“Hello!” a woman calls out, walking toward us from the house. “You’re here about the games?”
She pauses in the driveway, her eyes caught on my hand, which still rests on Drew’s elbow. It hits me how strange we must look together: a grumpy old man, covered with tattoos, and a younger guy with a geeky smile.
When I see the sneer of disapproval cross her face, though, it just pisses me off. “Yeah,” I bark gruffly, then grab the toolbox. “That’s us.”
Drew shoots his eyes up to me, darting a glance that tells me to cool it. “The pinball machine,” he says, then steps forward. “I’m Drew. This is Caesar.”
The woman frowns. She’s probably in her thirties, dressed kind of professional with a pair of gray slacks, her long blond hair pinned up. “Anna,” she answers coolly.
“Thanks, Anna,” Drew offers, friendly as ever. “Do you want to point us to the machine?”
She sighs as she turns to the garage. “This way. They belonged to my husband’s stepfather. We’d just like them removed, as much as you’ll take.”
She stoops to pull open the garage, and when it doesn’t budge, I reach down and yank it up with her. Instead of thanking me, though, the woman frowns and steps back, like she’s affronted. When I almost growl in response, Drew stops me, his hand landing on my elbow.
“Look!” he says. “I didn’t realize there were so many.”
The garage is cluttered, but I spot a few pinball machines set up in the back. They look like dusty pieces of junk to my eye, but Drew immediately perks up, bouncing on his toes. “Oh wow! This is great!”
His good mood eases me a bit, and his hand on my elbow doesn’t hurt, either.
“You have your own tools?” the woman asks, her eyes on Drew. “You and your…your friend.”
The fuck does she mean by that?
One more time, though, Drew smooths it over. “Yes, we’re all set. Thanks so much! We can let you know when we’re done.”
Anna gives us one more measured look, then glances at the machines with a shrug. “Help yourself,” she concludes and walks away.
“Help yourself, too, lady,” I grumble.
“It’s really Graveyard Carnival!” Drew yelps, then rushes forward. “And Captain SeaDragon! Both in the same place!”
When I see how damn happy he is, I realize why I agreed to this shit in the first place. I’ll suffer through a thousand Annas sneering at me to get that smile.
He turns to me, an eager grin on his face. “Toolbox?”
I offer it to him. “You need a hand?”
“I don’t think so.” He happily grabs a few things from the box, then turns his attention to the machine. “I’ll just pop this open and take a look.”
Sunlight streams in from the front, and I can see the dust floating in the air while Drew works. His hands fly as he unfastens the glass from the top of the machine, then smoothly slides it out. My instinct is to jump in, but it’s obvious he knows what he’s doing, and I’d probably just slow him down.
“Great!” he says. “This is in an even better condition than I expected.”
He leans forward, which causes his shirt to ride up. Drew’s ass is in the air, hugged tight by his jeans, and the full, firm curve of it distracts me.
He glances over his shoulder. “So you like horror, huh? With your leg tattoo, I mean.”
“I guess. I’m more of a sci-fi guy,” I admit.
Drew spins a little screwdriver in his hand. “All the tattoos you do are pretty pop. They all seem so stylized, fantasy and anime and sci-fi…”
“Right,” I agree. He’s wiggling his butt while he works, and it strikes me that the show might be intentional, with how spunky the kid’s been lately. “That’s new-school style. Lots of bold lines and colors and heavy influence from pop culture.”
“Do you do a lot of sci-fi tattoos, then? Robots and aliens?”
“That’s more my apprentice. Rafael.”
