Chapter 8
Brandon
Wiping the grease from my hands on the rag I usually had thrown over my shoulder, I took a step out from under the Chevelle’s undercarriage and stared up at the main body of the car.
With it being on the risers like this, one could hardly tell the work that was going to need to be put into this in order to get it road ready.
I’d had my fair share of rust buckets through the shop since opening, and this wasn’t close to any of the worst ones I’d seen. However, from a financial standpoint, it was going to need a pretty penny invested into it to get it back to its former glory.
With Avery telling me, or rather reassuring me, I guess, that money wasn’t an issue, I had the freedom to do what needed to be done in order to get all four of these cars back on the road.
While it was certainly a dream of mine to do so, I still couldn’t help that nagging guilty feeling or somehow taking advantage of him.
Sure, he’d asked me to complete the job but half of me was betting on the fact that his ignorance when it came to cars like this was eventually going to end in him taking quite a loss no matter how much he preached that he didn’t care.
Maybe that’s the working class in me.
Caring about things like bills and finances were quite laughable in the eyes of someone like Avery McAllister. I doubted he’d ever struggled a day in his life to pay a bill, let alone blow enough money to send most people in Edgewood into a heart attack.
Was that catty of me to think, or simply the truth?
Avery had never been one to flaunt his wealth, unlike his dad, which is what made him different among all of the rich upper class that came from Ellington Heights.
He was down to earth, knew that hard work was far more valuable than an easy paycheck, and appreciated the time and care that went into a job like mine.
Unlike most of the people that were within his stratosphere.
I stretched my arms over my head, my joints popping back into place with a few audible cracks. Spending all day bent over these cars, while satisfying in figuring out what the hell was wrong with them, left me sore.
Like most blue collar workers, mechanics had a tough time keeping their bodies from breaking down from the years of manual labor that had us bending and contorting ourselves into weird positions that would eventually end up retiring us quite early into the game.
Being young, I tried to keep myself as mobile as possible, not wanting to end up like the man I’d bought this shop from whose crippled back had me wincing every time we met up to discuss lease terms.
Craning my neck back to look at the time on the large clock hanging at the back of the shop, I sighed.
It was well past dinnertime, which left me fending for myself in terms of takeout.
I had a habit of doing this, staying way later than my entire shop and finding out the hard way that every business around me had long since closed up by the time I’d decided to put the socket wrench down and take a break.
The rest of this work could certainly wait until tomorrow. Fuck knew I had plenty of time to work on it.
I wasn’t sure how serious Avery was about the whole, paying for my shop while we fixed up his cars thing outside of him giving me his word. I wanted to believe him, trusted that he wouldn’t screw me over due to his sincerity.
How long the offer would last was up to him, though. At a moment’s notice, he could decide that the cost was outweighing the benefits by a good margin, forcing my team into getting back onto our daily grind.
None of that would be a bad thing—just throw a proverbial wrench into my plans.
Relying on anyone like that, even my former best friend, as a business owner would be stupid anyway. No matter our history.
Noises from the front lobby had me whipping around.
Charlie had been the last one out of here, closing up the shop behind him while leaving me tucked safely inside. Or at least, that’s what I thought he’d done.
So, unless he or the other two were back for some reason, I had an entirely different issue on my hands.
I grabbed one of the heavier tools off of my bench, carefully creeping my way to the front of the shop. Down the hall that led into the main lobby, I could hear shuffling and someone cursing under their breath, both of which had my heart racing.
If it were any of my guys, they would’ve at least announced themselves and come straight back to greet me. Whoever this was had either stumbled into the wrong place or was looking for trouble.
I tightened my grip around the metal handle as I made my way down the hallway.
There were no lights on in the front of the store and only the soft glow of the shop from behind me illuminated my way.
As I came up behind the front counter, I saw a figure moving in the darkness, their body swaying slightly.
Drunk?
My gaze darted over to the front door, partially open.
Right as I reached to flick on the lights, I said, “You’ve got five seconds to leave or I’m calling the cops.”
“Arg...!” A pair of arms came up to curl around the man’s head as he winced.
I stared at him for a long moment, recognizing both the voice and the clothes. “Avery?”
“Bright...” he mumbled.
What the hell?
Setting my tool down onto the counter, I came around the side of it and grabbed his arm, gently lowering him into one of the waiting room chairs.
He swayed in his spot, practically doubling over the second his ass hit the cushion and causing me to have to grab him by the front of his shirt to sit him up right.
His eyes were bleary as he blinked at me a few times. “S’you...”
“Jesus, how much did you drink? Tell me you didn’t drive over here, Avery.”
Without waiting for his answer, I gazed out the front windows to try and spot the familiar Audi.
“No... no... s’at the bar...”
Glancing back at him, I asked. “Your car?”
He nodded.
Sighing, I let go of him. “Why are you here? And how the hell did you get in?”
“The door.” The answer was followed by a confused look.
I rolled my eyes.
Drunk people were so annoying to deal with sometimes.
Leaving him to sway on his chair, I headed over to the front door and yanked it shut, pulling at the latch until it locked again and trapped us both inside.
Nothing seemed broken... so either Charlie was an idiot and forgot to latch the lock all the way or Avery was somehow clever enough to pick the lock while drunk and let himself in.
Why the hell was he here again?
“You didn’t answer my question,” I said, turning back to him. “Why are you here?”
He smiled. “Came t’ see you.”
I hated the way my heart stuttered at that. “How come? Worried about your cars?”
“Nah.”
He leaned back until his head was resting against the window behind him, both of his eyes fluttering shut. I had half a mind to yell at him for trying to fall asleep in my lobby at ten o’clock at night and scaring me half to death by breaking and entering.
But as he hummed a soft song to himself, I found my own heart melting just a little bit. Avery was always too charming for his own good.
“You’re not going to answer me, are you?” Walking over to him, I stopped in front of his chair and reached out to put my hand over the top of his head. His hair was just as silky feeling as it looked, tempting me to run my hand through it.
His eyes fluttered open again. “I did.”
Wanting to come see me... for what, though?
To hang out?
I found that hard to believe. Especially with him coming here after clearly visiting a bar.
“Did you go out with someone tonight?” I asked.
He nodded. “Friends. From Ellington... They asked ‘bout you...’
“Me? Why?”
He grinned. “‘Cause I told ‘em ‘bout you.”
My face flushed.
It was all innocent. It had to be. He’d obviously told them that I was working on his cars and nothing more. Probably bragging that he got an entire shop dedicating the next few weeks exclusively in getting the cars back on the road so that he could sell them.
I hated the way my mind was filling in the blanks with more romantic intentions, trying to read between the lines to decipher if he was bragging about me in a friendship sense or something more. I doubted it was either of those things and more likely my first theory.
So then why the fuck was my heart so hell bent on pretending it was something more?
That was the problem with having crushes on straight men.
They weren’t ever going to reciprocate any feelings, let alone read into situations that could be misinterpreted as romantic.
I doubted any of his buddies were hassling him for reconnecting with his childhood best friend and asking him what was going on between us.
Unlike my dumb ass.
“Aw, what’s the face for...?” Avery reached out and pinched my cheek. “I don’t like it.”
“What face?”
“Y’ look sad, Bran. Stop it.”
Ugh, leave it to drunk Avery to see right through me.
“Maybe I’m annoyed that you showed up at my workplace wasted.”
He barked out a laugh. “Nah. You missed me.”
I did. Desperately.
I missed the dumbass shenanigans we used to get into when we were stupid teenagers.
Sneaking off to parties and then ditching them once we found the stash of alcohol and pilfered a bottle so we could go hang out in the woods and drink by ourselves.
We always had way more fun with just the two of us than being surrounded by a bunch of people we grew up with.
Back then, I’d deluded myself into believing that I could get Avery to fall in love with me. That by being his best friend was somehow a cheat code into turning him gay or getting him to question his sexuality long enough to realize I was perfect for him.
Clearly, that had worked out real well for me.
“Come on...” I stepped back to offer my hand. “Let’s get you home.”
He slapped it away from him. “Can’t send me away. Came all the way here... to hang.”
“It’s ten at night, Avery. You should be in bed.”
“Not old.”