Jackson stepped back, clearing his throat. “Right. So. Multiple visits. We’ll get her running smoothly.”
“Right.” My cheek tingled where his had touched it. “Multiple visits.”
“I can start tonight if you want. Stay late, get the belt replaced at least.”
Tonight. If I was going to ask, if I was going to take this leap off the cliff of sanity...
“Sounds good.” Coward. “What time?”
“Seven? Everyone else clears out by six-thirty.”
Alone. We’d be alone in the garage with nothing but broken cars and possibility between us. My stomach squeezed tight.
“Thanks for looking at my car,” I said, already easing away before I did something stupid like ask him to be my fake date to a party that required formalwear and small talk with millionaires.
“Oliver.” Jackson’s voice stopped me at the bay door. “We’re good, right? You’d tell me if something was wrong?”
Besides the fact that I was desperately in love with my brother’s straight best friend and about to humiliate myself at the social event of the year? Everything was peachy.
“We’re good,” I offered what I hoped looked like a casual smile.
He studied me for a moment longer, those green eyes seeing too much, knowing too much. “Okay.”
I turned to head toward my car, feeling like I was moving through water, everything slow and heavy, only to realize Jackson still had my car. Where exactly was I walking to, the bus stop?
Spinning around, I saw him standing in the bay doorway, backlit by fluorescent lights, watching me.
Now. Ask now. Just words. Just friendship. Just a favor between buddies.
I closed the distance before my brain could supply forty-seven reasons why this was a terrible idea. “Actually, there’s something else.”
Jackson straightened, attention fully focused. “What?”
“Remember when you mentioned needing a vacation? Wanting somewhere warm with a beach?”
“When you made me lunch.”
Deep breath. “I got invited to this thing. This party. Well, more like a long weekend thing. In the Caribbean. Fancy resort, all expenses paid, but there's this weird requirement about bringing someone and I already RSVP'd for two because I’m an idiot who makes assumptions about my own social competence and time is running out and—”
“Oliver.” Jackson had moved closer during the rambling word vomit, now standing just outside arm’s reach. “Breathe.”
Right. Oxygen. Important for continued existence.
“Are you inviting me to go with you?” His voice carried something I couldn’t identify. Not disgust, at least. That was something.
“As friends,” I rushed to clarify, the word tasting like acid. “Totally just as friends. We can ignore all the Valentine’s stuff. Probably tacky anyway, hearts everywhere, couples massage packages. Not that we’d do that, obviously, just regular friend activities, like...swimming. Separately. In different pools.”
Stop. Talking.
His expression did something complicated, a flash of what looked almost like disappointment before settling into a more neutral expression. “This party. It’s Buckman’s thing, isn’t it?”
“How did you—”
“Matt mentioned you got an invitation. Said you were freaking out about it.”
I should’ve never told my brother. I made a mental note to murder him later.
“I know it’s a huge ask.”
