Chapter 38
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
BUBBA
I t was still early enough that the garage wasn’t suffocatingly hot, but I had the outer door open to let in the semblance of “air.” I also had the big fan on to keep what air was in here moving.
The engine on my motorcycle purred to life under my touch, a satisfying rumble that always brought a sense of accomplishment.
In addition to taking classes on motorcycle safety and how to ride over the summer, I’d spent time with a couple of my dad’s friends who worked on their own bikes.
I’d learned enough to make sure I kept mine in good shape.
It was a used bike, but in excellent condition.
I wanted to know everything about the machine, from how it should sound to what maintenance it needed regularly.
It was less about the engineering than understanding the safety and making sure it was all done right .
Turning the engine off, I shifted to tighten the final bolt.
Changing the air filter had proven straightforward enough.
A scuff of a shoe on the concrete and the skipping of a pebble rattling over the drive to the grass had me glancing up
Sharon stood in the open garage entrance, her blond hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail that gave her face a severe look. If not for the light glow of her tanned skin, she’d look ill. Steeling myself with the familiar scents of oil and metal, I flicked a look over her then past her.
“Sharon,” I said, wiping my hands on a rag and keeping my expression neutral. “What brings you here?”
Her presence was like a dark cloud, sudden and unwelcome. She crossed her arms, her expression a mix of boredom and something else—annoyance, maybe? Or was it jealousy? It could be both or neither, the past few months she’d grown more and more mercurial and impossible to read.
“Just thought I'd stop by and see you.” She gave a casual shrug like it didn’t really matter to her. “You know, catch up.”
“Really?” It took physical effort to not snort and no, I wasn’t buying this act for a second. “The last time we talked—correction, the last time you talked to me, you made it pretty clear you weren’t interested in being friends.”
Which, at the time, had been a relief.
“Maybe I’ve changed my mind.” The corners of her pink-glossed lips curved upward into a sharp smile. All jagged edges and cutting as glass, it did little to diminish the sense of calculation. How I’d missed it when we were first dating? I had no idea. “Or maybe I just miss the good times."
“No, I’m not doing this.” I shook my head. “I’m busy and there’s a lot on my plate, right now, Sharon. So maybe…” I gestured for her to go.
Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, a flash of the bitchiness that lurked beneath the surface peeked out. "Oh, I see. You're too good for me now, is that it?"
“Can we not?” I raked a hand through my hair, and if I got a little grease in it, whatever. “I mean, seriously, can we not?”
“Aww, poor Bubba, are you feeling on the spot?” She drifted into the garage, the drag of her shoes making me flick a look down at her bare legs then back up. The shorts and tank top were a damn good look on her, they emphasized the muscles in her legs, and the toned shape of her arms.
Blowing out a breath, I took firm hold of my temper. One of the things I used to enjoy about Sharon was the biting wit she often wielded like a scalpel to slice through conversations with surgical precision. It always seemed to fall just on this side of mean.
Most of the time.
"It's not that.” I dismissed her observation of me being on the spot even if she was cornering me in my garage. “I just... I've got other things to focus on. Important things."
She stepped even closer, her voice dropping to a low, sultry purr.
"More important than me? Really?" The soft perfume she favored wreathed the air around me, penetrating the dust, grease, and fainter hints of exhaust from where I’d had the engine on.
But that delicate balance of floral scents had an underlying cloying sweetness to it that irritated my throat.
Taking a step back, I put the motorcycle between us. “Yes, actually.” I gestured to the bike. “This is just the start of my day.”
“Uh huh.” Sharon studied me through narrowed eyes. With a huff, the tension burst and she relaxed into a real smile. “I suppose. I just—miss you.”
That revelation slapped down my judgment. “We don’t have that many classes together.” Thank God.
“We don’t have any classes,” Sharon complained. Funnily enough, that wasn’t my fault. She’d had to swap a class and that took her out of the two we’d shared.
She shifted her stance, refolding her arms as some of the confidence bled out of her and left a more uncertain girl behind. “That’s part of the problem. We were so tight all summer.”
“No,” I said, correcting her gently. “We were both really busy this summer.” I’d had classes, a couple of college visits, and Sharon had gone to Europe with her parents for three weeks.
“But we made time for each other.” She closed the distance between us and planted her hands on the motorcycle. “You remember when you were looking at the different bikes with your dad?”
“Yeah.” I wasn’t sure where she was going with this. I’d never taken her on the bike. From the first day I got it. Sharon was not going to be my first passenger.
Period.
“So do I! You sent me photos, told me about the different ones and you let me help you pick.”
I blinked slowly. That was not how I recalled that conversation going. At all. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Where was she going with this?
“It has to do with you and me. I miss you, Bubba. I miss hanging out with you. I even miss the guys sometimes.” One corner of her mouth curved upward. “I miss the parties. Though—Archie’s last one was a little… you know. Out there.”
Every word she said, every smile she cast, every little gesture down to the way she lifted one hand and curled her fingers invited me to join in on the joke.
“Can you believe it with Frankie? Miss Goody Two Shoes took a dive and it only took a French guy to get her to go down on him.”
The ice that slammed into my veins did very little to cool either the temperature in the garage or the spike in my temper. “Excuse me ?”
“Oh come on, Bubba.” She gave me a little pout. “I thought you and the boys got over that little crush finally. You definitely weren’t thinking about her while you were fucking me.”
No, I wasn’t. “One has nothing to do with the other. Leave Frankie out of this.”
Her expression darkened. “Why? Because you think you have a chance now that she popped her holy cherry with someone else?”
“Sharon.” It came out in a snap. “Don’t talk about Frankie like that.”
All traces of her smile vanished. “You’re a fool if you think her picking someone else means she’s going to go for you now. Archie is right there and he’s loaded, then there’s Coop, and they might as well be twins for how close they are, and we all know Jake is not patient.”
She struck a match to my temper with each name she ticked off in her little rant.
“One, I don’t care what you think.” I couldn’t be much clearer on that. “Two, who Frankie chooses or dates is not and has never been any of your business.” When she would have opened her mouth, I raised a hand and she silenced. “Third, most importantly of all, no one asked you for your opinion.”
“You know, I’m going to do you a favor…”
“Don’t.” Because I couldn’t think of anything I wanted less.
“Stop being such a child,” Sharon commented with a toss of her head. “You want her, you have to make her jealous.”
“Believe me when I say, I do not want your assistance or advice.”
She leaned forward, elbows on the seat of my bike. “C’mon Bubba, you know I can make it worth your while. Not to mention the fact I know exactly how to suck your?—”
“Shut up.” The anger boiling in me went cold. "Don't talk about her like that. You don't know anything about her."
Reeling back like I’d slapped her, Sharon glared at me.
"Oh, please. Everyone knows about Frankie and her little harem.
She's just stringing you all along, Bubba.
She always has been. All four of you trotting after her like good little puppies.
Even when you were dating me, all she had to do was bat her eyes and off you went. Can't you see that?"
Jaw clenched, I counted to ten and then back down again. I didn’t punch people. Striking someone meant you lost control, and the argument, if you needed violence. I sure as shit didn’t punch girls.
I was the closest I’d ever come to it. Fortunately for me, Sharon stopped talking even if she kept giving me a death stare. Why I ever touched her, I had no idea. She’d never been less attractive.
After exhaling a careful breath, I said in the most even tone I could manage. "You don't know what you're talking about, Sharon. Frankie is one of the kindest, most genuine people I know. She's not playing games. That’s your thing, not hers.”
Sharon rolled her eyes, her expression dismissive. "Whatever. She’s never wanted you. Too bad you can’t see it.”
With that, she turned and walked out of the garage, but paused as she stepped into the sunlight and slid her sunglasses on. Then she twisted to look back at me.
“You know, one of my favorite parts of the summer was when we played musical chairs…” She ran her tongue over her lower lip. “You remember, our little version of spin the bottle.”
My gut tightened, a sour taste in my mouth. “Can’t really say it stood out for me.”
Her mouth went to a flat little line. “Then it’s a good thing I have pictures and some video… you know, mementos.”
Pictures—
“See you soon, Bubba.” Then she strode away.
I forced the hand that had been curled into a fist to flatten on the bike’s seat. Pictures. Video.
The relief trickling through me at her absence was poisoned with dread by those last words. I dug my phone out of my pocket and sent a message to the group chat.
Me: At any point over the summer, were we stupid and let the girls film us?
I couldn’t get blunter than that. One of them had to know. I didn’t remember any but, some of those nights, I didn’t remember much beyond alcohol, a warm body, and some release. Not a good look for me. Not really.
Setting the phone aside, I got back to working on the bike.
The unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach wouldn’t go away.
We were making progress with Frankie. I was—I’d told her I wanted to date.
Even if she kept seeing the French guy. If she wanted to date the other guys, just let me have a shot.
Don’t limit herself.
She didn’t actually answer me on that, though, did she?
No, she asked for all of us to take her to Homecoming.
Was this really a date if all four of us were taking Frankie?
Had we turned the potential date into a friend outing?
What did that even mean? How do we make sure we’re all included, valued, and get time with her if there’s four of us?
Archie was no slouch. He was taking care of the car and he’d pour on the money and the charm. The minute he saw an opening, he’d wedge himself in there. That was who he was.
Jake already shot himself in the damn foot, but maybe he could fix it. If nothing else, he’d be in “make peace” mode so that potentially dialed down any violence.
Coop?
No, Coop wasn’t going anywhere and he’d kissed her. They’d let that slip. He’d kissed her, but he wasn’t bragging about it or using it to score points. He was just…
All of this was uncharted territory. I wanted Frankie. I’d always wanted her. The girls, the others, they were barely pale imitations, but my taste in blondes definitely came from Frankie.
My phone buzzed and wiped my fingers off with the cloth before snagging it. The heat out here was already dialing up to sultry. Sweat had my tank sticking to me.
The notification wasn’t from the guys. It was from Post-it-gram, the current go to social media platform.
Sharon.
I hit the reel that had tagged me.
Tagged all of us.
Son of a bitch…
They had filmed it.