28. Dane
28
DANE
Without reading it, I delete the short text from my old man and toss my phone onto the driver’s seat. Yanking my protective goggles down, I secure the respirator over my mouth and return to what I’ve been working on all morning.
Sanding the beaut down.
I’m not one to stand outside for hours on end, but this project is an all-day ordeal I want to be done with before it turns into a two-day hassle.
As soon as the body has been completely sandpapered, the paint stripper is applied next. It’s an easy task, but time-consuming. It needs to sit under plastic after it’s been spread everywhere, and then I have to scrape everything off with my putty knife once it sets.
The sun dips toward the horizon as the hours drag into the evening. Aggressive rock pours from my phone’s shitty speakers. My brain is silent. My hands are busy. I’m at peace.
Abruptly, a loud straight pipe pierces the air and drowns out my music. In my periphery, a sleek blue car flies up to the curb and screeches to a grinding halt.
My hackles rise. I’ve never seen it before. A muscle in my jaw clenches as I brace myself for whatever bullshit is about to go down.
The door flings open, and I nearly chuck my putty knife at his damn head when he exits the vehicle.
“Like what you see?” is the first thing out of Marco’s mouth.
Almost immediately, the tension dissolves from my chest. I offer him a snort. “I’ve seen better.” Then I smirk when he grabs a pair of goggles from the workbench.
With another set of hands, everything moves faster. We’re making actual progress. Something sentimental pulses in my chest when it occurs to me that we’ve fallen into a rhythm. It’s been a while. I can’t remember the last time we worked on a car together. A burst of nostalgia fills my veins when he tosses me a replacement putty knife the instant mine breaks.
We get everything done before midnight. Once I have the Nova stashed in its usual spot, I turn to face him.
“What’s with the new set of wheels?”
The corner of his mouth tips up, and he casts a glance toward the empty street. “Won it fair and square. Figured you could help me add an under-glow.”
“Should’ve known there’d be an ulterior motive,” I deadpan as I follow his line of sight and check out his car. Personally, it’s not my style. I prefer my vehicles on the older side while Marco’s always been the one who likes them angular and low. I wouldn’t put it past him to wide-body it at some point.
Shaking his head, he lets out a quiet laugh. “You still have that clunker?”
I chuckle wryly. I don’t even have to look to know which car he’s talking about. “Sal, you know? He’d crawl out of his grave and drag me to my doom if I even think about getting rid of it.”
“You don’t even like the headlights,” he teases, and it’s not like he’s wrong. For this make and model, I prefer the vertical ones.
With a snort, I raise my brow at him. “Would you want to risk your ass getting haunted by Sal for the rest of your life?”
“I could take that old man on.”
“If anything, he’d be too busy rolling in his grave,” I remark. “Disappointed we’re falling back into our old ways.”
His gaze cuts to mine. Visible concern flits across his features. “You’re racing again?”
“You’re gambling again?” I counter, and we stare each other down. No one speaks. No one moves. It’s a long minute of silence before he huffs out a scoff and spares me an easygoing smirk.
“Not all of us are born with silver spoons in our mouths,” he says dryly. I’ve been around him enough to know he’s just ribbing me.
“You need money?” I fold my arms and frown. He could’ve come to me any time for that. He knows about the trust fund my mom left me. I don’t mind tapping into it for him. But I’m well aware of his pride. He wouldn’t be able to handle it if I helped him out like that. His ego wouldn’t let him.
“Nah.” He waves me off. “I got it handled.”
“All right, but don’t come crying to me when your cousin tears you a new one.” I tip my head to the side. “I should have a kit lying around somewhere.” After the hours he’s spent helping me with the Nova, it’s the least I can do. “You still know your way around a garage?”
Marco glances over his shoulder as he heads to his car and breaks into a grin. “It’s in my fucking blood.”
Marco’s not crashing on the couch tonight, so I have my place to myself for once. I’m too tired to go to some party Shyla’s hosting, and I want to get rid of all the filth and grime on me before I hit the hay.
After showering, I retrieve a glass of water and settle in the living room. It’s a sweet setup, everything paid for by Daniel Kingsley since it’d look bad if I’m living in squalor while he’s residing in the American Dream home with the white picket fence and his do-over family.
At least the apartment is nice. Charcoal and gray furniture are sparsely placed throughout the place. Floor-to-ceiling windows provide the best view of the beachy coastline. It’s a minimalist’s wet dream; utterly devoid of life.
Leaning back against the sofa, I ignore the missed calls from my father and check the unread texts from Reese. I had sent her a picture of the Nova’s current state before I left the garage.
Reese’s Pieces: Ooh!!!
Reese’s Pieces: Have you picked a color yet?
Dane: if you tell me your name, I’ll tell you the color
Reese’s Pieces: It’s more fun to see you guess :)
Dane: likewise, mini Reese
Reese’s Pieces: Maybe green?
Dane: why green?
Reese’s Pieces: A green convertible seems like something you’d do.
Dane: you want to know something I would do?
It takes three rings before she finally picks up. Her face appears on the cracked screen, grainy and barely illuminated.
“It’s late,” she murmurs.
“It’s only two in the morning.” I smile crookedly at her. “Why are you still up?”
“One of my professors had online homework due today,” she explains. “I just turned it in.”
“Why are we whispering?”
“I’m still at the sorority house,” she reminds me, “and everyone’s asleep.”
“After a long night of pillow fights?”
She snorts, and even though it’s dark on her end, I can sense the dry look she’s giving me.
“So…” Propping an arm behind my head, I crank up the volume. “What are you wearing?”
“Oh my God. I’m wearing my PJs.”
“Sexy ones?”
“Oh, yes,” she says blandly. “I’m totally naked under my sexy PJs.”
“ Aw, fuck yeah, baby .” I exaggerate a groan, and she breaks into giggles. “You are so fucking hot fully dressed and cozy for me.”
She fights the twitch to her lips and gives me a playful frown. “Why are you up?”
“’Cause you’re not wearing anything underneath those layers.”
She barely smothers her laugh with a sigh. “I’m serious.”
“Me too.” I toss a wink at the camera. “Wanna see?”
“ See ?” she chokes out.
“ Si is Spanish for yes.” With a slanted grin, I switch to the rear-facing camera. She squeaks as I give her a sneak preview of my body. It’s nothing indecent. It’s just a glimpse of my long legs crossed on the coffee table while I’m dressed in gray sweatpants. The only time she sees any skin is when I briefly show off my naked torso.
“I’m on the couch,” she rasps.
“So am I.”
“I’m… I can’t…” Her teeth sink into her bottom lip. “My sister’s upstairs.”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna do,” is my immediate response. Her eyes are round as saucers while she visibly contemplates and then offers me a faint nod. “Oh, come on, baby. I need a yes in English if you want to see how up I am.”
“ Yes .” Her word is punctuated with a rustling noise as she pulls a cover over her head. She clears her throat and tries to school her features into something neutral. “As you were, soldier.”
Chuckling, I loosen the drawstrings and draw my cock out. I’m rewarded with a breathy whimper, which brings a smirk to my face. “You sure know how to make a guy feel like God.”
“Are you…”
“Gonna jack off?” I supply. “Only if you tell me what to do.”
She expels a slow exhale. Her voice is barely audible when she replies. “Touch yourself?”
“Isn’t that what I’m already doing?” I give my dick a quick, featherlight stroke, and another whimper escapes her. “Now, tell me what to do.”
“Please touch yourself.”
“Aw, you’re so polite,” I tease. “How’s this?” My index finger pokes the crown of my cock, and she heaves out a strangled huff.
“You know what I mean.”
“Do I?”
“Put your hand around—” Her gaze darts up, and she freezes.
“Aw, don’t get shy on me now.”
“I think someone went to the bathroom,” she mutters, hunching her shoulders.
“Don’t give a fuck about that,” I grunt. “Now, come on, baby. Tell me what you’d be doing if you were here touching me yourself.”
“Oh.” She lets out a blustery laugh. “I’d wrap my hand around…”
“My neck?”
“Your cock .”
“Now we’re talking.” I grip the base and give her an expectant look. “And then what?”
“I’d move my hand.”
“Away?” I tease, and she wrinkles her nose.
“Up and down.” Her face is barely visible under the cover, but I don’t need to see it to know she’s beet red.
Slowly, I stroke myself for her. “Just once?”
“Until you come,” she replies boldly, and I grin. “I think I’d go a little faster, though.”
With another chuckle, I lazily lean back into my seat and quicken my pace. “You wanna know what I’m thinking?”
Breathlessly, she nods. “W-what?”
“I’m thinking of how sweet it’d be to have you here,” I groan out, and already, I’m picturing her generous tits bouncing while she’s on top of me. “Riding my cock. Screaming my name. Taking every fucking inch of me.”
Her breathing stutters. “Really?”
“Yeah, baby. Just thinking about what a little mess you’ll become. How fucking wet and greedy you’ll get just for me. How that sweet ass of yours will go up and down while you fuck yourself with my cock.”
She exhales sharply, watching me intensely as I fuck my fist and think about her in various positions. Straddling me and playing with her clit. Spreading her legs wide on her back. Desperately begging for more on her hands and knees while my come drips down her tits.
Fuck .
The idea alone tips me over the edge. My muscles tighten. My jaw locks. Pressure builds against my spine, and a guttural sound rips up my throat as I spurt into my hand.
“Oh my God,” Reese gasps. “Did you?—”
“The next time I come,” I grunt, “will be when I’m buried deep inside that tight little pussy of yours.”
Her breath catches; her chest hitches.
“And that’s a fucking promise.”