Elizabeth
Tara and I were already wrapping up when I got the text message on my phone. I excused myself to look at it.
What am I doing right now? He wants to talk?
My mind immediately jumped to the timing of this text and what it almost certainly meant. And yet, there was a certain openness to it; call it a gut feeling, but a part of me wondered if Steele had really sent that for sex, or if he had sent it for a very different reason.
“Who is it?” Tara asked.
I gulped. That all but gave away who it was, so I didn’t see much of a reason to lie.
“Steele.”
“What’s he saying?”
“That he wants to hang out and talk.”
“And do you think that’s really what he wants to do?”
I looked up at my sister. Her eyes betrayed nothing. I always did envy how she was far more balanced and calmer than I was. She never really suffered from the emotional mood swings that I did.
Which maybe explains why she wound up with Brock and Steele and I suddenly seem to be something.
“I think so, yeah,” I said. “Might be foolish, but—”
“You’re not,” Tara said. “If you think Steele is worth a listen, then I think he’s worth a listen.”
“You do—”
“Like I said, Elizabeth, he never grew up with me. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think he’s grown up some since the breakup. Why shouldn’t you be the one to benefit from that?”
Well, put that way…
“I hope you’re right,” I said.
“Go see him,” she said. “Worst case, you can go back to complaining about how he smells like oil.”
She ushered me out of the apartment moments later, telling me to text her if I needed anything. I promised I would and looked back down at my phone. I took a deep breath and started typing.
“Yeah. Let’s meet somewhere public, though.”
* * *
I got my wish.
Well, kind of.
When I pulled up to Santa Maria Auto Repair, the shop had closed hours ago. It was well after ten, almost eleven o’clock at night, and though the repair shop had hosted a party only last week, it was now calmly silent and almost empty.
Almost, except for Steele’s bike and Steele himself.
He had put two chairs out at the front of the shop side by side. I half-expected to be sitting on the concrete driveway, so this was already a step in the right direction. I parked right in front of the closed garage door and shut off my car.
When I got out, it was eerily silent. I had never been to the repair shop except under party settings, and I had also never been around Steele in a private place like this. In fact, aside from work, I didn’t think I had ever really spent any quiet time in Santa Maria.
It was a nice change of pace. The stars were almost too visible from where we were. There was no music in the distance, no bars that were spilling out. The lights of Albuquerque could be seen in the far distance, but by no means were they something that blocked our view of the distant space.
But for all of that, my eyes only remained on Steele Harrison, who sat in the chair with one leg crossed over the other, his cut on, a beer in his hand, and his arms comfortably resting on the chair’s arms.
