Lucky bitch, whoever she is.
four
. . .
lucky bitch, whoever she is.
I really do believe in the books I read. I believe they have the power to change people’s perspectives, hearts, minds, and therefore, lives.
Is there a difference between reading something in The Mechanics Bible and then putting it to use in the garage and listening to the men in the novels I listen to gain life confidence and then putting it to use in my personal life?
I suppose the minor detail between the two is that I know I can do things in the garage because–while my experience is limited, I do have some experience.
When it comes to the things in my books…
Well, I may be as inexperienced as Miller, but the difference between him and me is that I’m not afraid to do things I haven’t done.
Quite the opposite. I guess this deal does kind of benefit me in both ways—getting some fooling around under my belt with someone I trust and help work my way through The Mechanics Bible.
After telling him we’re starting with my evaluation of his kiss, I lean forward. I’m extremely nervous he won’t do it, and if that’s the case, how in the world will I ever look him in the eye after I went full Ariel and leaned in with my eyes closed just to be rejected?
But my worries wane because… I smell him.
That’s how I know he’s going to kiss me.
I smell his aftershave and laundry detergent as he leans down, his face close to mine. The closest it’s ever been. My eyes are still closed, but I can feel his breath on my lips as he says, “I’m going to kiss you now.”
No one’s ever announced they were going to kiss me before. Granted, my kissing experience is limited to three guys, but still, this is a first in more ways than one.
And then his lips are against mine, soft at first, but the way he gradually applies pressure, in sync with the increased beating of my heart—it’s perfect.
The longer we hold our lips together, the more my spine loses shape, and my body melts into him.
Looping his arm around me, he presses his palm to my lower back, and the sensation that radiates through me from his touch is… nearly indescribable.
I said nearly.
Pins and needles, fullness and hunger, ache and satisfaction—every feeling, heightened and powerful, simmers at the surface. I’m almost afraid he’ll feel it all if he kisses me much longer.
As I take my hand off his knee, I pull away. Our faces linger before each other, lips parted, noses pink from the friction. His breath is heavy, green eyes so bright and happy that I can’t help but smile .
“You’re smiling,” he says quietly, and I feel his words against my lips as he, too, smiles. “Was it so bad that it made you laugh?”
He’s never been so wrong. It was so good that I can’t believe this kiss has been a few feet away from me this entire time.
“It wasn’t bad,” I say, letting my smile tease him a little. He takes his hand off my back, and the way it makes me feel really bad and quite empty is… jarring. “I liked your hand on my lower back, but I would have loved it on my face, too.”
His focus goes to my cheek, and for a second, I think he’s going to reach out and cup my face and try again, but he doesn’t. I tell myself I’m not disappointed.
“When? Right away or, like, at the end?” he asks, worry etching his forehead in long, horizontal lines.
I slide off my stool and glance at my watch. Atticus and Beau will be back shortly, so I know my time is limited. And even though I know it’s not part of the lesson, I have the strongest urge to pretend it is and kiss him again.
I step between his spread legs, lift my hand and lower it to his cheek.
Stroking the edge of his bottom lip with my thumb, I smile.
Bringing our faces almost together, I whisper, “when it feels right, you’ll know.
You have to trust yourself a little.” Then our mouths are together again, and I don’t know if I leaned in, he leaned forward, or maybe a little of both?
But either way, our lips fuse together so perfectly that my entire body flashes hot.
Because my heart is beating too fast and this is only an arrangement, I step away.
We’re doing this to make him confident for his forever girl.
I bet he’ll find a woman like the one in here the other day.
Blonde and gorgeous, someone who wears wide-brim Panama hats with sundresses posing in a field of daisies for a Christmas card.
She’ll probably have a fancy job, like influencing women to buy sweet syrups and expensive coffee makers, giving exercise tips by taking pictures of her ass in gym mirrors, and recommending bronzers on her social media.
Thinking of that woman from earlier is what I need to snap me back to reality.
“Now you owe me something for the pointer,” I say, wearing my best “utterly unaffected” face.
He looks a million miles away as he stares me down, but his gaze is heavy and makes my skin hot, so I busy myself cleaning up.
I stow the empty lunch bag beneath the desk and drop our plates and cups into the garbage can.
I log back into the computer as Beau’s Tesla pulls into the parking lot out front, the windshield reflecting brightly off the glass building.
Glancing back at him, I see that Miller is in the exact position he was when I stopped kissing him.
Sitting on the stool, hair mussed from his fingers, lips parted and pink, expression hazy.
My smirk snaps him out of his daze; jumping off the stool, he tugs his baseball cap back down.
“Know how to slim jim a car?” he questions, walking behind me toward the shop door.
“Nope,” I reply, shaking my head. I’ve watched Atticus shimmy a tool called the slim jim down the side of a driver’s side window, into the door, and pop open a lock. But I’ve never held the tool. “Just watched.”
He opens the door and kicks a large foot outside, propping it open. With his hand gripping the doorframe above his head, he says, “come find me when you get a break. I’ll show you how.” He smiles, and then he’s gone.
I don’t know what I’m more excited about–learning how to pop open a locked car door or spending a little more time with Miller.
“Yeah? I can hardly hear you.”
“Ahh, it’s loud in here right now,” mom says, the quiet roar of voices and phones ringing eating up much of the phone line between us. “Let me step out a second. Hang on.”
I wait on the line as I input invoices with one hand, holding the phone with the other. A moment later, the line is much quieter, and she returns.
“Okay, I took some overtime at the Willowdale PD, so I won’t be off til midnight. Do you think you can take Mara to Karate?” A door opens and slams in the background, and mom murmurs something to whoever is there.
I look through the rectangular window in the shop door and lock eyes with Miller. A spark of excitement twists through my core at his full, crooked grin and his sweet little wink.
Regular little wink. This is Miller. I don’t need to be thinking of his wink as sweet . Ugh.
Thankfully, an hour after lunch, when his afternoon appointment was done, we snuck in ten minutes together.
He showed me how to pop open a locked door using a slim jim.
It’s basically the same idea as a metal coat hanger straightened out, only made of things that don’t completely fuck up a car or shatter glass.
It takes some finesse, and while Miller did it easily on his first try, he reminded me that it wasn’t really his first try.
“When you’re really good at something, it’s not usually your first time,” he’d said as he felt my frustration on my third failed attempt.
When he draped his hand over mine, curled his fingers into mine, and showed me the exact torque and force needed to do it…
I finally did it, and none of my focus was on the lock.
Not at all .
I’d planned on popping out and maybe talking about skipping forward in the The Mechanics Bible and starting with some of the middle chapters. They’re out of order in terms of skill, but it would be nice to learn some of the concepts sooner than later since mom’s car needs work.
“Sounds good. I’ll talk to Beau. I’ll be there in a few.”
Sliding my phone into my bag, I log out of my computer and slap a sticky note over the screen, letting Atticus know that if he touches my shit, he’s toast. He’s always using my login to look stuff up and never closing all the tabs, so when I try to log in the next morning, everything’s all frozen.
Men. Or, that man, at least.
Using the black handset on the desk, I call the phone in the underground bay. Beau answers, and I’m grateful. Oddly, I’m disproportionately disappointed not to be talking to Miller again today.
That’s new, and I’m not sure what to make of it.
“What’s up, Laney?” Beau says, kind of out of breath. They’re probably stacking the order of tires that came in an hour ago, so I keep it quick.
“Gotta take Mara to Karate. Mom’s taking overtime in Willowdale.”
He says something to Atticus before returning to me. “She’s still dispatching over there sometimes?”
“Yep. Whenever they need a hand, and Oakcreek will part with her for a few hours.”
Everyone loves my mom. She’s one of those ladies that reminds you of all the best parts about having a family. Comfort, familiarity, tenderness. Her smile alone makes you feel important, and you feel so safe when you talk to her. I’m lucky.
“Tell Mara to kick ass,” he says on a heavy exhale, probably holding the phone while stacking tires if I know Beau.
He’s not like the millionaire CEOs you see on the news, who are out of touch with their company’s needs as well as a stranger to their employees.
Beau works harder in this garage than anyone else, and that’s saying something because Atti and Miller are workhorses, too. “And tell your mom I said hi.”
“Will do. Thanks, Beau.”