Page 13 of Grease Monkey
Chapter Five
Teddy
I am many things. A flirt, a fuckboy, a bastard—the last one courtesy of Brittany after I told her our little arrangement was no more. But one thing I am not is someone who laughs at other people’s expense. And God help me, I’m trying not to, but between Dad’s witch cackle and the constant loop of Ana’s beautifully panicked face as she dropped from her window quicker than someone on fire is downright comical.
Although, when that deer-caught-in-headlights expression is replaced with wide eyes, hitched breathing, and an adorable blush that constantly coats her cheekbones, suddenly, my laughter dies. Each of her reactions is raw, refreshing, and utterly different from any other girl I’ve been with. I need to know more about her. She’s a little mystery I’d like to solve. Innocence I’d like to corrupt. And I swear, the whole time she stood watching as I shot my load down Brittany’s throat, there’s a hidden dirty side to her too. A side I want to explore and coax out of her.
And now it’s like we’re connected through one of the most intense and powerful orgasms in the history of all my orgasms, giving me this sort of sixth sense when it comes to her. I could feel her gaze on me the whole time I was working, enjoying those unusual sea-green eyes on me again. So, when my Henley got caught while removing my hoodie, who was I to deny her another glimpse of my abs? It would have been rude to not turn around and let her see everything once more.
Fuck.
I tug at the neck of my Henley, the collar feeling tighter around my throat as my heart pounds under my rib cage. What am I doing? This taunting and teasing from afar is not like me. I usually like to do my teasing up close and personal with her, but today has messed with my head. Dad’s words in his office, the thrill of imagining it was her bringing me to ruin and not some fake princess, have created this psychological pull I shouldn’t—don’t—want. Ana is trouble. She’s not the girl you fuck in the back of a car. She is the girl you bring home to your parents, take out for fancy dinners, makeyour girlfriend.These new thoughts about her are unwelcome and unwanted and need to stop. I’m leaving… eventually. Going back to my hometown to live out my dream, and a relationship will only fuck that up. Long distance doesn’t work. Connecticut doesn’t work. And I’m sure as fuck not dragging someone across the country at twenty years old when high school romances never last.
Even if Ana was down for casual sex, the irrational unease of hypothetically thinking she could be someone I could call on for a booty call, or worse, be non-exclusive friends with benefits with, leaving her free to be with anyone else, doesn’t sit right. It would have to be all or nothing.
Woah, calm the fuck down. That went from zero to one hundred fast, you idiot. Nothing’s happening, nothing’s going to happen, so push those fucking thoughts away. Ana is off limits.
I scrub a hand down my face, turning from her window, and Dad nudges my shoulder with his, a Cheshire smile beaming from under his dark beard as he smugly catches me looking for her. She might not have reappeared, but something tells me she’s still there, hidden out of sight, maybe even a little embarrassed.
“Morgana’s a nice girl,” he says casually as he passes my beer. I might not be able to drink legally, but when Dad and I work on my car together, this has become a thing—bonding and being manly and shit.
“So you’ve said.”
“You could pursue something with her. Maybe?” He cocks his head. “Now you and that O’Malley girl are no more.”
That makes me choke on my beer and Dad chuckles.
“I’m not an idiot, Son. I saw her face when I drove into the neighborhood. She was mad, and there is only one place she could have been coming from, considering you were supposed to be doing a dropoff.”I keep my mouth shut. Deniability is key, but only when I’m not sure how much he thinks he knows. Dad laughs into his bottle, taking a swig, then says, “When a car as bright as a highlighter drives past at the speed she was going, along with the thunderous glare she had on her face, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out you took my advice.”
I throw back half my beer in one gulp. The conversation about my love life is not something I want to talk about again.
“When someone starts sabotaging their cars, that says a lot about them as a person,” I tell him, lifting my head to the late afternoon sun.
“Couldn’t agree more, Son.”
We’re quiet for a beat, listening to the light hum from the seventies rock playing from Dad’s phone he’d left on the driver’s seat when he came out to help me.
“If we’re done gossiping, can we finish working on her?” I ask, angling the bottleneck toward the car. Dad plucks the bottle from my hand just as my phone buzzes from my back pocket. Swiping my thumb over the screen, I read the notification, not needing to click on the banner to knowAddy2000 liked your photoisn’t some random who happened across my Instagram page. The page pops up with a post, a little more than a year old, from a car show with Bowie and me grinning like idiots. My brother’s arm is casually slung around my shoulders as we stand on the sidewalk in Virginia Beach while the cars on show drive by. I smile. Ana’s been stalking my social media page, thatlikea dead giveaway, and I would bet my ’stang that she did not mean to click that.
I flick off the photo and pull up her profile.It doesn’t have much, a couple of pics of her and some brown-haired girl, a skyline or two, but nothing that hugely says,this is the real Morgana Adler. Then again, with the high-profile highly publicized campaigning her father is doing to be voted next Attorney General, that doesn’t surprise me. News outlets, opponents, and anyone who doesn’t want her dad winning would use her account to twist an innocent picture into something sinister.
I pressFollow, and then, because apparently trying to forget ‘all or nothing’ doesn’t exist with her, I send her a message.
@GreaseMonkey69:Why’d you stop staring, babe? You’ve already seen the main attraction. Don’t get shywithme now.
It goes from unseen toReadin seconds, and I begin typing another.
@GreaseMonkey69:You know I don’t mind.
A little thrill runs through me asTyping…appears at the bottom of the screen.
@Addy2000:Can we pretend today didn’t happen?
@GreaseMonkey69:And why would we do that?
@Addy2000:It was inappropriate.
@Addy2000:And rude.
