Chapter 5
5
PORTIA
I was just starting to get the hang of things—or at least, I was learning some of the basics. My hands were covered in grease, the sleeves of the oversized coveralls were rolled up to my elbows, and I’d lost track of how many times Dean had smirked at me struggling with a wrench. It was annoying.
I was so proud of myself for figuring out what a ratchet wrench was and then how to use it. I marveled at the intelligence of the person who invented stuff like that. When he showed me how to switch the little thingie to make it tighten a bolt after loosening it, it was like understanding rocket propulsion.
I certainly never wanted to learn what a torque wrench was or how to pull a spark plug. But it was kind of cool. I felt weirdly empowered.
The occasional brush of Dean’s arm as he reached past me for a tool was kind of intoxicating. I kept getting whiffs of something that smelled good, which confused me. I knew I was smelling oil, which was gross, but it was the scent of leather, musk, and orange. That was when I figured out it was him. I was smelling him, and it was damn good.
It gave me butterflies, which was ridiculous because Dean was a rude, abrasive jerk who had ruined my manicure by making me work like this. I’d put on makeup and shaved my legs for this bullshit? I’d been on some bad dates before but never quite like this.
Still, as infuriating as the man was, there was something about the way Dean moved, the way he focused on the task at hand, that was oddly captivating. He didn’t say much, but when he did, his voice was low and gravelly, sending a shiver down my spine. I hated that I noticed. I hated that I cared. But I couldn’t help it. There was something about him that drew me in, even as I told myself I wanted nothing to do with him.
Dean had just told me to adjust the carburetor, and I was pretty sure he’d made that word up. I stood there, staring at the engine like it was some kind of alien contraption. “This isn’t a car,” I told him, stating the obvious.
He frowned at me. “No, it’s a motorcycle.”
“Then why would it have a carburetor? Shouldn’t it be like a bike buretor ?”
He looked at me like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or scream. “Alright,” he said, stepping up beside me. “Watch closely.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not a child, Dean. I can handle it.”
He raised an eyebrow, that infuriating smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “We’ll see.” He pointed to a weird little dial thing on the side of the engine. “This is the idle screw. You turn it like this.” He demonstrated like he had done it a thousand times. I supposed he probably had. “Just a little at a time. Too much, and the engine will rev too high. Too little, and it’ll stall.”
“Got it,” I said, though I wasn’t entirely sure I did. I reached for the screwdriver he’d set down, my fingers touching his as I picked it up. I tried to ignore the way my stomach fluttered at the contact.
“Go on,” he said, stepping back slightly to give me room.
I hesitated, then leaned in, carefully positioning the screwdriver on the screw. I turned it ever so slightly, just like he’d shown me. The engine made a weird sputtering noise.
“Too much,” Dean muttered under his breath, but he didn’t step in. He just watched me with that same infuriating smirk. It was like he was waiting for me to fail, and it only made me more determined to get it right.
I adjusted the screw again, this time turning it the other way. The engine sputtered again, then settled into a smoother hum. I glanced up at Dean, smiling triumphantly.
“See? I told you I could handle it,” I said.
He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Lucky guess.”
“Lucky my ass,” I shot back, though I couldn’t help but laugh a little myself. “Admit it, I’m a natural.”
Dean rolled his eyes, but there was a flicker of something in his expression—something that almost looked like respect. “Natural pain in the ass, maybe.”
I stuck my tongue out at him, earning a raised eyebrow and a muttered, “Mature.”
“Well, this isn’t something I thought I would ever see.”
I stood up to see Seth walking in. A handful of guys trailed behind him, laughing, carrying beer, making themselves at home in Dean’s space. The energy in the shop shifted. I was suddenly very aware of the outfit and my heels. I could only imagine what these men were thinking.
My stomach twisted the moment I saw them because I recognized some of them. These weren’t just old friends of Seth’s—they were the same guys from that night. The ones who had laughed when I was left stranded on the island during a high school bonfire. The ones who hadn’t come back for me, thinking it was a hilarious prank.
I’d never liked them, and growing up, I’d seen Dean bail Seth out of bad situations time after time. Seth would get into fights with older kids, and Dean would be the one to save him from getting his ass beat. He’d brought weed to school, and Dean had covered for him, taking the fall. He’d stolen a car a couple of years after graduation, and Dean had covered all his legal fees to make it go away. The list went on and on. I could only imagine what sort of things Seth was up to now.
“Damn,” Seth drawled, cracking open a beer. His gaze swept over me, taking in the mess I’d made of myself. “Didn’t think I’d find you here, Watson. You look different than at the auction.” His smirk deepened. “Grease is a good look on you.”
I forced a tight smile, unwilling to give him the reaction he wanted. “Thanks. You look exactly the same. Guess some things never change.”
The guys laughed, but it was edged with something meaner, something sharper. I felt like I was the awkward fourteen-year-old they liked to fuck with back in the day.
One of the guys pulled out his phone, scrolling through it with a grin. “Man, you really made a splash today, huh? Whole town’s talking about you.” He read the headline straight from the local news site. “‘Local Girl Returns Home… and Wins Herself a Jackson.’ That’s got to be embarrassing.”
I clenched my jaw, refusing to let them see how much it stung. “Not as embarrassing as the fact that you’re still hanging out like you’re in high school. Drinking shitty, cheap beer.”
The guys laughed again, but it was hollow, their eyes glinting with something that made my skin crawl. One of them moved closer, the stench of the cheap beer hitting me. “Relax, we’re just curious,” Matt said. “Why are you really back in town?”
Dean stepped up, right in Matt’s face. “You’re in my way,” he said flatly, flicking a glance toward the group. “Move.”
It wasn’t a yell or a threat, but the sheer weight of his presence had them backing off.
Seth lifted his hands with a sloppy grin. “Easy, big brother. Just making conversation.” But there was a knowing look in his eyes when he glanced between me and Dean, like he thought we were an item.
I didn’t bother explaining the situation. It was none of Seth’s business. I muttered something about needing to clean up and turned toward the sink. My hands trembled as I scrubbed at the grease.
Matt chuckled. “The night is still young, Watson. You might get even dirtier if you hang around a bit longer. We’ll all get covered head to toe in grease if that’s your thing.”
I froze, my stomach churning. How was I even supposed to respond to that? It turned out I didn’t have to formulate a response.
Dean slammed his palm against Matt’s chest and shoved him up against the wall, making the whole shop shake. “Apologize right the fuck now.”
His tone had sounded more like God delivering a command from on high. The entire room seemed to still.
Matt blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What?”
Dean shoved him again. “No one disrespects a guest in my shop. So you can apologize or I can throw your loser ass out onto the curb. Your decision.”
The water ran over my hands, which had stopped moving as I watched the scene. The other guys all watched as well. No one dared to move or breathe. Matt hesitated, glancing at Seth for backup, but Seth just shook his head and shrugged.
Finally, Matt muttered, “Sorry,” though it was clear he didn’t mean it.
“Try again,” Dean said.
Matt looked at me and the fight drained from his face. “I’m sorry, Portia.”
Dean nodded and took a step back, still standing between Matt and me.
Seth chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. “He was just kidding. Can’t you take a joke?”
“Only when they’re funny,” Dean said, eyeing his brother. “And this isn’t your fucking club house.”
“Alright, I got it, damn,” Seth said, acting like a victim now that his brother had called him out on his shitty behavior. Bullies could dish it out but they could never take it.
As much as I disliked these guys, Dean had come to my defense, and it made me feel warm inside. He wasn’t like his brother, much to my relief. He was a prickly son of a bitch but he didn’t push people around or take joy in others’ misery.
I finished washing my hands. Some of the grease remained but it was better than it was. Now, I had to decide to leave in these stupid coveralls or strip them off and reveal the fact I was in a dress. I was going to look foolish either way. I may as well look good doing it.
I dried my hands and then unzipped the coveralls. I could feel the eyes on me. I turned around and stepped out of them before walking back to the locker I found them in. I hung them up and grabbed my purse. I looked at each of the men, letting them know they did not get to me.
“Thanks for the date,” I said to Dean. “If I ever need to fix a motorcycle, I’ll at least know which way to turn a bolt.”
I didn’t miss the way he watched me as I walked to the door.
As soon as I stepped outside, I let out the breath I felt like I had been holding. I inhaled deeply, trying to steady my nerves. I walked down the quiet street toward my rental, which was just a few doors down on the lake.
My mind was racing, replaying the night over and over. The way Dean had stood up for me, the way he’d shut Seth and his friends down—it had surprised me. I didn’t know what to make of it. Dean Jackson was an enigma I couldn’t quite figure out. One minute, he was rude and abrasive, the next, he was almost protective.
I couldn’t help but glance back at the shop. Those guys were assholes. Always had been. They were one of the many reasons I wanted to get out of this small town. And one of the many reasons why I dreaded returning. I knew they would all still be here. Still their usual asshole selves.
But it was Dean my thoughts kept returning to, wondering what might have happened if we hadn’t been so rudely interrupted.