10. Dane
10
DANE
“Where are we?” Reese asks, hugging her arms to her chest. She’s wearing a light blue sweater made of what appears to be a thick material. Some part of me feels kind of guilty given how fucking hot and dry it can get here due to lack of ventilation.
“My garage,” I deadpan, and I’m met with a leveled stare that’s bordering on withering.
“I see,” she grumbles.
“Hey, you said you wanted to meet somewhere that wasn’t on campus.” I cock my head her way. “Did you really take the bus here?”
As her gaze goes to the building next door, she nods.
I think of all the trash at the nearby stop and frown. “I could have picked you up.”
“It’s fine.” She wrings her hands together as I remove the padlock. I can sense her unease radiating off of her in waves.
“Want to do the honors?” I offer, gesturing to the garage door. This time, I’m met with a pointed look from her, and I’m quickly reminded of the fact that she’s more than a foot shorter than me. I quietly chuckle. “Right.”
Then I hoist the garage door up with one hand, my attention solely focused on her face, taking in the transformation that occurs before me.
“Whoa.” Her lips part around her gasp. I don’t even fight my grin as she whirls around, momentarily speechless. There’s a hint of awe behind her eyes. “That’s a lot of cars. Are these all yours?”
“Yup.” I flick the light on and pull out the chair from my workbench.
“Do you work on cars for a living?”
“Yes and no. Work on cars. Not for a living.”
Her eyebrows pull together in confusion.
“I take junked cars and fix them up in my spare time. Some I keep, like this beauty over here.” I put my hand on the first car I ever purchased with my own hard-earned cash.
It’s a ’68 Mustang Coupe, one I hitchhiked all the way to Arizona to buy in rough condition after two and a half years working at Sal’s Auto.
“Bought it just a week after my eighteenth birthday.” After I slap my Mustang on the roof, I point to Ol’ Reliable next. “Then there’s this beauty.”
It’s my Subaru WRX that’s won me many races. It’s also the only ride of mine that’s not from the sixties. The air intake is fucking spectacular.
“What about that one?” Reese gestures at the only vehicle of mine hidden underneath a cover. A ’64 Pontiac GTO. It was Sal’s pride and joy before he gifted it to me for graduating high school.
“Something from an old friend,” I say gruffly. “These stay with me forever. The rest come and go.”
She looks around my garage, poring over every detail with her dark brown eyes. It’s a long minute where she takes everything in before she finally asks, “How junked? The cars you fix, I mean.”
“Well, I can’t do much if it’s totaled and fucked up beyond repairs. But I know a few things here and there. And I like a good challenge,” I say, hitching my shoulder. “If you ever need a kill switch installed, I’m your guy. Every car should have one.”
She continues to scan the garage with wide-eyed curiosity. While she squints at a personalized license plate, I retrieve a bottle from the mini-fridge by my workbench. Then she peeks at me when I twist the lid off and take a huge gulp of water.
“Warning,” I say, tipping the bottle at her. “It gets really hot in here.”
Her nose wrinkles as she declines it. “We’re not staying here long,” she asks, “are we?”
“Depends on how terrible your game is,” I say dryly.
The edges of her lips twist into the barest hint of a scowl, but she stays firmly rooted by the entrance.
“Come on, Reese,” I coax. “I won’t hurt you.”
“I think I’ll stay here,” she murmurs, sneaking a couple of glances to the street behind her.
“If that suits you,” I say with a shrug. “But if this is how you are with him, I’m now starting to see why you’re getting nowhere with the guy. Here’s a helpful hint: it’ll improve your game tremendously if you’re in the same room with him.”
She expels a soft sigh and stomps inside, crossing her arms as she comes to a stop a few feet away from me. Her gaze turns to the opened garage door, and trepidation forms across her thin face.
My tongue clicks a beat. “Show me what we’re working with.”
“What do you mean?” Her brows knit together.
“Pretend I’m the guy.”
She purses her lips while she shoots me a quick appraising glance. Her apprehensiveness gives way to reservation as the seconds extend into what feels like an eternity. I’m about to get the ball rolling when she allows herself a stifled sigh. “Caleb, how did you get the black eye when you’re a huge pacifist?”
My gaze connects with hers. I adopt the most solemn expression I can muster, slowly placing a hand over my heart. “I, Caleb Whatever, whacked myself in the eye while furiously jacking off to deal with a bad case of blue balls?—”
“Oh my God.” Reese drags both her hands down her face, and I snicker. “Why are you like this? Caleb is not like this at all.”
“That you know of,” I say, keeping my voice as grave and sincere as possible. “Maybe he’s furiously jerking off right now.”
Pink colors her cheeks. “Is this how we’re going to spend the afternoon?”
“Good point.” I’m gracious enough to drop this, putting my water bottle down on the counter. “Let’s go back to the beginning. I’m Caleb, some bland frat guy who wears too many snapbacks and polo shirts.”
“Says the guy who wears too many basic white tees.”
My lips tilt into a smirk. “Reese’s Pieces got a little bite to her.”
She rolls her eyes and shifts her weight onto one foot. “Okay. I’m ready. Hi, Caleb.”
“Hi, Reese’s Pieces.”
“He wouldn’t call me that.”
“Why not?” I ask. “It’s the perfect nickname for you, Reese’s Pieces.”
“Reese is my nickname.”
“No shit? Really?” I take in her expression. She’s got the most earnest face I’ve ever seen, so unless she’s a good actress, she’s telling the truth. “Short for Charisse? Therese? Theresa? Teresa with no H?”
“Nope,” she responds brightly, popping the P.
“Charisma?” I throw out my next guess, and she blinks in surprise. “You’ve got plenty of it.”
She huffs out a groan, her expression downright unamused. “You’re not going to get it.”
I ignore her comment. I’m not done. “Were you addicted to Reese’s growing up?”
“No.” She shakes her head.
Well, there goes that theory. “Huh.”
“We’re getting off-topic,” she says, holding her hands up. “We say hi . Caleb will call me Reese . We are on a date.”
Nodding, I fold my arms. “All right. What’s the setting of this date?”
“I don’t know,” she mumbles, furrowing her brows. “The museum?”
“The museum ?” I almost snort. “Is this a date or a punishment?”
“I like museums,” she says, her tone stiff and flat as a board.
I give her an incredulous stare. Good God, is this girl serious? “Museums aren’t sexy.”
“Tell me, then,” she grumbles, “what you think is sexy.”
“Confidence,” I say simply.
Her frown deepens. “I meant a place that’s sexy.”
“Any place can be sexy.” I shrug. “Besides the fucking museum.”
“Even this garage?” She grimaces at a pan collecting fuel leaking from the carburetor of my latest project.
“It’s about the moment,” I explain. When she opens her mouth, I barrel on. “Roll with me here, Reese’s Pieces. You and I are Caleb and Clarissa?—”
“That’s not my name,” she chimes in.
“—and we are feeling super horny for each other at the moment.”
“In this garage?” Reese asks incredulously, a splotchy pink hue dusting her face at the words super horny.
“Anywhere. But for the sake of this scenario, Caleb and Marissa?—”
“Not my name.”
“—are feeling super horny in this garage.”
She tips her head sideways, a sincere expression of disbelief etching across her features. “Are you seriously telling me I’m going to feel hot and heavy with whatever this is?” She taps her foot against the oil drip pan, making a face when the liquid content ripples from the sudden movement.
“Come on. Roll with me here. Carissa is so fucking turned on by the pan.”
“Of course,” she deadpans, exhaling a deep, blustery sound. She scrubs her hands down her face before she relents, nodding for me to continue. “Then what?”
“You guys go for it.”
Her disbelief doubles. “How?”
“Do you need me to show you a step-by-step?” I ask dryly. “Map out a game plan for you?”
“I’m super fuzzy on the details,” Reese answers with a sheepish expression.
“Fine.” I motion for her to come closer with my index finger. “Come here.”
Thankfully, she doesn’t object. She moves in closer until we’re standing a few inches apart, facing one another. I’m looking down, and she’s got her head tilted far back enough that I hope she’s not getting a crick in her neck.
“Now what?” she asks.
“This.” I keep our gazes locked as I saunter toward her, matching her pace while she scuttles backward until her back hits the front of my Mustang. She’s pressed up against my car’s hood with my legs in between hers and my hands firmly on her thighs.
“One problem with this,” she whispers, our faces a mere few centimeters apart. My head is craned down tremendously. Maybe I should be the one worried about getting a crick in my neck.
The garage feels hotter than usual with each second that ticks by, and I hope she’s not burning up in here like I am. Especially in that thick sweater she’s wearing.
“Caleb isn’t the type to make the first move,” she explains, blinking up at me through her spiky lashes.
I peer into her eyes, noticing for the first time the tiny flecks of gold in them before her words register in my brain.
“Then you make the first move,” I whisper back, my palms instinctively sliding up her thighs an inch when I realize what I’m doing and keep them still.
“Okay,” she says, gently prying herself out from the sandwich she’s found herself in. She smooths out a strand of flyaway hair, smiling softly as I turn around to face her.
Leaning my back against the front of my car, I prop my elbows on the steel panel of the hood, watching her intently as she takes her time. She draws in a deep, calming breath, swiveling toward me with a determined nod, her expression resolute. My lips twitch when she rolls her shoulders. Then she strides forward until she’s wedged between my legs, her fingers gripping the material of my shirt.
A giggle bursts free as the corners of her mouth slant upward. “I’m a little too short to be able to pull this off,” Reese says, pure amusement lighting up her eyes.
“Then straddle me.”
“Huh?” Her smile drops as her eyes squint with confusion.
“Hoist yourself up and straddle me.” I don’t give her the chance to get another word in, wrapping my hands around her waist and pulling her up until she’s situated on top of me.
Straddling me.
Her legs are splayed out over my lap with her bent knees flanking both sides of my thighs.
Those dark brown eyes are the widest I’ve ever seen as she looks down at the lack of space between us. Breathlessly, she brushes the loose strands of hair out of her face, and I get a whiff of her faint and fruity shampoo as a silky lock tickles the side of my jaw. Coconuts. Her hair smells like coconuts.
Something bashful forms on her soft-looking lips, and my attention fixates on the shape of her Cupid’s bow. “Do you honestly think this is going to work on Caleb?”
My focus slowly pivots from her mouth to her hopeful gaze. “Yes,” I strangle out in a voice that doesn’t sound like my own, my throat feeling painstakingly dry all of a sudden. “The guy has to be a fucking idiot if this doesn’t work.”
“Thanks,” she says shyly. “But what if we’re at his fraternity?”
“Do you really,” I nearly scoff, “want to lose your virginity at a frat house?” Or to a dumbass frat bro ?
Her face tints a bright red shade. “You have a point.” She slides off of me, taking the heady warmth of her body with her. “I think I got it. I got this.” She rubs her hands against her thighs, and that’s when I notice for the first time a can of mace hanging on the belt loop of her white pants. Huh. “ I got this . Thanks, Dane.”
“You’re welcome,” I say gruffly, before throwing out my next guess. “Riza?”
Faintly, her lips sneak up at the corner. “Not even close.”