Page 26 of Stupid Dirty

“Thank you! Love you!” he calls back into the garage, getting silence in response.

I guess I have a job now.

Working for Ford isn’t exactly easy, but so far the benefits easily outweigh the downsides. The steady paycheck, meager though it is, is only the start of it. I definitely know a lot more about bike engines than cars, but Ford is a much more patient teacher than I would have expected, and it’s really interesting to learn. It comes naturally to me in the way most things don’t.

Not to mention, doing something every day without my dad looking over my shoulder and harping at me has been more of a relief than I could have imagined. I never realized how much of a constant presence his criticism was until it disappeared.

Silas, you’re never going to compensate for your weight if you keep slacking on your runs.

Silas, personality is as big a part of it as riding. You have to charm these fuckers. That’s what I always did. I swear you cost us the Honda contract with your shitty attitude.

Silas, never forget that I gave up my career because of you. You owe me this. Now focus and get the win.

It was such an intrinsic part of the soundtrack of my life I’d gotten used to it, but now, whenever I’m at the shop, I feel ten pounds lighter.

Not that Dad is that easy to deter. A week into me working here, he’d dragged himself off the couch to come down and start throwing his weight around. He walked in and sucked up all the oxygen from the room, like always. Initially, he claimed he was there to take me to lunch. But it was barely five minutes before he was leaning over where I was doing a very simple car battery installation and telling me everything I was doing wrong in that low, raspy voice that makes the back of my neck prickle.

The problem with getting a little distance from him was that it had also weakened my defenses, and the sound of his criticisms suddenly made my stomach cramp so abruptly I was worried I might hurl.

I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t even look at him. All I could do was keep working, pretending those words in that tone were being said to someone else and weren’t infecting my nice, shiny new workplace that didn’t think I was a waste of space yet.

Not that it would take them long if he kept showing up to point it out.

But then something completely unprecedented happened. Ford, the most terrifying-looking man I’ve ever met, came skulking out of the corner to loom over my father and growl at him. He actually, honest-to-God growled. It is still the only noise I’ve heard him make.

Dad had looked at me with wide eyes, half in disbelief but half in genuine fear. Ford didn’t give me the space to answer before growling again and pointing at the open door.

It was the fastest I’ve ever seen my dad take a hint, and he hasn’t been back since. So, now it looks like I owe Ford for more than just the job. Since then, this quaint little shop has become my sanctuary. After the warmth and controlled chaos of Cade’s trailer, this is my second favorite place in Possum Hollow.

Hell, probably the world.

That’s a little sad, but I’ll take it.

It’s even better right now, because my second favorite place is filled with just me and my favorite person. Ford closed up already, but when I asked him if Cade and I could use the space to work on our bikes after hours, he shrugged and tossed me a set of keys.

I was sure I was getting off easy until right before leaving, he turned around to look at me one more time. Pointing with two fingers at his own eyes, then mine, then the shop before making a throat slicing gesture got his point across pretty clearly:Take care of the shop or you’re dead.

Fair.

A death threat or two between employer-employee is totally worth it for me and Cade to have a space of our own to relax. Right now, he looks happier than I think I’ve ever seen him. He’s bent over his bike, trying to grease his cables but constantly getting distracted, finding new scratches to buff or meticulously picking through his tire tread for gravel. I want to help him, but he’s clearly having a good time doing it his own way. I don’t have the heart to interrupt.

He’s barely been here for twenty minutes and there’s already grease smudged over the arc of his cheekbone. It’s cold enough to snow outside, but the roller door does a good job of keeping heat in. Between that and the space heater chugging awaybehind us, the air is thick and muggy, so Cade pauses his anarchic attempt at repairs to strip off his sweatshirt.

I watch the way his muscles flex and bunch as he gets back to work, now just in a worn-out t-shirt. He’s worrying his bottom lip between his teeth while he concentrates, making it look swollen and even poutier than usual.

Just as I realize how far my thoughts have drifted, Cade’s voice snaps me back to reality.

“Hey, I know what we should do right now.” The impish look on his face tells me his plan is going to piss me off, get me in trouble, or both.

I raise an eyebrow and wait, knowing I’m going to agree to whatever it is, anyway.

“We need to celebrate your new job!” Cade stands up abruptly enough to make tools clatter to the ground. “And it seems criminal for a mechanic to not have his own wheels.”

“But, Dad…” I trail off, not sure where I’m going with that, and Cade’s face tells me exactly how much he doesn’t give a shit about my dad’s opinion on the subject.

Reaching down, Cade grabs my hand and yanks me to my feet. A thrill goes through me as I think about defying my dad so casually. He keeps my hand in his warm grip, using it to hold me close to him while he leans in, inches from my face, and whispers, “Come on, bitch. We’re going shopping.”

Chapter Eleven

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