Chapter 20
Biology Class
Day 34
“Why’d you get a car tattoo?” I asked Dax, my eyes shamelessly roaming over his arms. Over the weekend, he had added an image of a sun and palm tree behind the car.
“Why not?”
“We live on an island with no cars. Shouldn’t you have a boat on your arm or something?”
He shook his head. “No imagination, Books. This way, I bring the car to the island.”
I gaped at the scene, unable to take my gaze off of Da—his car.
He folded his arms across his chest, his eyes glinting steel.
“Five hours if you help me with this car, Books. Ten if you can shut up about it.”
I couldn’t help my smile any more than he could help the look of warning clouding his face. Taking a few steps into the room, I ran my fingers across the smooth orange paint.
“Ten hours? I don’t know. For that price, it might be pretty hard to keep things quiet. You know, with all the gossip at the cafe.” I turned to face him. “It’s just hard to not say things sometimes, in the heat of the moment…”
“Fifteen hours.”
I went on like I hadn’t heard him, wandering to the front of the car, which was raised up on a lift. With my hand on the open hood, I peered down at all the pipes, like I had some idea what I was looking at.
“Off the island, fine. I mean, you’re a car guy.” I motion to his tattoo. “You’re not hiding that. I’m sure people assume you own a car and that it’s parked nicely in the garage—the garage on the mainland, that is.”
I spared him a glance and was delighted at the smile softening his lips. For a moment, I was struck again by how utterly dangerous and alluring he could be. With his dark hair long and messy up top, and his jeans slung low across his hips, and the whole…no shirt thing.
Clearing my throat, I went on, “I mean, this is a 1969 Chevy Chevelle. I don’t know how I could keep that a secret for only fifteen hours.”
I thought I would impress him with my car knowledge, but instead his gaze narrowed, and he began walking toward me. I refused to back down from my stance of annoying him, even though my heart lurched at his growing proximity.
“That’s interesting, Books. I don’t remember you being much of a car girl. Unless you looked up my tattoo?”
A warm flush crawled up my neck. He took another step closer, and the fireworks this town had prepped for the party tonight had nothing on the sparks erupting inside of me.
“Doing some light internet stalking?” he asked.
I scoffed, taking a step back, my hand sweeping toward the car. “This is a classic. Everyone knows it.”
“They don’t. Unless they’re a car guy.” He folded his arms across his chest and gave me a knowing look.
“Or a car girl,” I corrected .
“Or a car girl,” he conceded. “Which you are not.”
Okay, fine. Hand me a pair of binoculars and call me a peeping tom. So I looked it up on the internet. Big deal.
“Twenty-five hours or I’ll tell the whole town what I know.” The words came out bold, but the smile would not retract from my face. After a really crappy beginning to my summer, it felt good to finally have something on Dax. He had been fooling this town for so long, and look at the rule breaker now.
“Fifteen hours and I won’t tell everyone you’re now an accomplice.”
I gasped while he laughed, husky and deep, his words bringing up memories of another night. And here we were again, ten years later, all grown up and?—
FOCUS, IVY.
“Twenty hours. Or I’ll tell Beau I’m a hostage, and you locked me inside against my will.”
“Against your will?” His words mocked me at the same time the dark pools in his eyes spiked my heart rate. “He’ll never believe that.”
I blinked, glancing at his lips before yanking them away. Taking a step away from him, I fought to bring us back to where I had the advantage.
“Twenty hours. I won’t tell anyone. And I’ll help you for a while.”
He looked amused at this statement. “What are you going to help me with?”
I looked around. I didn’t have any ideas, but I knew I didn’t want to go yet. The lure of the beach now felt lackluster compared to the spark flaring in his eyes.
“I can hand you tools,” I began, ticking things off with my fingers. “I can get your playlist up to date. I can keep you hydrated.”
Leaning back against the counter with his ankles crossed, he broke in. “Keep me hydrated? Can you explain what you mean by that?”
But he was also a master at getting reactions. He used to thrive on that, so if I was going to stick around, I needed to get a grip. He teased me to get under my skin, not for any other reason.
“I can grab you a Coke.”
“The Coke that I brought here?”
“Yeah. And I’ll grab it for you.”
“What if I get thirsty for something else?”
My eyes flew to where he stood watching me with a playful expression.
“Stop,” I warned.
He laughed softly before walking to the door. “I meant a lemonade or a Dr. Pepper. What did you think I meant?”
He left the room, and I waited with bated breath. Dax didn’t lock me inside with an evil laugh, threatening to call Beau and have me framed, so I guess I should be grateful. But he was going to tell me no and kick me out. I knew it. He liked being alone. He didn’t seem to need anybody, and I couldn’t figure out why that thought bothered me. To my surprise, he returned to the secret garage, this time carrying two cans of Coke and a bag of Sun Chips. He shut the door, tossed the chips on the counter, and handed me one of the cans.
“I was supposed to get that,” I said, popping the top, ridiculously excited he came back.
“I still haven’t decided if what you can offer me is worth twenty hours or not, but I’m interested in playing this out. I’ve got some work to do underneath the car, and I could use an extra pair of hands.”
My first thought went to Jane and Cat and our golf cart fantasies we had about Dax while eating lunch at the cafe. I took a sip of Coke to give my mouth something to do instead of smiling .
Dax grabbed something behind the door. He turned and held out the blue fabric of what looked like a pair of coveralls.
“Put these on.”
I set my drink on the workbench and flung out the worn material several times. I wasn’t sure how long it had been sitting in this shop, but I was going to do my best to rid the garment of any critters that might have crawled inside and made a home.
“Whose is this?” I asked, stepping one leg inside.
Dax rummaged through a few tools on the workbench. “Mine.”
My motion of getting dressed skittered to a stop as his words sunk in, giving meaning and an intimacy to a crumpled pair of work coveralls.
“Do you ever wear them?”
Dax set a handful of tools on the counter. “Sometimes.”
I zipped up the coveralls over my jean shorts and tank top. “Twenty hours,” I told him again.
He looked me up and down, smiling at whatever he saw, and to my disappointment, he pulled a black shirt over his abs before grabbing a small box of tools he’d been adding to while I had changed. He nodded toward two rollers he had set out side by side and motioned me toward one. “We’ll see.”
The challenging look he gave me made me forget myself and crawl awkwardly onto the roller—or at least, give it my best attempt. The roller was extremely unforgiving for a newbie and kept sliding whenever I tried to heave my lower half on. Twice I landed on my butt while it slid out from underneath me. Dax bit back a laugh as he moved his foot to hold the roller steady without saying a word.
“I can do it by myself, it's just hard to maneuver in these clothes,” I said, adjusting my position on the hard plastic.
“I have no doubt.”
He slid onto his roller with the ease of a ninja warrior and scooted it next to mine. “Pop quiz. What’s this thing you’re lying on called?”
I scoffed. “That’s too easy. Give me another one.”
A smile broke out across his face, giving him such a boyish charm that I had to suck in a breath to quell the butterflies taking flight in my stomach. “I’d love to hear your answer.”
“It’s a…roller…scooter. At least, that’s what my friends and I always call it.”
He laughed, placing the small box of tools gently onto my stomach. “Down to nineteen hours now, Books.”
He rolled under the car before I could stop him. I carefully followed suit, moving backward at a snail's pace until I reached his side.
“Hey! My answers don’t change the hours. We agreed on twenty.”
“No, we didn’t. And your answers very much reflect your hours. You offered to help me, and I need somebody who knows what they’re doing.” He stopped rolling and looked at me. “Unless, of course…you don’t.”
Though it was dark underneath the car, it was light enough to see the humor lacing his eyes.
“Of course I do.”
“Great. Now move your roller scooter over here. I’ve got a driveline for the car here, and I need you to help me hold it steady while I bolt it in.”
“Hold the driveline,” I repeated. “Obviously that’s what we’re going to do.” I inched my way closer to him, aware of his low breath of laughter, but soon, all thoughts fled as he grabbed one side of the long pipe from the ground behind us, and raised it up.
“Hold it steady for me,” he mumbled. I did as he asked while staring shamelessly at the man lying next to me. I had been cursing the appearance of his shirt only moments ago, but now it stretched taut across his body, giving peeks of skin and tattoos as he leaned and reached and deftly moved his hands, aligning the driveline just right.
“Pop quiz, Books. If I were to ask you for a socket wrench, what would you give me?”
I carefully turned the container of tools my way and peered inside. It was dark under the car, and though I could feel him watching me, seeing the tools was difficult. Good thing a socket wrench was one of the few tools I actually knew. I locked my fingers around the heavy metal wrench and passed it over to him.
“Twenty hours,” I said proudly.
I felt his smile more than I saw it but to my confusion, he handed it back to me.
“What about a 9/16ths socket wrench?”
I peered back into the box of tools and debated. There were several sizes inside. I took a guess and handed it over.
When he took the wrench without a fuss, I declared my victory. “Twenty-one hours.”
The veins in his arms bulged as he tightened the bolt. I swallowed, trying to think of something to push my thoughts in another direction. I wasn’t going to be manipulated by manly arms and hands that could bolt drivelines.
“Phillips screwdriver.”
Again, I breathed a sigh as I fished it out awkwardly and handed it to him with a confidence I was beginning to feel. “Twenty-two hours. You act like fixing cars is hard.”
I was rewarded with a grin, but the punk didn’t do anything with the screwdriver but place it on his stomach.
“Vise grip.” He held out his hand expectantly.
“You can’t just make up names.”
He laughed. “I’m not.”
After a long moment of rummaging, I confidently handed him a random tool I didn’t know, praying I was right.
“And we’re back. Twenty-one hours.” He leaned over and placed the tool back in the box on my stomach. “Let’s see…I’m going to need a punch next.”
“I thought you needed a vise grip .” I held up my fingers in quotations.
“Just wanted to mess with you. Now I need a punch.”
“I can do that.”
Before I could try a fumbled attempt at boxing, his left arm shot out, pinning my hand to my side.
“You’re a violent little thing. Does your dad know this about you?”
Our faces were so close. For a long moment, we stared at each other until I sucked in a breath and turned my face away. “There’s no such thing as a punch.”
“Twenty hours.” He leaned into my space, tilting the toolbox on my stomach to see better while giving my nose a shot of his cologne. I didn’t know what it was called, but I had to force my eyes not to roll to the back of my head in pleasure. He found what he was searching for and held up a small, smooth tool. “This is a punch.” He dropped it back into the box. He didn’t even need it.
“You’re such a punk.”
“Punk? What year is it?”
“According to your playlist? 1970.”
He busied himself adding and tightening more bolts above our heads.
“Okay, if this is how we’re playing it, let’s see if you can answer a few of my work questions.” I became distracted in attempting to think of something while the muscles on Dax’s forearms strained to twist a bolt.
“Tick-tock,” Dax mumbled before he moved his roller closer to me. His leg pressed against mine before he maneuvered himself out from under the car, only to roll back under again, this time on my other side. Before I could think or blink, his hand was on my thigh, rolling me closer to his side in a way that left me a mess of flutters, tingles, and a pounding heartbeat.
“Now I’m going to do the same thing with this end,” he explained, as if he hadn’t just grabbed my leg and destroyed me. He aligned the other side of the five-foot pipe just right and asked me for the 9/16ths socket wrench once more.
I handed it to him, to which he said proudly, “Look at how much you’re learning.”
“Alright, smart guy, 9/16ths is what point of an inch?”
“Huh?”
I smiled. “What is 9/16ths in decimal form?”
“Why would anybody know that?”
“You can’t figure it out?”
“Can you?”
“.5625.” I smiled at him. “Twenty-one hours.”
He blinked at me before a smile tugged at his lips. “I’ll give that to you. That was pretty hot.”
His words rumbled low in my ear, and my cheeks burned at his compliment. I had to look away.
“Okay,” he said, “hand me the punch and a hammer while I pound this into place.”
This was why he invited me here. He did actually need an extra pair of hands. Glad to know my coveralls weren’t going to waste.
His coveralls.
I pushed that thought aside while I very capably reached into the box, pulled out the tools, and held them out to him.
“Twenty-two hours,” I said proudly.
“I’ll even let you take one for that. I’m so proud.”
We settled into a routine. I now knew every tool he needed, so he couldn’t trick me. Instead, Dax quizzed me on car knowledge. Questions like, what is a driveline? What does the transmission actually do? And I quizzed him on mathematics, ranging from easy to theories. Between his questions and mine, we each got very few right, but we worked seamlessly for the next twenty minutes. Much to the sinking in my stomach, I didn’t delight in the questions as much as the accidental touches. My skin burned where his leg pressed against mine. My heart pounded like I’d run a marathon, but my feet hadn’t touched the ground.
Finally, we settled on a score of eighteen and a half hours, thanks to a two-part math question Dax actually knew one answer to.
The popping sound of fireworks nearby greeted us as we crawled out from under the car. Dax slid out easily. I enjoyed a more scoot-awkwardly-and-bang-my-head-on-the-bottom-of-the-car kind of approach.
“Easy there, Caroline,” he said, grabbing my roller and helping me slide out without further injury.
“Hey! It’s Ivy. Or even Books, okay? Not Caroline.”
“Why? That’s your name, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but it was my dad’s mom, and she wasn’t a very nice person.”
“You kept smacking me underneath the car. Maybe your name is trying to tell you something.”
At my best leveling gaze, he only laughed and began putting his tools away while I peeled off the coveralls.
“What do you have the car for anyway? You don’t plan on leaving the island, right?”
“I plan on driving this thing all up and down the coast one day. It’ll stay in the garage on the mainland when I’m finished. But I bought it all in parts, and I had to have somewhere to put it together.”
“You ferried it over in parts?”
The amount of knowledge Dax had about cars astounded me. To have the skills to put together his own car was something not many could boast. And he wasn’t even boasting about it. It seemed so matter-of-fact to him .
“Not ferried. I drove my own boat so I could sneak the parts inside.”
“The little old ladies next door didn’t catch you?”
“Thankfully, I guess they’re not looking too hard at what I’m carrying.”
The booming pop of another round of fireworks went off. I hadn’t meant to be gone this long. I had forgotten my original purpose in finding Dax, with the excitement of the car and being with him. I had intended to drag him to the beach and force him to be around his friends and have fun.
“We should go watch the fireworks.”
He looked my way and almost started to say something before he hesitated.
“What?” I asked.
“I was going to offer to let you drive my golf cart to the beach to watch them, but then I remembered who I was talking to.”
I ignored his teasing. “Come with me.”
“Nah.”
“Why?”
“By the time we get down there, the fireworks will be done.”
“They usually go for a half an hour. They just started.” He was wavering, I could tell, so I added one more log to the fire.
“I’ll give you an hour.”
He looked at me, arms folded, clearly in a debate with himself.
“Two hours, then. Final offer.”
An exasperated look crossed his face. “Keep your hours, you annoying pest of a girl.”
He yanked open the door and motioned me to follow him. “Let’s go.”
I squealed in excitement, bolting out of the room before Dax could change his mind and lock me inside. Once outside, Dax strode to a cupboard above the workbench and reached for a key inside before putting it in his pocket. At the back door, he plucked two thin, black hoodies off a coat rack.
“Let’s go,” he called.
“Where’d you park your golf cart?”
“That’s not what we’re driving.”
Confused, intrigued, and more than a little attracted to Dax Miller, I didn’t even ask questions as I followed him out the door.