He and my dad used to hook up or something. It should make all of these thoughts forbidden. It does make them forbidden, actually, but that only makes the whole thing hotter.
Caesar grunts. “Come on,” he says, like an order. “Garage.”
“Right,” I say, then swoop up the mug of black coffee. “Thanks again for doing this, by the way. I don’t know how else I would have gotten it done, and I’ve been looking for components for this machine for years.”
Caesar pops open the garage door, then walks over to a big red chest of tools, set against the side wall. “What do you need?” he asks.
I step close, peering into the chest. I start to grab a wrench, but notice the way he tenses, so I pull my hand back slowly. “Could we take that?” I ask, pointing, then quickly add, “And that and that and that and that?” as I flick my finger through the air.
Caesar grunts, and I think it’s a laugh. “Sure.” He leans back, sips his coffee again, and eyes me. Something about the attention makes me smile, and that makes the corners of his mouth twitch up, although he quickly wipes his hand over his face. “Tell me about this pinball machine,” he says.
“Graveyard Carnival!” I say brightly, glad he’s asked. “It’s an old 90s game. You send the ball on lots of loopy rollercoasters, and ghosts pop out all over the place.” I know he’s at least a casual pinball fan, and the flashy, cartoony style of his tattoos makes me think he’ll appreciate the game as much as I do.
Caesar rubs his jaw, his heavy brow creasing. “Lots of parts,” he grumbles.
“There are!” I agree. I’m bouncy, happy that he seems interested. “There’s the playing field, and all the mechanics and the computer bits underneath, plus the little ghost figures and the mirror cubes for the funhouse.”
Caesar’s jaw tics. He grabs some of the tools I pointed to, placing them in a travel tool box. “You see my leg?” he asks.
I’m not sure what he means, but then I glance down. The entire bottom half of his right leg is inked with ghosts in a graveyard.
I squat to get a closer look. It’s not sad, like you might think a graveyard tattoo would be. When I examine the ink, I see that the ghosts are actually all partying together, raising bottles and dancing in silhouette against the moon.
“Oh, wow,” I say, super impressed. “That’s so cool!”
“Red did that one,” he grumbles, then throws the last of the tools in. “You need anything else?”
I glance in. “No, I think that’s it.”
“Sure.”
I take another sip from my coffee. “You know, I just realized something.”
Caesar waits for me to continue talking, and when I don’t, he sighs. “What’s that?”
I grin at him, and he turns away, probably to hide a smile.
It’s kind of fun teasing him. He’s such a grump anyway. It’s not like I’m at risk of putting him in a bad mood.
“Whenever I tell people about my arcade hobby, they always ask me why. They always want some explanation for why a grown man would spend all of his free time doing something like this. But you never asked me that, Caesar.”
He closes the tool box and looks right at me. “Hell, kid. I’ve barely asked you anything.” He tightens his boxy jaw. “Hasn’t stopped you telling me what you think.”
I laugh, then take the toolbox from him. “It’s nice,” I tell him.
Caesar puffs air out his nose, a satisfied smile on his face. “You said the parts you’re taking, they’re pretty small?”
“The machine is water-damaged, and it doesn’t even have a board anymore. At most, I’ll get some of the top components, the ghost figures and stuff, or maybe a couple mechanics.”
He nods. “We’ll take the bike then. You ready to go?”
“The bike?” I ask, although I know exactly what he’s talking about.
Caesar jerks his head to his motorcycle. “Don’t worry. I got a helmet for you.”
My blood pressure skyrockets. “I’ve never been on a motorcycle before. I don’t think I know how.”
Caesar’s mouth twitches. “Nothing to know. You’ll sit behind me and hold on.” He reaches behind the tool chest, then tosses me a leather jacket. It lands heavily in my arms, and by the time I’ve recovered, there’s a helmet coming straight my way.
