Page 11 of Falling for the Mechanic
“The first?” Repeating her words, I shake my head and think about it. “To the owner of the shop. To his speedy recovery.”
We swallow, and she has a full-body grimace. “Wait, you’re not the owner?”
“Not yet.” Clearing my throat, I sniff. “My uncle is. He won’t give me the shop until I stop scaring the business away. Even though he’s resting after fucking up his back, he still won’t loosen his grip. At his age, he should be retiring before something worse happens.”
I sound bitter about the whole thing. The familiar frustration is a cold knot in my gut.
“You’d be a pretty good owner.” She sets her glass down and motions for another. Her gaze is direct, unnervingly sincere. “You’re a hard worker.”
I want to scoff and brush her words off, but the truth is, it feels like a splash of warm water on a cold day. It seeps in, warming parts of me I thought had gone numb.
Everyone is always happy to point out what I’m doing wrong, but I don’t get too many compliments. This one, from her, feels like a key turning in a lock I forgot existed.
I ask for rum this time, and cradle my glass. “What about you? Who ruined your day?”
Sucking on her teeth, she drinks her next shot first. “My family. They’re really a big handful. My brother is the only one I can stand. But the rest of them?” Her brows come together, and her cheeks are already turning flushed. “Theysuck.”
She purses her lips together before saying the last part again.
“You know, I get that you might know my mother, but shereallysucks. She stresses me out. A lot.” Shaking her head, she asks Eden if she can have a whole bottle, but I shake my head, and the bartender is sweet enough to tell her no.
Can’t say I know where she’s coming from. Not when I had great parents, and Alina is all I’ve got left. Love her to death. But watching Chelsea’s pain up close like this makes me want to understand.
Makes me want to find the people who put that look on her face and have a few words.
I’ve got a gut feeling that with the third shot, I shouldn’t ask her the fine details without setting her off. Don’t want to give everyone a show. More than that, I don’t want to shatter this fragile bubble we’re in.
Soon, her frown dissolves, leaving behind a lazy smile. It transforms her face, and I can’t look away. It’s like the sun breaking through a week of rain.
“Hey, you were right.” Tapping my shoulder, it takes me a second to register her words. Her touch is a brand through the fabric of my jacket.
“I was right?” Repeating them, I press my thumb against my temple to focus. It’s the rum that’s blurring the world’s edges, but she remains crystal clear and stunningly focused.
We’ve had one too many drinks. She went on about her chaotic childhood. I shared some stuff about Nash. As the conversation kept flowing, so did the drinks. I should’ve called it a night sooner. Now I’m regretting it. There’s no chance I’ll get any more work done today.
“Yeah. I feel amazing.” Annunciating the last word, she giggles.
God, she’s got a cute laugh. It’s a light, bubbling sound that cuts through the bar’s roar and goes straight to my heart.
Feels like the room is getting brighter right along with her. She’s becoming the center of it, the brightest thing in this whole damn place.
I don’t know how many shots we throw back, but when it’s time to pay, Chelsea insists. No, shedemandsit.
“I worked really hard to get in my position.” Her words come slurred, but I can feel the fierce, wounded pride behind them. “While I might not be able to impress my parents, I’m going to show you that I am amazing.”
While I don’t have a clue what she’s talking about, I don’t dare stand in her way. While she’s like this, she’s more passionate, more alive. I’m just a spectator to her fire, and I’m captivated and happy to get engulfed.
I’ll slip a bill in her pocket before we part ways. Don’t want her regretting a charge on her card once she realizes how much she just spent. The thought of her waking up with a headache and regret is…unacceptable.
“You want to tell me where I can take you?” Wrapping an arm around her, I hold her up so she doesn’t fall over. She melts into my side, her head finding the crook of my shoulder like it was made to fit there. Talk about a freaking lightweight.
Then again, maybe we did slam a few rounds back to back. While I may be used to coming here through the week, who knows how often she relies on booze as a distraction.
The thought that this might be a habit for her sends a protective surge through me that’s so strong it almost chokes me.
“I can’t go.” She shakes her head, and her hair tickles my chin as she leans closer. Closing her eyes, she makes this little whining sound that makes my stomach clench tight.
I already know I’m a bastard. I don’t need to catch myself staring at her lips to know what I want to do. Can’t kiss her. Not when she’s like this.
