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Zayn laughs, giving the wrench a shove. The veins in his forearm pop, as well as his biceps but I'm excited to see the bolt loosening. "I'm always happy to be a good samaritan. But I also believe in giving as much as taking."
I rub my temple. "I'll give you some cash."
"I don't want cash," he says simply, putting the first bolt on the ground and moving to the next. "Just your time."
"Zayn," I say with a warning tone, "I have to get to work."
He winks at me. "I won't keep you long. We can go to my little forest shack and hang for a bit. You'll be back on the road in no time. I promise."
The way he looks at me suggests otherwise, but he pauses his actions, silently threatening to leave the job unfinished. I hold his stare, trying to play chicken but finally, throw my hands up in exasperation.
"Fine. You have half an hour."
"An hour," he counters, waiting with his hand on the wrench.
I gape at him. "You are infuriating. It's a four hour drive.Without breaks."
Zayn smiles coolly at me, still waiting.
"Fine," I snap angrily. "One hour. Not a minute more."
He grins victoriously, shoving his weight onto the wrench and pulling off the next bolt.
"Good. I cherish our time together. I love getting to know my little sister.Allparts of her," he murmurs suggestively.
I bite my tongue as I resist the urge to say something snarky. I think of Asher, and wonder how Zayn would feel if he knew his baby brother was inside of me twelve hours ago. To be honest, he seems to be the kind who wouldn't care… and who would happily try to compete.
Classic sibling rivalry.
"There. All the bolts are off," he says, grabbing the tire and pulling it off. I go to the trunk and lift out the spare, putting it on the ground and rolling it to him.
Zayn slips it on, and starts putting the bolts back on with his hand. "So, how was the beautiful wedding?"
"How do you know I was at the wedding?" I ask accusingly.
"I know everything," he replies.
I consider arguing but instead respond truthfully. "It was beautiful. I had a really good time."
Except for the part where your brother turned up and pounded me into oblivion.
Zayn picks up the wrench, tightening to the bolts once they are on as tight as he can go with his own fingers. "That's good."
"I can do that," I say, motioning to the wrench.
He gives me a grin. "And miss the opportunity to come save you again? Nah, I'm tightening these babies all the way."
I shoot him a look of annoyance, making him laugh.
"There," he says, finishing. "All done. Make sure you replace your spare tire as soon as possible."
Zayn puts the busted tire in the trunk, followed by the tools. He closes it, walking over to me. He wipes his hands on his shirt, smearing black marks all over the white.
"Do you remember how to get to the shack?" he asks, stopping in front of me.
I nod stiffly. "Yes."
"I'll follow you," he says, grinning. "Make sure you don't run."
