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I pretended like our conversation was foreplay, when really, Dash had just been asking about my childhood. That’s not an invitation to maul his face.
My stomach aches as I slouch out of the car.
“Well, my naughty little skeleton. Looks like you’ve decided to use my cars for something other than their intended purposes!” Mom doesn’t slur a single word, but I can still tell by her overly bright eyes that she’s more than a few drinks in.
“Sorry, Mom. I just wanted to show them to Dash.” I wave at my friend, potentially ex-friend now that I’ve tried getting all sexy with him without asking. “He’s a fan of cars. We didn’t mess with them, I promise.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Herbert.” With more manners than I’ve shown, Dash climbs out of the driver’s seat and holds his hand out to shake my mom’s.
She takes it with a curious smile. “A fan of cars, huh? Does that extend to knowing how they run?”
He shoves his fists in his pockets and tilts his head to the side as if considering her question carefully. “I know the basics. Never worked with anything like these though. They’re gorgeous.”
“These three are.” Mom waves at the shiny, newly painted machines, before turning to the fourth, whose better days were decades ago. “This one is a mess. Going to take me a while to get it sellable.” She stares at Dash, suddenly appearing completely sober. After a moment she walks over to the aged ’67 Impala, propping up the hood. “I was struggling to get a few bits dislodged earlier. They’re rusted over pretty bad.” Mom massages her knuckles. “Don’t have the grip I used to.” She peers at Dash silently for one more moment. “Maybe you could give it a try for me?”
The floor tilts under me, which is strange because I only had one beer back when I was handing out candy. No, my sudden disorientation isn’t from alcohol. It’s from the offer Mom just made to a practical stranger.
I mentioned to my parents I might have a friend come to the party. The two of them shared a look that clearly saidNow who could this be?Most of the people still in town from my childhood were more acquaintances that tended to be closer with Martin than me. My best friend, Charlie, they know is still over in Germany, and I hadn’t mentioned any of my New York friends traveling south. Honestly, a lot of those NYC friends were also acquired through association with Martin, so I haven’t even reached out to any since my move and the break-up.
Therefore, I didn’t bother getting offended over my parents’ poorly hidden disbelief.
Before today, neither of them even knew of Dash’s existence other than the fact they were aware Pumpkin and I were working with a trainer.
Now, when it comes to these cars, Mom loves to show them off. But she turns into Golem with her precious if anyone attempts to fiddle with what’s going on under the hoods. A lot of her income comes from local customers whose cars Mom maintains. I remember one day, lying in the backseat of a Camaro, listening to her devise creative torture methods for an incompetent mechanic that had messed up the wiring when the car owner thought he could get some work done at a discounted price. He was lucky Mom was willing to take him back on, and it required a decent amount of groveling on his part.
So, for her to invite Dash not only to look under the hood of one of her babies but to also touch something…my mind can’t comprehend it.
I’m about to ask my mom if she has a fever when I notice the excited gleam in my friend’s eye. He’s staring at the exposed engine like a pirate who just stumbled upon a rotten chest full of golden treasure. Gone is the shock and discomfort from a moment ago. My mom’s invitation has eclipsed the horrible blunder of me forcing a kiss on him.
The knowledge is a strange combination of relief and disappointment.
Obviously, being out of the dating world for eight years has destroyed my ability to interact with men in a romantic sense. I just hope my mom’s friendliness will work towards earning Dash’s forgiveness.
“I’m not sure I sh—“
“Oh, please do!” I interrupt his reluctant refusal, even going so far as to give him a gentle push towards the car. “If you don’t, she’ll make me. And then I’ll mess it up, and we’ll get in a big fight, and there will be shouting and threats of bodily harm. Really, you’ll be saving this house from descending into World War III.”
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and I think I might be forgiven.
“I need to go find Pumpkin, anyway,” I say.
“Oh, honey, Rosa Keller wanted to say hello to you.”
Excited tingles sparkle in my chest. “Momma Keller is here? I thought she was out of town!”
Rosa Keller, accomplished jazz singer and mother of my best friend Charlie, was practically a second mother to me growing up. She’s gorgeous and has a voice that can make even the most cold-hearted sociopath bawl his eyes out. Even though she and Mr. Keller’s home is in New Orleans, her gigs take them all over the country and the world. Last we talked the two of them were in Europe.
“Got back yesterday. Go give her a hug while I take advantage of your car-loving friend.”
I want to sprint out of the room, but I’m also wary about leaving Dash alone with my mother. As Mom rummages around her tool bench looking for a doo-hickey I’d never be able to figure out how to use, I move in close to Dash.
“You okay helping her for a minute? You can say no, and we can go get more food.”
When he stares down at me there seems to be a lot of thoughts flickering behind his dark eyes, none of which I can interpret.
“I don’t mind helping. I’ll find you when we’re done.” Dash’s voice comes out low and sultry, and I can’t remember if he’s always spoken that way, or if my ears are just filled with lust-soaked cotton.
Some space apart might be good. I need breathing room, then I’ll be able to give myself a firm talking to and figure out the proper way to behave.
