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Rix beams, having set us both in place without breaking a sweat. “Yep, tires should be in on Wednesday. I’ll let you know if that changes.”
That handled, she tells the guys to ‘fuck off,’ which seems to be their version of goodbye because they all answer in kind and throw her two-fingered waves.
It feels natural to take her hand in mine as we move down the row of cars, but I can feel those guys’ eyes on me as we walk away.
We look for a while, and she educates me on car culture, telling me details about every vehicle we approach like a fucking Wikipedia page. We get closer to the end of the row, doubling back to where the newer vehicles are. Seems the classics guys and the hot rod guys are two very different crowds, and never the two shall mix. Odd, seems like a car guy is a car guy to me, but what do I know?
Not enough, that’s what.
“So, what’s the deal with you and Reed?” I venture, well aware that she might rightfully tell me to mind my own business.
She looks around like Reed might actually be here, so I automatically do the same but don’t see him anywhere. Erica must not either because she sighs.
“We grew up together at the garage because our dads are friends. We dated in high school and Dad thought . . . hell, everyone thought . . . that Reed and I were going to get married.” She pauses, and I pray there’s a big ‘but’ coming. “I didn’t want that, not then, and not with him. So I bailed, took the easy way out and ran away to the Army. It wasn’t the only reason, but it was a big one.”
“And now that you’re back, he thinks you’re going to pick right back up where you left off?” I guess, which is a pretty easy leap given his alternating possessive and forlorn puppy dog behavior toward her.
Her nod is clipped. “There’s a lot of history there. We were each other’s first relationship, first everything. And I love him, but not like that, never like that. He’s a great friend, always was, and now, he’s a good coworker too, but that’s it. No matter what Reed, Dad, or Uncle Smitty think.”
“Or Wilson,” I add, glad that I’m not stepping on anyone’s toes here. Well, I’m sure Reed thinks I am, but Erica hasn’t been his in quite some time, by the sound of it.
She laughs and agrees. “Or Wilson.” Her face goes a bit blank in a blink, and I can see a guard dropping over her. “Listen, Brody. Last night was amazing . . .”
“Motherfucker, are you dumping me at the damn car show?” I interrupt, somehow both horrified and amused. And maybe a little turned on. Girls don’t dump me, not because I’m the dumper and not the dumpee, but because it’s always been a casual thing, nothing serious since I’ve been way too busy being a family man for brothers and sisters. Failing spectacularly at it, too, but that’s not really the point of her ditching me.
And damned if her trying to put a bit of distance between us doesn’t make me want to chase her. Shit, maybe I’m no better than Reed after all. One little taste and I’m addicted to Erica’s sour-sweet combo.
She doesn’t smile. “I want to be clear. I don’t have a lot of time in my schedule for this.” She moves a hand from her chest to mine. “I’ve got the garage and it keeps me busy. Like ridiculously fucking busy. So if you’re looking for someone to call and show up, be available for dates, and hell, take showers, shave, and put on dresses, I’m not that girl.”
I look her up and down slowly and methodically, letting her know I’m not missing an inch of her. Her hair’s back up in that knot on top of her head, the one I’ve realized keeps her long locks from getting tangled when she’s dipping in and out from underneath hoods, and her bare face puts her freckles on display. She’s wearing a Beartooth band T-shirt, a group I’ve definitely never heard of but judging by the shirt is apparently something to do with acid-tripping alien UFOs and snakes, a fresh pair of cutoffs, this time black with a bit of white paint spattered on them, and those steel-toed boots she already pushed me away with once before on her feet.
“I see you, Erica. Badass, beautiful, and way out of my league. If you’re looking to get married, sounds like you’ve already got an offer on that. But if you want to just hang out when we have time and see what comes up, I’m good with that.” I shrug, hoping it reads as casual. “Like I said, it doesn’t have to be a thing.”
