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He was even closer now, and rubbing his hands on his jumpsuit. Like he was cleaning them to touch something important.
“How is David, by the way?” he asked.
“Wish I could tell you.”
“He left with his father, didn’t he?”
“No,” I sighed. “David went his own way. After Eric — I mean his father — left, David begged me to send him away to school. Somehow I did, and he ended up dropping out for some girl.”
“And left you stuck with the student loans,” Tate assumed.
“Yeah,” I laughed bitterly. “Stupid, right?”
“No,” said Tate, taking another step in my direction. “Not stupid at all. The way I see it, you were only trying to help out. Trying to do the right thing by him, after his father ditched you both.”
Relief flowed through me. That was exactly the way I saw it too. As strange as it was, it was good to hear from someone else.
“If anything it’s David who’s the stupid one.”
He was only a few feet away now, still staring me right in the eyes. I felt caught beneath a hunter’s scope. Helpless. Powerless…
Nah, fuck that.
“When would you start?” I asked, folding my own arms.
Tate blinked twice as if he hadn’t expected my answer, then smiled. “I’ve got a carburetor to rebuild tonight,” he said. “I could start tomorrow though, after work.”
“Fine then,” I agreed. “I’ll make us dinner.”
“Cool.”
It was that simple, that quick. The entire transaction had happened in the span of ten or fifteen seconds, and the next thing I knew we were exchanging phone numbers.
“I’ll need to bring tools,” Tate said. “Is it okay if I leave them here?”
“Of course.”
He nodded again without breaking eye contact. There was still something between us — an electricity, or unseen charge in the void between our bodies. But now that energy was somewhat subdued.
Not subdued, another voice rang out. Postponed.
“See you tomorrow night then,” said Tate, turning back in the direction of the driveway. “Seven O’clock-ish.”
He was almost back to his truck when I somehow found my voice again.
“Cool.”
Six
SERENA
Working the early shift at the restaurant generally sucked, and I avoided it when possible. For one you had less tables, and therefore less tips. You were on your feet just as much though, and often tasked with doing cleanup and maintenance work you wouldn’t normally get the pleasure of on a busy night.
The benefits involved getting out while it was still daylight, and taking the bus home instead of a more expensive Uber. Ideally though, I’d have a car soon. A really good car.
Not just good. Classic.
It worked out perfectly that I’d be home tonight, because I’d promised Tate dinner without even really consulting my schedule. The hot, sexy mechanic had been running through my mind all day. I couldn’t stop thinking about his arms, his shoulders, his piercing emerald eyes. Most of all I kept replaying our conversation in the garage, trying to figure out what it might entail. What kind of payment he might ultimately exact from me, in exchange for putting my ex-husband’s midlife crisis project back together.
