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Irap my knuckles on the garage door. There is a grunt from behind the raised hood of the Ram truck.
“Jay, I’m sorry for what I said,” I begin, trying to find the courage to say what should come next.
“Jay went out,” Hunter says, closing the hood of the truck with a thud.
“Shit,” I mumble. I didn’t expect him to be here. “Do you know where he is?” I ask, leaning against one of the workbenches.
Hunter grabs a dirty rag, and wipes the black grease from his hands. His hair is tousled, and his white shirt is stained, like he’s been working on the truck for hours.
After my conversation with Jay, I went for a drive. I needed to clear my head, and figure out what I should tell him.
Hunter shakes his head. Walking to the workbench in the corner, he starts rummaging through a toolbox, swearing under his breath until he finds what he’s looking for.
“He and Drew had to go to a meeting in the city—should be back after dinner I guess,” he mumbles, walking back to the car. “You don’t know anything about truck engines, do you? Usually Jay helps me with this shit, but since he’s out, I’m fucked. I need to see someone later tonight,” he says, opening the hood. “Ahh, forget it.”
“No, let me check,” I say, walking toward the front of the pickup.
He keeps staring at me.
“Hunter?” I ask, smiling up at him. I should try to get along with the guy. “Before I stopped coming here during the summer, I helped Jay with his car, mostly because he didn’t have any money to pay a real mechanic,” I say, grinning. “I picked up some skills here and there.”
“I wanted to start the truck, but it stalled on me for no particular reason,” he says, exasperated, peering into the engine block. “I checked everything, and nothing I do seems to work. I usually work on my KTM,” he says, pointing to a dirt bike standing in the corner of the garage. “Much easier, once I get the damn thing to work as well. Give me a BMX bike any day of the week.”
“My mom used to hate it when Jay rode,” I tell him, checking out the engine. Shit, why am I even telling him this?
He nods. “He told me. He doesn’t really ride anymore. We usually head out to some trails together for fun if we have time off, which isn’t often, but I love it,” he says, standing next to me.
“Did you check the fuel filter?” I ask, changing the subject. It looks clean, but you never know.
He furrows his brows at me. “Yeah, I did. I changed it because it was clogged last week. I even put in a new battery before you walked in because the other one was fucked.” I stifle a giggle, staring at the problem.
“And you reattached the battery cables?”
“Of course I reattached them,” he says. “Damn! I forgot.” He leans forward and plugs in the black cable. “This can’t be it.”
“Why don’t you start the truck and see?” I ask, grinning up at him. The guy really isn’t that bad.
“If you’re right, I’m buying you a drink,” he says, getting in the driver’s seat. “Here goes nothing.” He starts the car, and the truck rumbles to life. I close the hood and he hollers.
“Glad I could help,” I say, walking to the garage door.
“Hey, wait up. What about our drink?” he asks. I can’t really place the look in his eyes, is it hopeful? “I need a pity party because apparently I know nothing about trucks.”
“You sure Jay and Drew aren’t going to be back soon?”
“Nah, we could grab something to eat as well,” he offers. “To make up for the fact I almost killed you at the track.”
“And?” I ask, fighting against a big ass smile.
“For being a certified asshole,” he deadpans.
I pretend to think about it, and say, “Why not?” getting in next to him.
“Come on, dude. A little more enthusiasm next time,” he teases, backing out of the garage.
“So, where are you taking me?” I ask, while he makes his way down the driveway, and onto the main road.
