10. Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Dallas
“O pen it,” I say. Abby looks at me confused when I hand her a very badly wrapped box about double the size of a shoe box.
I’ve never been a big gift-giver. I’m more of an act-of-service kind of person. The night of Abby’s birthday, I apologized for not having a gift for her. She had told me that she wasn’t big on gifts either. Giving or receiving. She’d said she cared about quality time with people more than anything. But I couldn’t help myself on this one. It fell right into my lap, and there was no way I could pass up the opportunity to see her in a gorgeous dress, and then likely get the chance to take it off her later that night. The thought makes my blood rush south.
“My birthday was weeks ago.” She holds the box with so much hesitation that I wonder if she’ll actually open it or just set it back down and walk away.
“It’s not a birthday present. Just open it.”
She eyes me curiously again but sighs and sets it down on the kitchen table to rip off the paper. The box is black. The top separates from the bottom but is tied to the base with a black sparkly ribbon. The store associate thankfully did that part for me when I bought it, otherwise it would be a knot she's trying to unravel instead of a pretty bow. She pulls at the bow to release it and lifts the top off. Her brows knit together but she pulls the fabric out of the box and watches it unfold before her. Her mouth drops open when she realizes what it is.
“You got me the dress?” A smile slowly forms until her eyes crinkle at the edges. “How? Why?” She pauses to examine the dress. “When?” she adds.
I rub my jaw as if contemplating my answers. “How? I bought it with this thing called money. Why? Because I wanted to. When? The day after we played Truth or Drink. I picked it up on my way home from the gym.”
She checks the price tag again and gawks at me. “Why?”
“I already answered that.”
“Yeah, but I bought a different dress already. And this one is more than double the price.”
“Well, now you have two, and we’ll have to find a time for you to wear the other one. But you’re wearing this one to the award ceremony. No exceptions.”
She sighs, as if accepting everything I’ve said. “How did you know this was the dress?”
“I reached out to Meredith. She sent the details.”
“Oh, God. Did she send you the picture she took of me? Because I was crabby and flipping her off.”
The image she describes makes me laugh. “No, actually. She offered to send me the picture to make it easier to find but I told her I wanted you to be wearing it in person the first time I saw it on you.”
She gives me a sweet smile before disappearing into her room to hang the dress up.
“Are we still fixing your bike today?” I call out, gathering my wallet and keys off the counter. “My dad should still have everything in the garage.”
She returns to the table. “That’s the plan. I might die of irritation if we don’t figure out why my bike is making that noise.”
“That’s a bit dramatic.”
She sticks her tongue out at me and heads for the door.
We ride the bikes to my parent's house, or my mom's house now, I suppose. That’ll be weird to get used to.
The garage door opens with a hum to reveal my dad’s entire workshop that sits dormant in the garage, begging someone to give it some attention. The back wall is covered in toolboxes and cabinets full of anything and everything under the sun. Building a table? Check. Fixing a radio? Check. Rebuilding an engine? Also, check. I’m jealous of his collection. But living in an apartment without a garage makes collecting even a small number of tools difficult. So, I’ve settled for using his until I have a place to get my own. Every wall is covered in random posters, ranging from old and new cars and motorcycles, to sports, to antique tools that will never be used again. It's an effort to find any space to add more.
She pulls into the garage, and we get the bike up on the stand.
“You didn’t tell me you were rich,” Abby says as she moves back to the driveway to gawk at the large house.
“I’m not. My parents are,” I say, watching her look around at the freshly mowed lawn.
“Same thing.”
“I’m not banking on getting any money from them.”
As she returns to the garage, I head to the toolbox.
“You think they’re going to spend it all before they die?”
I shrug. “Who knows.” And who knows what will happen financially with this divorce, but I don’t say that out loud. Abby doesn’t need the extra drama. “You said you think it’s a bearing issue?” I ask, starting to pull all the tools out from the drawers.
“Yeah. It’s been whining at me when I accelerate, so I figured that could be the issue. I already bought new parts, so fingers crossed I didn’t buy them for nothing.”
"You could have let me know what you needed. I could have bought them," I offer, knowing her TA position doesn't pay much.
She purses her lips to the side. "Actually, and maybe this sounds weird, but I like being able to spend my own money on things. I like having that capability. After having Sam fight so hard to take that away from me … I don't know. That freedom feels good."
She and I come from different worlds in that aspect. I've never had to struggle with money. Abby has, both in fighting to make and keep it, as well as having it but not being able to spend it. It makes sense now that she mentions it. I hum. "I hadn't thought about it like that. But it's certainly not weird." I run a hand over my jaw and tighten my brows. "Would you prefer that I hadn't bought you that dress?"
She shakes her head with a small smile. "No. Gift's don't bother me. I may have a hard time receiving them with the appropriate thanks, but you're more than welcome to keep giving if you enjoy it. What I want now more than ever is to be able to spend the money I made at my job on the things that I want."
"Well, I'm not going to stop you. I trust you're smart enough with your money to make your own decisions. And if we're ever out and you decide you want to pay, let me know."
She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes with a smile. It makes my heart hurt that such a simple gesture is what makes her this emotional. "Thank you," she almost whispers when she opens her eyes. She takes another deep breath, lifting her shoulders to her ears and dropping them. "Shall we?" She points to her bike.
“Of course. Let’s hope it’s nothing serious.” I hand her a few tools, and when I turn around with the rest of them, she’s already sitting on the ground, working on getting the front wheel off.
Not afraid to get dirty. I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again, she could not be any more perfect. I watch her for a moment longer, initially to see if she knows what she’s doing, but that’s quickly amended when she slides the tire off and carries it over to the workbench.
“You have something to prop this up on? We’ll need to pop these bearings out to see if they look okay.”
“Oh, uh, yeah,” I say, scouring the garage.
“You got two short two-by-fours? That would work fine.” She never looks up from the tire as she holds out a hand behind her for the rest of the tools I’m holding. I hand them off to her before searching through my dad’s scrap wood pile. It’s far too large, considering he doesn’t do any woodworking.
“Where did you learn to do all this?” I ask while Abby is elbow-deep in the repairs. This whole thing has completely caught me off guard. But I have to admit. It’s hot.
When she asked me for help with her bike, I fully expected we’d get here and she’d sit on the sidelines while I pulled everything apart. Time to check myself, I guess.
“My dad. He refused to fix anything on my bike unless I was there to help.” She never looks up from the tire. “Did you find something to prop the wheel on?”
Right. My job has turned into helping, not doing. Fine by me. I could watch her all day. “Sorry. Here.” I set the two pieces down and help her settle the tire over top of them.
“Where would I find the WD-40?”
So, I go find that. She rarely asks for help other than for new tools. I let her do her thing. She doesn’t talk much while she works. Only the occasional comment about what’s working and what’s not. It reminds me a lot of how Cole and I used to work on things. Granted, I was more involved in the process, but I don’t mind this at all. Cole and I used to give each other shit about everything. Much like Abby does with me. Maybe that’s why I like her so much. Because she’s so similar to Cole. I’ve never thought much about that until now. But it makes sense.
“Do you think the seals still look okay?” She asks, finally looking up at me.
A line of grease stains her forehead and right cheek. I can’t help but laugh.
“What?” she asks, a grin forming.
I stifle my laughing enough to respond. “You’re cute, that’s all.”
She cocks her head, a smile still sitting on her lips. She shakes her head. “The seals. How do they look?”
I take a step forward from where I was leaning against the bench and check the seals. “Yeah. They still look good.”
“Okay. Just wanted a second opinion before I put them back in.” And with that, she gets back to work.
“Tell me about your dad,” I find myself saying, half trying to make conversation, half genuinely curious.
She looks up, a small smile playing on her lips. “What do you want to know?”
I shrug. “Anything really. His favorite food, your best memory with him, his best dad joke. All of it. I have a feeling you’re a lot like him.”
“I like to think so.” She pauses, chewing on her lip while she thinks about what to say. “His favorite food was tacos, but not with sour cream. He hated that stuff. His best dad joke was ‘I don’t trust stairs. They’re always up to something.’” She pauses for me to react to the joke.
The grin I feel grow on my face is unavoidable. I snort, trying to hold back laughter, but that only makes Abby laugh, too.
Once the fits of laughter stop, she continues. “And my favorite memory with him? God, I don’t know. There are so many.”
“First one that comes to mind, then.”
She points to a towel, asking me to hand it to her. “Okay. First one I can think of is this time we went to this Mexican restaurant; he didn’t know a lick of Spanish. Never did. But he still always tried to pronounce everything when he was ordering. So, he ordered something, I don’t remember what it was, but in the process of trying to pronounce his food order, he must have said something either dirty or offensive because the waiter burst out laughing, like crying tears laughing, and no one had any idea what was so funny.” Her arms flail wildly around her as she describes the story to me. She’s so animated and the large smile on her face makes my heart swell. “Once the waiter stopped laughing, he told us what he had actually said in Spanish and then my dad burst out into a tearful laugh, too. It was so funny. Definitely one of those ‘you had to be there’ moments, but funny either way.”
She continues telling me bits about her father that sometimes make me laugh, and sometimes make me sad for her, but even during the sad moments, she keeps a hint of a smile.
I help her here and there, but the new bearings are in, and the tire is back on in no time. She hits the lug nuts one more time before she’s satisfied and sets all the tools back on the bench. She smiles up at me once the bike is back on the ground.
“Thank you,” she beams.
“For what? I think I helped with all of two steps in that whole process,” I chuckle.
She leans her butt against the seat of her bike and crosses her arms. “I’m serious. This felt good. I needed some mindless activity to keep me company for a while.”
“Mindless activity, huh?” I give her a sly smile and slowly step toward her. “I might have an idea.”
She grins and hooks her fingers through my belt loops when I reach her, tugging me forward the slightest bit. “Yeah? Tell me more.”
A small yelp from Abby makes me chuckle when I lift her to sit on the seat of her bike and cover her mouth with mine. “It doesn’t require words,” I mumble between kisses.
She wraps her legs around my waist and arms around my neck, fingers tangling into my hair. My skin buzzes with the feel of her fingers grazing my skin. I couldn’t care less if her hands are covered in grease right now. She tugs on my hair slightly, and I bite her lip in response. She moans into the kiss only making me want more.
It’s a good thing that no one’s home right now. No one to hear the beautiful sounds she's making.
She shifts to press her hips into mine, the pressure sending a pulsing pressure between my legs.
I drag my tongue along the roof of her mouth before pulling away and kissing that spot behind her ear I know she loves so much. A low purr sounds from her chest as her grip on my hair tightens and I can't help but squeeze her ass only to make her moan more.
Fuck, I was not anticipating this today. Not that I’m complaining. It’s an effort to keep my hands from roaming. We really shouldn’t be doing this here of all places, but I can't help myself. She makes me crazy. She makes my head spin. She makes me feel drunk when I'm this close to her.
My fingers trail the length of her spine, and I almost can't help myself when I reach the clasp of her bra, but I force every restraint possible into my hands and force them lower, lower until I meet the front band of her pants, pop the button open, dip a hand past the denim, and coast over the fabric of her underwear. She tilts her pelvis up to give me better access to that delicate bundle of nerves. Her head tilts back, mouth lightly parted, as she grinds on my hand, the same motions over and over, the friction driving her wild.
I kiss down the length of her neck, nibbling at the sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder, then run my tongue over it to soothe any remaining sting. She breathes heavier with each kiss and forces my lips back to hers as her brows pinch together.
I know she’s close based on the grip she has on the seat of her bike. It's so hard the whites of her knuckles glow even in the bright light of the garage. Just as I nip at the skin of her neck again, she takes one final breath before she comes undone. Her thighs squeeze my hand that's still buried in her pants while I work in slower strokes.
Her breath is hot and heavy as she comes down from her high and when she tilts her head back up to look at me, that mischievous grin returns. “Your turn," she says breathlessly.
“Nope. That was all for you.” I look toward the clock hanging over the door that leads inside. “Besides, my mom will be home any minute.”
She groans as if that’s the worst news she’s heard all day. She looks down, then back up. “That rock in your pants says otherwise.”
I roll my eyes but start cleaning up and hit the button to open the garage door. “When your legs stop shaking, take the bike around the block to see if the noise is gone.”
“Fine. Later then,” she says as she buttons her pants and fires the bike up.
I point a finger at her. “I’ll hold you to that.”
She grins and disappears down the street a moment later. When she returns, she’s as happy as ever that the sound is gone.
I’m glad for the ten minutes that pass before my mom's SUV turns into the driveway. She parks it when she sees us inside the garage.
“Oh, I didn’t know you two were coming over today.” She smiles and hugs me. Abby tenses a little at the sight of her but offers a smile as well.
“We needed to fix Abby’s bike. We were just about to leave.”
“No, please stay for dinner. It’s been too long since we had a family dinner. Rose should be home soon, too.”
I look to Abby to gauge if she wants to stay. She takes a deep breath and gives me a small nod.
“Okay, that sounds great. What are we having?”