7. Colton
seven
Colton
T hank fuck Kiara’s piece-of-shit car (on account of its age) is a Corolla. And that I had the part.
Once on the lift, hood popped open, and battery disconnected, it was a breeze to get to the starter—right there under the intake manifold with nothing in the way. I pulled off the wiring harness, removed the couple of bolts holding the starter in, slapped the new one in, torqued the bolts to spec, reconnected the wires, hooked the battery. She fired right back up.
Could I have done this yesterday? Ah. Not if I wanted to stay nice and clean and dressed up for my date.
The date I didn’t want to go to.
The date I ended up canceling anyway.
So the answer would be no. No, I couldn’t have done it yesterday. Because I wouldn’t have wanted to.
At least I’m not lying to myself. I needed a little bit of Kiara in my day before going on my date, and what’s wrong with that?
And yeah, as things progressed, as she started telling me about her family, I wanted to be by her side as she walked in. Moral support and all that. That was before the fake dating idea even remotely appeared in the back of my brain. Waaay before her lips were under mine. Because that’s what friends do, right?
I push the door to Easy Monday, looking forward to the scent of coffee. To seeing my sister and her friends, even for just a quick hello. To maybe sitting down in an armchair and reading the newspaper like a proper old man. After all, I’m going on thirty.
This morning, though, my gaze searches and stops on Kiara like a heat-seeking missile. Her petite shape curled on the couch moves me. She’s deep in her book, biting her bottom lip, her cheeks slightly flushed. I notice her delicate neck, the way her eyes dance as they scan the page, the—
“Hey, Colt,” Grace calls out.
Just then, Kiara’s phone rings and she stands to take the call.
I lift a few fingers in a half-assed wave, but instead of going to place my order at the counter, I find myself walking up to the group of women. I try to avoid looking at Kiara, so I’m not too obvious.
It’s near impossible.
There’s like a radiation coming from her, a heat only I can feel, and fuck it.
I don’t care that yesterday was fake. I don’t care that she thinks I kissed her only to annoy her sister. I know what she felt because I felt it too.
In this crowded coffee shop, with my hands reeking of automobile grease, my coveralls under a thick flannel jacket, and my work boots leaving snow marks on the floor, I take one long look at Kiara. Delicate. Fragile. An artist in the making.
I take in the gorgeous gray eyes she hides under too much makeup.
Her beautiful blonde locks of hair she cuts short and covers in gel so they spike up.
Her delicate neck that gets blotchy when she’s nervous.
The way she looks when she’s reading and thinks no one is watching. The way her breaths accelerate, her eyes dance with mirth, her lips tilt up. The way she comes alive in her world of fantasy, much like she does when we play video games.
I want to give her that. I want to make her come alive under my touch, my kiss, my body. Show her that the real world is not just bitches and dipshit exes.
She already has most of that, here in Emerald Creek. She has her girlfriends. They have her back.
But I want to be closer than them. So much closer. More than her helpful neighbor. More than her favorite mechanic. More than her best friend.
It’s decided.
I’m gonna make her mine.
Then, as if I hadn’t just altered the course of both our lives, I put my hands on my hips and declare, “Your car is fixed.”
She whips around, her cheeks a little flush, her eyes shiny. Covering her phone, she breathes, “It’s Grams.”
I nod. “Tell her I said hi.”
Half a beat goes by, and she passes me the phone. “She wants to talk to you.” Putting her hand on the phone again, she whispers, “Just go with it, I’ll fix it later.”
My eyes on Kiara, I put the phone to my ear and engage in friendly banter with Eloise. Turns out, the asshole proposed to Kiara’s sister, and now Eloise is throwing them a party—and she wants us there. Something warm spreads through my body as I hum my agreement to whatever she wants and sear the date and place in my mind. I give the phone back to Kiara. Cheeks crimson, she wraps up with Eloise, then clears her throat.
“Thanks… I, uh… obviously haven’t told her anything yet, so yeah… nice uh… nice improv.” She tucks her phone away. “Obviously, we—you’re—you’re off the hook. G-Goes without saying,” she stammers.
I smirk. “We’ll see about that.”
She chuckles. “No, really. I got this.” Then her eyes light up. “Did I hear you say my car was ready? You really shouldn’t have worked on it on a Sunday. Thanks so much.” She gives me a big friendly smile that’s nothing like the way doe-eyed Kiara looked at me last night at dinner, shivering under my touch.
It bothers me a little that she’s more excited about her car being repaired than having me as a plus-one to her sister’s engagement party. Maybe we shouldn’t have been friends this long. Maybe that’s what the problem is. She doesn’t see me as boyfriend material.
I can change her mind.
“Lemme grab a cuppa, and I’ll drive you back.” Then we can have a nice little talk in the car, and I can show her how nothing was fake in that kiss, despite what I said yesterday. I can show her how sweet a second kiss would feel, when I’m not taking her by surprise. And a third.
The way her cheeks tint, she knows what’s up. She wants it. “Your coffee’s on me,” she says, leading the way to the counter.
See? Easy. We’re meant to be. Nothing weird about it.