Page 84 of Grease Monkey
But then why does that sound like the hardest thing I’m ever going to have to do?
Chapter Thirty-Four
Teddy
I’m cleaning up my workbench when the bell above the door dings, and Morgana walks in, looking flustered.
“Sorry I kept you,” she says, flicking her wet hair over her shoulder and shaking out her arms. “I couldn’t get an Uber, and when I did, I had put in the wrong address, and he wouldn’t let me change it, and when I got dropped off at the wrong location, it started to rain, and well, let’s say it’s the perfect end to a perfectly shitty evening.” She takes a huge breath and shakes her head, looking to the ground. “But why am I telling you this? It’s not like you care.” She sniffs and gestures toward her car, her head hung. “So, it’s ready?”
I nod, scooping the loose nuts from the bench and putting them inside an old soup can I’d cleaned. I need to sort this shit out. Get nice boxes with homes for everything that all slot away instead of the current system. It’s organized chaos at its finest.
I dust my hands down my legs and eye Morgana’s wet clothes.Yeah, I’m a fucking asshole.Taking the three steps needed to stand in front of her, I notice her hair has a soft wave now that it’s wet as I tower over her. My fingers itch to brush the flyaway strands already dry from her face, which is not okay. Fuck’s sake, one thought about being nice to the girl and I’m slowly drifting back to my old ways with her. She’s engaged. To another douchebag. He is the one who gets to brush her hair back from her face. I’m just not going to be as big of a dickhead around her now. But I don’t like feeling something’s up with her, and not just from the tone of her voice when I called earlier, but she won’t stop staring at the ground. Her shoulders are slumped, and she looks small, like someone crushed her spirit.
“It took some of her sparkle from her. Don’t take any more.”
“Yeah, it’s ready,” I say hoarsely and then clear my throat. Side-stepping her, I shake myself out of whatever gross emotion seeps into my consciousness as I open her car door and slide inside. Pressing my foot to the break and holding down theOnbutton, the engine roars to life just as Morgana lifts her head, her lips tilting upward a little, but not enough for someone who should be pleased their car is fixed.
Happy I proved the thing works, I step out, leaning on the door and watching as she slowly walks over, her arms hanging loosely by her sides. She stretches her hand out for the keys and sighs.
“Thank you,” she whispers, looking into my eyes. Long gone are the bright two-toned irises I could have stared at all day when we were younger, trying to work out whether, depending on her mood, the blue hue ever managed to dominate the green. Instead, they’re dull, almost tinged red like she’s been crying.
I lift the keys from her grasp and wrap them in my fingers. “What happened?”
She huffs and rolls her eyes, the first flicker of emotion sparking in her gaze. “Nothing.”
I half-snort, half-laugh at her trying to bullshit me. “Really? Going to try to pull that with me?”
“It’s fine, Teddy. It’s nothing you’d want to hear.”
“Try me.”
“Believe me when I say you don’t want me speaking to you about my jerk of a fiancé.”
“Why not?” I ask, although I’m not sure I do want to know. But I’m trying to benice,and for some unknown reason, I’m not ready for her to leave yet. Because once she does, there won’t be any reason for us to see each other again. And if I’m being honest with myself, the idea of that sits worse than when I first seen her in my garage. My head is so messed up when I’m around her.
So, crossing an ankle over the other, I lean against her car, my arm resting on the open doorframe, trying to look casual, instead of like I’m ignoring the incessant buzzing of my mom’s words in my head or how her looking upset stirs something deep inside me making me want to end the fucker for making her feel like that.
“It’s weird,” she whines, and my stomach does this weirdwhooshat the sound. She was never one of those girls whose whines would make my teeth ache. Hers was always soft and had a throaty quality I fucking loved. And hearing it now, knowing that asshole who gets to call her his hears it any damn time he wants and probably doesn’t appreciate it like he should… Fuck, it makes me feel a possessiveness toward her. Something I long thought was dead and buried in the graveyard of memories surrounding my heart.
I should just ask her to leave. Talking to her about her love life is a mistake, but I stand up and close her car door, pocketing her keys, which ultimately forces her to stay.
Teddy… This is wrong.
She lifts her eyebrows in surprise, a silent question crossing her beautiful features. But I’m lost; I’ve no fucking clue why I did that, either.
I scrub a hand across the scruff on my face.
“I’ve got vodka in the office if you think it would make it less weird?” I ask, shrugging a shoulder as I take off for the office and hope she follows. “Let’s make a drinking game out of it. Every time it feels like it’s getting weird, we’ll take a shot.”
Her laugh is loud enough that I don’t have to turn to know she’s behind me. She takes her jacket off, hanging it on the hook reserved for my overalls, and places her handbag and laptop case by the door.
“If I were a betting girl, I’d put down money that you’re happier when you know I’m upset, Teddy Grant.” Her tone is teasing, but hearing her say that is almost like a kick to the gut. Does she honestly believe that? I mean, I guess my track record recently with her could argue that, yes, I do enjoy it, and that makes my chest tighten uncomfortably.
Swallowing thickly, I walk to my desk and open the bottom drawer, taking out an almost full bottle of vodka and two glasses. Gesturing with my head, I motion for her to sit as I place the glasses on the engine coffee table and pour a sizeable amount inside. Handing one glass to her, I take the other and hold it out. She clinks hers to mine, and I sink the contents in one go, reveling in the burn. Morgana, however, takes one sip and grimaces, her face cutely scrunching up. Her nose wrinkles, her eyes tightly shut as she shakes her head, trying to work through the afterburn of this cheap as-shit liquor.
I chuckle, flopping into the seat beside her and refill my glass. “Ready to talk yet?”
“Nu-huh,” she mumbles, bringing the glass back to her lips and whispering, “one, two, three,”before taking a deep breath and swallowing the rest of the drink. She exhales, and I swear you can see heat waves coming from her breath as she sticks out her tongue and palms her chest.
