Page 16 of Busted Dreams

“Whose car is that?” I pointed to an old beat up black Lincoln in the farthest bay. It looked like it had been there for a while.

“That belongs to old Mr. Richards. He needs some work done but won’t have the money to pay for it until his next social security check. Dale said he could leave it here until then, since we had to tow it anyway.” He walked over and stroked his fingers down the side, leaving a trail in the dust. At the hood, he turned to look at me, waiting to see what I wanted him to do.

I had no freaking idea.

A million and one different ideas had floated through my head as I tried to go to sleep last night. But right now, in the light of day, every single one seemed lame and overdone.

“Maybe just work on the car and let me figure out how the filters and apps work.”

He dutifully popped the hood and snatched a clean rag out of the back of his jeans. I moved around him, recording clips and messing with the filters.

“Now look up at me and grin, like you do at the randy mom squad,” I said absently as I continued to move around.

He busted up laughing, and when he finally looked at his phone, his face was pleasantly flushed, bringing out a shine in his eyes. “Randy mom squad?”

“You know, the moms that want to throw their panties at you but won’t because they’re moms?” Exasperated, I tried to explain it to him. He knew exactly who I was talking about, he just wanted me to explain it again.

“Ah, pretty girl. They don’t toss their underwear because most of them don’t wear any.” He cracked up all over again as my mouth popped open. I even momentarily let my phone drop down to film the floor.

“Fuck, sorry! I was just joking with you. I have no idea if they wear any underwear or not, I just wanted to mess with you.” He approached me slowly, like a predator circling his prey of choice, only he tried to seduce me to him rather than taking me down with brute force.

Tilting the phone back a little bit, I caught his face as he caught my elbows. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Forgive me?” He poked out his bottom lip, pulling a reluctant smile from me before kissing my nose.

He went back to working on the Lincoln as I watched the clips I’d gathered so far. Sighing, I placed them in drafts, not willing to delete them just yet.

“What’s wrong?” He wiped a bit of grease off of his palms and corded forearms.

“These are fun videos, but if I posted them for the world to see, without knowing you, they’d think you were a king douchebag,” I grumbled as I flipped through the last few clips.

A strangled noise pulled my attention to his face. He had his hand covering the bottom of his mouth to keep his laughter in. He’d been plenty amused this morning, while I had not been.

Smart man to try and kill it before he really made me irritated.

“Astrid, did you ever think I’m just not built for the public eye?”

“Beck, how can you say that? You’re one of the most charming and charismatic people I know. You should easily become a popular internet personality. I think it’s me. It all goes back to what Thatcher told me. My work when I’m moved is amazing, but when I try to force it, my pictures come across as just subpar. I’m trying too hard to force this.”

Tightening his fingers on my arms, he said, “That fucker said that? What a bastard.” He sounded miffed on my behalf.

Giving him a pat on his chest, I shook my head. “He was being honest with me. Telling me an ugly truth I needed to hear to follow my dreams. I’d never have been able to win the school contest without his mentorship. What good has blowing smoke up someone’s butt ever done for them?”

He squinted, seeming to try and find an argument, but coming up short. “Fine. I see your point. But I still think he’s a bastard for saying that.”

“I’m going to run inside to the restroom. Maybe brainstorm a few more ideas. Or watch some of the big TikTokers.” I leaned up and kissed the underside of his jaw, then stepped away.

His smile grew into a smug grin as I left him in the bay. He never said anything, but every time I initiated any type of affection, he melted. For me, someone who hadn’t ever been the recipient of any type of tenderness from my parents, the ability to show any type of love was surprisingly natural for me. Once I got over my own hang ups, anyway.

So far, that only extended to Beck, and more recently, Rhys.

After spending twenty minutes inside, coming up with zero new ideas, I came back to the garage.

Beck had music playing softly as he leaned deep into the engine.

And he was singing.

A nervous trill of excitement sizzled down my spine as I started recording. His voice was clear but smokey. Haunting but seductive.

I had almost a full minute of him singing “This City” by Sam Fischer before he startled. He glanced at me, a slow grin curling his lips, the random streak of grease on his cheek giving him a boyish sort of charm.

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