Page 102 of That Moment
“You don’t know that,” I mutter, remembering the warning he gave me that night when we were playing pool. “He’s Axel Slade. He’s genetically incapable of shutting up.”
Adrienne leans against the fender, folding her arms, her eyes bright with amusement. “You really think he’s running to tell Aiden and my dad? Please. He’ll milk this for weeks before he says anything.”
“Great,” I deadpan. “That’s so much better.”
She laughs again, and I swear the sound undoes me more than her mouth ever could. It’s the sound that always makes me feel grounded, reminds me of careless summer days running around with her and her brothers.
I toss the wrench onto the tray and take a slow step toward her. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
She shrugs one shoulder, a smile turning sly. “Maybe I just like seeing you sweat a little.”
“Yeah?” I close the last bit of distance, hands braced on either side of her on the hood. “You sure about that?”
Her breath catches, but she doesn’t back away. “Pretty sure.”
“Because I can give you something to really sweat about,” I murmur, my voice rough.
“Promises, promises,” she teases, but there’s a tremor beneath the words.
I dip my head until my mouth hovers a breath from hers. “You’re sure about this?”
She blinks, the teasing faltering just enough for me to see the truth flash across her face. “About what?”
“Us,” I say quietly. “About letting it just… play out. No labels. No pressure. Just seeing where it goes.”
Her smile softens, all the mischief melting away. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
Something in my chest eases, even as every other part of me stays wired tight from being pressed against her. “Good.” I nod once, thumb brushing her hip. “Because I like slow. Gives me time to figure out what the hell this is.”
Her fingers slide up my chest, resting over my heart. “Slow’s good.”
“Yeah?” I murmur. “Then let’s start with finishing cleanup before your brother circles back and decides to beat my ass.”
She smirks. “You’re no fun.”
“I’m alive, for now. That’s fun enough.”
She leans in anyway, brushing her mouth against mine in a slow, lingering kiss. I cradle her jaw, deepening it just once before pulling back with a groan that’s half frustration, half pleasure.
“Let’s finish up,” I say against her lips. “Before I forget why that’s a bad idea.”
She grins, sliding past me with a sway of her hips that makes it impossible to focus on anything else. “Better hurry then, Bescher. You’re already distracted.”
“Always am with you,” I mutter, mostly to myself, grabbing a rag and forcing my hands to move before they find their way back to her instead.
Adrienne’s taillights shrink down the road until they’re a pair of red pinpricks and then nothing at all. That soft, nervous laugh she left me with when she pressed her lips against mine in a goodbye kiss still lingers.
I’m grinning like an idiot to nobody. Can’t help it. We actually talked. Didn’t slap some too-cool joke over the top of it, didn’t run.
Slow. We said slow. I can do slow for her. I need to slow down, too.
I roll the bay door up another foot and let the evening drift in. There’s a hint of rain somewhere on the horizon. I grab a rag and glance around for anything to busy my hands so I feel grounded and not like I'm floating ten feet above my body.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, Barbie,” I say to myself, glancing over at the Mustang. I grab the cover and start to drag it up the car, but something catches my eye. I lean into the driver’s side, and something at the footwell winks at me. Just a flash, quick as a fish turning. I bend further, reaching for the item that’s tucked half under the mat.
“Hey now,” I murmur, pinching it carefully. It’s a thin silver chain, kinked, delicate as spider silk. It lifts light as breath, a broken clasp dangling from the end. The chain runs to a small oval locket with a delicate floral design. I stand back up, leaning against the car as I struggle to open it, my thumbs far too large and calloused for the delicate clasp. But finally, it gives.
Inside, there’s a grainy, sun-faded photo. It’s a tiny Adrienne with summer-wild hair and sunburnt cheeks, maybe six, maybe seven, laughing like she can’t hold it, arms slung around her dad Hudson’s neck.
