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Even if Conrad was right...
Damn him. And Luna. Fuck, why did she have to be there, of all places, of all times, see me like that? It strips me of my pride. Stings my mind. How many times will she see me at an all-time fucking low?
I unlock the garage gate and slip inside, kicking at a pile of scrap as I go, then the wall, too, for good measure, and still my anger burns like acid in my blood.
I shouldn’t care if Luna saw me, though, fuck... I snapped at her, didn’t I? Let my fury get the better of me. And why should I care? Who’s ever given a fuck about me, about... anything.
Cursing alone, I make my way to my motorcycle, whisk off the cloth covering it and grab my tools. Working on the bike clears my mind, makes me feel peaceful. I’ve been working on the piece of junk for more than a year now, replacing everything. One day soon the engine will purr like a kitten and then...
Then maybe I’ll ride this baby away from here.
A fucking pipedream but it’s all that’s keeping me from jumping off the garage roof these days. That, and Buddy, and the memory of stolen kisses from a green-eyed girl who then pushed me away.
She liked it, though, before she let her rational mind take over. She was into it. Both times I kissed her, she kissed me back, and it had felt so damn good.
No, the kiss wasn’t the issue. It’s me she objects to. Who I am. Who I used to be. And it’s not like I don’t give her good reason to hate me.
I stroke my hand over the bike’s flank. Cool, smooth.
Know what the best punishment of them all is? It’s showing you what you most desire, then yanking it away. Dad had elevated the theory to fucking science, taking away every toy and every book I liked. Pushing away my half-siblings and making me hate them.
Taking away Mom, even if I hadn’t known it then.
I’m used to losses, to having what I want slip through my fingers. By now, I shouldn’t feel anything. I shouldn’t give a damn. Shouldn’t miss that girl, a girl I barely know.
Shouldn’t miss Luna, the feel of her fingertips on my face, the sound of her voice, the things she said. The way she asked if I was okay.
It makes my chest hurt, just remembering, it makes my throat close. I dunno this feeling, this sense of needing someone. And fuck, I wished for her so many times over the past week, it almost broke me.
I never needed anyone. Such weakness wasn’t tolerated. If you felt something, you took it out on the walls, the furniture, or other people. Dad taught me that, his way of coping.
Which leaves me defenseless now.
Now that she’s standing in front of me, outside the garage where I’ve gone to smoke, and this need wells up inside of me, drowning me in her scent of flowers and sugar.
“Hey.” I take in her bouncy curls and big eyes, her soft cheeks and that mouth I remember so well, that sexy body I’ve pressed against, and it feels like I’m breathing again after being underwater for days. “Whatcha doing?”
Her eyes widen when she sees me, and she stops so suddenly she almost falls over, almost drops the plastic bag she’s carrying. A dark flush rises to her cheeks. “Ross?”
I’m goddamn tired, after the shitty week I’ve had, but her reaction makes me grin. “Yeah, last time I checked that was my name.” I point up at the rusty sign. “Jones. Ross Jones.”
“Don’t be a smartass.” But she doesn’t sound upset, and doesn’t move to get away, as if she’s rooted in place.
“Can’t help it,” I breathe and straightening from my slouch against the wall, I start after her, wincing when the healing cuts in my side sting, old and new bruises slowing me down. I tuck my unsmoked cigarette behind my ear. “Hey, wanna see my bike?”
“A bike?” She nods at the garage behind me. “Dena did say you were working on something.”
Dena. Is that the girl working with her, who’s been ogling me for some time? I can never remember her name, or her face.
“Well, she’s right,” I say. “Come, I’ll show you.”
Truth is, I hadn’t planned on showing the bike to anyone. Then again, who would I show it to? Who would care to see?
She does, though, and when she follows me back to the garage, a thrill goes through me, like a fucking bell, tolling in my blood, each peal echoing through my bones, in my head.
I open the side door with a creak of the hinges, and make a mental note to oil them, something I haven’t bothered doing since the garage closed down.
“This way.” I keep the door open for her and reach for her bag. “Let me help you with that.”
