Page 88 of Flaunt
But as soon as I reach him, the frown leaves his face, and he presses his mouth roughly, yet tenderly, against mine.
I place a hand on his chest and wad his dirty shirt in my fist. I could let him kiss me forever.
Finally, he pulls back.
“So we’re just kissing like that now, huh?” I ask, grinning. “Out it public for the world to see?”
He grins right back. “Do you want me to stop kissing you, bestie?”
No, no, I do not.
“How was your day?” I ask. “Is Tasha ready for her vacation?”
Banks groans. “Stop sayingvacation. It’s my new least favorite word.”
I laugh. “You’ll be fine without her.”
He makes a face like he’s not convinced. But I am. I’m pretty sure Banks would be fine in any situation if he wanted to be.
I follow him inside the shop and through a little archway onto the actual floor. The room is expansive and bright with clean, white walls and big overhead lights. Cars line the room, some on the ground and others raised on lifts. It’s surprisingly clean and organized—very much not like his house.
“You need to have whoever cleans this place come to your house,” I say, laughing. “You could eat off the floor here, and I worry about eating off plates in your kitchen.”
He gasps. “I’ll have you know that I clean up here.”
I gasp back at him.
“I do,” he says. “I mean, the guys all help take care of their shit and keep whatever area they’re working in clean. But I always stay late and go through and make sure it’s all where it’s supposed to be.”
He walks over to a display. A plethora of glass jars sit in a red holder, and each is filled with different screws and bolts. On the front of every jar is a white label with black writing, denoting what’s inside.
“I did that,” he says proudly. “Doesn’t it make you feel good to see it?”
“Um, no. But I’m glad it does you.”
He flashes me a disapproving look. “Sometimes I come early on Sunday mornings before dinner at Mom’s and sweep or wipe down all the heavy traffic areas.”
“I don’t …” My brows pull together. “How are you this person here and not at home?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. This place feels like home to me. My work family is here. We have a monthly dinner together here. We stay late and work on deadlines, yell, almost cry …” He chuckles. “At home, it’s just me.”
Interesting.
I know absolutely nothing about cars, but I need to show some interest because this is important to him. Even though his questions yesterday made me uncomfortable, he did it because he suspected I needed to answer them.I know that’s true. He wouldn't have done it otherwise.
That’s one of the things I’m learning about Banks. He’s way more observant than anyone gives him credit for.
I mosey down the shop.What can I ask about that would make sense?My sights finally settle on an emerald-green car up on a lift.
“What kind of car is this?” I ask, pointing up.
Banks smiles. “That is a Camaro. It’s one of my favorite body styles of all time.” He grimaces. “I hate saying that because it feels like I’m betraying Betsy.”
“Your car?” I ask, amused.
“She’s my baby. Never tell her I talked about a Camaro. She’ll be crushed.”
“I promise. Your secret of loving Camaros more than Betsy is safe with me.”
