No wonder we were always accused as teenagers of being an item.
What kind of person does that to their best friend?
Monopolizing their time like he owed me something?
He never dated in high school, probably because of me and my ridiculously over-possessive tendencies.
Jesus, how the fuck wasn’t he resentful of me?
Was he?
Secretly?
He flashed me a quick smile. “Sure. I’ll see you around, Avery.”
The expression on his face calmed my inner turmoil somewhat, keeping it down to a dull roar inside of my head. “I’ll be around. Whatever you need.”
I backed out of the shop, putting some distance between us before I did something stupid like ask him to come with me later tonight to my hangout with Silas and Marlow. The last thing he probably wanted was to see me outside of our usual haunts.
Not to mention my friends interrogating him about our past. Silas especially. The man would never pass up an opportunity to learn any and all embarrassing stories about me that he could get his hands on.
Subjecting Brandon to that would be cruel and unusual.
Getting back to my car, I pulled out my phone again and quickly texted Marlow.
Me: Meet me downtown. We’re starting tonight early.
CHAPTER 8
Brandon
Wipingthe grease from my hands on the rag I usually had thrown over my shoulder, I took a step out from under the Chevelle’s undercarriage and stared up at the main body of the car. With it being on the risers like this, one could hardly tell the work that was going to need to be put into this in order to get it road ready.
I’d had my fair share of rust buckets through the shop since opening, and this wasn’t close to any of the worst ones I’d seen. However, from a financial standpoint, it was going to need a pretty penny invested into it to get it back to its former glory.
With Avery telling me, or rather reassuring me, I guess, that money wasn’t an issue, I had the freedom to do what needed to be done in order to get all four of these cars back on the road. While it was certainly a dream of mine to do so, I still couldn’t help that nagging guilty feeling or somehow taking advantage of him.
Sure, he’d askedmeto complete the job but half of me was betting on the fact that his ignorance when it came to cars likethis was eventually going to end in him taking quite a loss no matter how much he preached that he didn’t care.
Maybe that’s the working class in me.
Caring about things like bills and finances were quite laughable in the eyes of someone like Avery McAllister. I doubted he’d ever struggled a day in his life to pay a bill, let alone blow enough money to send most people in Edgewood into a heart attack.
Was that catty of me to think, or simply the truth?
Avery had never been one to flaunt his wealth, unlike his dad, which is what made him different among all of the rich upper class that came from Ellington Heights.
He was down to earth, knew that hard work was far more valuable than an easy paycheck, and appreciated the time and care that went into a job like mine.
Unlike most of the people that were within his stratosphere.
I stretched my arms over my head, my joints popping back into place with a few audible cracks. Spending all day bent over these cars, while satisfying in figuring out what the hell was wrong with them, left me sore.
Like most blue collar workers, mechanics had a tough time keeping their bodies from breaking down from the years of manual labor that had us bending and contorting ourselves into weird positions that would eventually end up retiring us quite early into the game.
Being young, I tried to keep myself as mobile as possible, not wanting to end up like the man I’d bought this shop from whose crippled back had me wincing every time we met up to discuss lease terms.
Craning my neck back to look at the time on the large clock hanging at the back of the shop, I sighed.
