Diaz laughs and ruffles my hair again before he releases me, grabs his helmet and walks over to his bike.
“Stay good, kid,” he says. The garage door behind him slowly rises, letting some sunlight peek in, as he backs the bike out before he revs the engine and drives off.
“So, what does this mean?” I ask, moving over to the table where Kit keeps all his tools. He sighs again; eyes fixed on the bike.
“I’ll deal with it,” is all he says.
I nod, steal a piece of candy from the open drawer and pop it into my mouth. “You hiring someone new?”
“I’ll deal with it,” he says again, and that’s the end of that conversation. He rises to his feet and turns towards me, raising a brow. I raise mine back and he shakes his head.
“Did you want something?” he says.
“Oh, yeah,” I say, shifting on the counter. “Can I borrow the Ducati?”
“What?!” he barks, head pushed forward.
“The Ducati? Can I borrow it? I need to—”
He cuts me off with a laugh, so I cross my arms, waiting him out.
Finally, he says, “Seriously, what did you want?”
I raise my brows.
“You outta your mind?” he says, eyebrows up to his hairline. “No. Seth. No. Absolutely not! No. Not in a million—no. No. No.” Each word is punctuated by a fast shake of his head.
“Was that a no, or…?”
“No. You can never, ever borrow the Ducati, Seth. Ever.”
We stare at each other for a beat. Then he shakes his head again before he pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “You can take the pickup.”
And that’s how you anchor a negotiation.
I give him a lopsided grin.
“You little shit,” he says, shaking his head but I catch a smile before he turns around.
“Kit?”
He turns his head slightly.
“Thanks, boo,” I say, smacking a kiss his way.
“Get outta here,” he waves at me.
I grab the keys to the pickup before I walk back to the studio.
Kaden’s ringing up Jude at the counter, so I flop down on one of the couches in the waiting area, planting my feet wide apart on the ginormous Persian rug and grabbing a flash binder from the coffee table. I absently flip through it as Kaden walks Jude over to the door.
“Alright, so, you know the drill by now,” Kaden says. “Keep the plastic on for the next two days. After that…”
“Wash with gentle soap morning and night. Apply a thin layer of ointment,” Jude finishes.
“Good man!” Kaden smiles, opening the door to let him out. “Let me know if anything feels off.”
He strides over to the bathroom and washes his hands before he comes back. The keychain on the belt loop of his jeans clatter against his leg with every step, and when he stretches, the hem of his tee rides up, presenting me a sliver of skin just above the waistline.
