. Shivers rack her body, and my gaze drops to her chest, where her nipples visibly poke through her thin shirt. Two round peaks standing at attention, begging for my hands, my lips, or my tongue to touch them.
