I like her. A lot. #2
“What’s up?” I ask finally, and as much as I want to know, I’m also terrified.
Because what if her distance is from realizing that I’m too much?
I’m teaching her a skill she can use to build a career, and she’s been tasked with helping me be myself.
Who needs lessons for that? I shake my head, ready to say never mind and disappear into the shop because at times like this, the way I was raised takes hold of me in the form of depression and shame, and all I want to do is disappear.
She grabs my wrist, almost like she could sense I wanted to bolt. “It’s not you.”
If she means that, why don’t I feel relieved? My brow arches as I ask, “are you sure about that? It’s okay if you want to call things off.”
“No, seriously, Miller, it’s not you.” She steps closer, and our eyes sway together in dense silence that feels so electrically charged that if either of us makes a sudden move, we’ll go up in flames.
“Can I come over tonight? We can talk.” She swallows before adding, “and have another session if you want.”
If I want? “Yes,” I say quickly, earning the most beautiful grin from her.
Then I remember it’s Friday, and earlier this week, I promised Zeth I’d stop by, and I’ve also got an update for his mom and the work her car needs.
“But I have somewhere I gotta go after work.” Reaching into my pocket, I dig out my keys, circling one particular key around the ring before it’s free.
Outstretching it to her, I say, “Here. Let yourself in. I should be back around seven.”
She stares at the key, looking up at me with glassy eyes. Her fingertips grazing my palm as she takes the key makes the cage feel quite small. “Now I have two things crucial to your existence,” she says, smiling a little. “This key and the other.”
I nod. “That you do.” I resist looking at her perfect lips. “I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
She nods, biting the corner of her mouth. But I can see her grin. I’m wearing the same one. I head into the shop, not telling her that the keys are not the only thing of mine she owns.
Delane’s already gone by the time I leave Kings.
It’s probably better that she is because she’s all that’s been on my mind today.
After finding her emotional–which is so unlike her–I’m dying to know what’s been going on the last week.
And I’m also kicking myself a little for not trying to find out sooner.
I guess I was trying to give her space.
Isn’t that what women want… space? I knock my baseball hat off my head as I scratch my scalp, deep in thought as I drive to Zeth’s. I’ve been living on my own for years, and every once in a while, things seem overwhelmingly complicated still.
The front door opens as soon as I’ve got my truck in park, and Zeth comes bounding down the walkway, wearing a new brown winter coat outfitted with a hood and everything. Cold air rushes in with him when he slides onto the bench seat next to me, shaking the truck as he slams the door closed.
“Hey,” I poke him. “New coat?”
He beams down at the coat, which I can see now that he’s up close isn’t brand new, but it looks good. “Looks good, right?” he offers, and it’s the first time since I’ve known Zeth that he’s said anything at all remotely positive about himself.
“Looks great,” I add, meaning it, wishing I could give this kid more.
Not even money, but I would give that too, if it were allowed.
I wish I could give him the confidence to know that the life around him doesn’t define him and that he can be whoever he wants.
That his environment doesn’t have to be his identity. He doesn’t have to be the poor kid.
I don’t get the chance because he’s asking about his mom’s car, keeping us on task. I love the kid for that. “I told my mom you were going to try and fix her fuel… thing.”
“Pump,” I correct. “Yeah, I got the part. I was thinking I could take it to the shop this Sunday and work on it there.”
He nods. “I remembered you said Sunday. She said that works.” He looks at his lap, where he tangles his hands nervously before returning his deep, wide-set brown eyes to me. “She wants to pay you; said she’s not a charity case.”
“You know I won’t let her,” I reassure him.
“If she pays you, we won’t have the–”
I grab his knee. “Zeth, she isn’t paying me. I’m a mechanic. Fixing cars is my job. You’re my friend. Friends help out friends,” I say, meaning every word.
He nods, the relief of knowing his mom won’t have to spend their food money on the car written all over his face. Relief that a child shouldn’t have to experience because the struggle shouldn’t be his stress in the first place.
“Tell your mom Sunday morning I’ll be here, alright?”
He nods again and pops open the door, sliding out into the snow. “Thanks, Miller.”
I lift my hand in a goodbye wave. “See you in two days,” I say, watching him as he slams the door and trots back up the broken concrete path to the front door. He goes inside, and I stay there a moment, surveying their yard.
The grass is dying, which is normal for the cold weather. But a few bricks are missing from the planters, the trees haven’t had a proper trim probably ever, and the entire thing could use some fertilizer and a good weeding.
Living in an apartment means I don’t have a lawn, but caring for one is definitely something I can do.
Opening the door to my apartment tonight feels like the first time I’ve ever come home. I’ve loved my place since the day I signed the lease because it was all mine, and I could do or be whatever I wanted within this space.
And I’ve been free, living how I want, for years.
Tonight, though, it occurred to me that my apartment has always been my place to stay. But having Delane here, coming home to her… I understand what home feels like, what it means. It’s not even my apartment, either. It’s the way the space feels when someone you love is inside.
“Hi,” she greets from the couch, Salsa curled up in her lap. “I really want to get up to say hi, but Salsa is warming up to me, and I feel like pushing him off my lap now would totally set back our relationship.”
Her hair is down and partially drying, and her upper half is in my Wrench Kings hoodie. Her face is bare, and her toes peek out from the blanket. She looks… perfectly comfortable and just plain perfect.
“Home,” I flubber out, saying the word that's strung across my brain like a pennant banner at a party. “I mean, I’m home.” I close the door behind me and drop my lunch bag to the ground, shirking out of my coat, yet the embarrassment sticks.
“I mean, obviously, huh?” I’m so cold; I doubt she can see the flare of heat in my cheeks.
“And we greet you,” she beams, taking Salsa’s paw to wave at me. With groggy eyes, loud, lazy purrs, and a wet nose, he allows it, sinking back into slumber.
She puts his paw back down and drags her nails through the hair on his head. “How was work, honey?”
I know she’s joking because she’s got her head tipped, batting her eyes dramatically, holding the top of her hand under her chin playfully. And I know she knows how work was because… well, we work together.
Her calling me honey, though.
Turning away from her, I yank off my hat and reach down for my lunch bag, heading to the kitchen to unpack my empty food containers.
“Good. How was your day?” I ask, forcing huskiness into my tone because the word honey is melting through my veins, slow and sweet, making it hard for me to move or think.
“You okay?” she asks. “You sound weird.”
I cough and rinse my empty containers in the sink for a second before loading them into the dishwasher. Using some cleaner and a paper towel, I wipe out my lunch bag as I answer.
“Good, just trying to warm back up. It’s really cold out tonight.”
I stare at the closed cabinet door in front of my face, waiting for her response.
“Yeah, it is. That’s why this furball is such good company.” Coming around the corner, I see her lowering her nose to his head, taking a hit. “Gahh,” she sighs. “He even smells comforting.”
With my shoulder pressed against the cabinet’s edge, I fold my arms over my chest and smile at them. Actually, I’m not smiling at Salsa. He barfed in my shoe two days ago.
I’m smiling at her.
Okay, maybe a little of it is the two of them together.
“If he smells good, it’s only because he sleeps in my bed every day,” I joke, but as the smile melts off her face and her bright eyes fog over, I realize that the energy is quickly shifting.
“You do smell good,” she says quietly .
“I clean this place once a week. I don’t have much else to do,” I shrug.
One of her eyebrows slopes inward as she tips her head to the side.
I love the way her hair gets fuller as it dries, and my fingers twitch against my arms at the thought of getting lost in it.
Inhaling it while I’m on top of her, losing my hand in it as I bring her face to mine, stringing my fingers through it on the pillow next to me.
“I didn’t say this place smells good. I said you smell good.” She smiles, but it’s kind of shy and mirrors how I feel. Excitement speeds my pulse at the idea that Delane could maybe, just maybe , like me back.
“Thanks,” I grin, feeling silly and sheepish and, quite honestly, embarrassed.
She notices. “Why does it make you embarrassed when I tell you that you smell good?”
I shrug and laugh a little. “Honestly, I don’t know.” I rake a palm up the back of my head, my neck and face scalding me from the inside out. “I’m just not used to you saying things like that, I think.”
Her brow rumples. “I don’t get that.”
I swallow, ready to say because I’ve wanted you to want me for years, and now that it feels like you sort of do, I’m kind of freaking out. And my usual way of relieving stress is currently sitting in a cage.
I’m wearing a chastity cage. That alone is… jarring.