“Other parts of me balance it out.” He winks, earning yet another unwarranted laugh from me. I need to reel it in.
When we reach the edge of the crowd, we both pause. His hand slips back into mine like clockwork, and we bothtake a conjoined deep breath before putting the mask back on.
But now I feel lighter and more at ease.
Maybe even comfortable.
Definitely less like I’m about to drown.
But deep down, I’m dangerously close to enjoying myself.
CHAPTER 10
KNOX
“Fuck,” I yell, hearing the familiar clank of failure as my wrench slips off the bolt I’ve been trying to loosen for the past ten minutes.
I take a deep breath and give it one more try before uttering a few more colorful curse words and throwing my wrench across the shop. Then I grab a rag and clean my hands before falling into the stool next to my workbench.
I stare daggers at Emery’s truck, and I can’t help but think it’s just as stubborn and bullheaded as she is. Not to mention the thing is pushing thirty, and the ole pile of rust is not aging well. If she were anyone else, I’d tell her the truck is a lost cause.
But this truck is the glue holding our little deal together, and it needs to run again.
Soft tunes of classic rock fill the shop, helping me fight the ball of frustration building in my chest. If I’m being honest, it’s not just the rusted-out bolts making me want to punch something. There’s another tightly wound object that I can’t stop thinking about.
After our heart-to-heart at the fair last weekend, I had fun. And not pretend fun. I actually had a good time. And I knowshe’ll never admit it, but the genuine smile on Emery’s face every time I’d try to bribe the carny working at one of the game booths proved she had a good time too.
My goal was to get a genuine smile out of Emery, and I did. Not that I ever doubted I could. Now the only issue is I can’t stop thinking about her smile.
I also can’t stop thinking about how soft her hair looks or how the green in her eyes lightens to a sage color whenever she’s locked in on a thought. Or how much I need to see those tattoos that tease me from underneath those sinfully tight tank tops she wears most of the time.
Fuck. I need to get it together.
“Language, boy,” Sal mutters, dragging his boots across the concrete.
Shit. Did I say that out loud? I jump to my feet, surprised he’s here this late.
“What are you doing here, old man? It’s past your bedtime,” I smirk, leaning against the table. Sal was like a second dad to me growing up. I spent most of high school shadowing him and learning about cars. I couldn’t get enough of it. I wanted to know everything there was to know about how to make an engine run.
“I was driving by and saw the lights were on, so I figured I’d stop in,” Sal explains, taking a seat on the stool I was just sitting on. “Are you still working on this truck?”
“Yeah,” I sigh, letting my eyes wander over the current thorn in my side, “it’s a fight every step of the way.”
“These old girls usually are,” he says, a hint of nostalgia laced in his voice. “Is this the girl’s truck? The one you rescued on the side of the road?”
I nod, walking over to the discarded wrench laying on the ground and bending over to pick it up. “I don’t know if she would call it rescuing, but yeah, it’s hers.”
“Thought so,” he says, pressing his hands against his thighs to prop himself up. “You’ve been working hard on thispile of junk. She must be special if you’re putting this much effort in.”
I look away and place the tool in its proper spot. There’s a clarity that washes over me when everything is clean and organized.
“I’m just trying to keep my clients happy,” I lie. Sal doesn’t know I’m footing the bill for this, or that its owner is pretending to be my girlfriend for the summer.
“Right,” he hums. Sal raises his bushy grey eyebrows, and for a moment, I think he’s ready to push for more, but eventually, he relaxes. I’m glad he doesn’t try. That man has four daughters and extensive experience getting the information he wants. If he weren’t a mechanic, I have no doubt he’d have a career in espionage.
But he’s right. I have been working extra hard on Emery’s truck, and between coming in early and staying late, I’m starting to worry that the carefully drawn lines of our bargain are beginning to fade. All I need to do is focus more on my goal and less on her.
“I talked to my dad about the loan,” I say, nervously tapping my hands against my sides. “I’m going to need more time to convince him.”
