Page 62 of The Older Brother
Saylor nods.
“You want to go call her right now?” she asks.
“Kinda . . . hey, Row? You got this?” He tilts his head toward the open engine bay.
“Yeah, buddy. I got this. Go on,” I say, ignoring Mig’s low groan from behind the computer screen.
“Thanks, man. I owe you one!” Jersey says, surprising Saylor with a sudden hug that leaves her to look at me over my friend’s shoulder.
“What is this?” she mouths, and all I can do is shrug.
“You know you’re totally enabling him. He’s never going to get anything done if you keep giving him hall passes,” Mig says the second Jersey jets out of the garage toward his truck.
“Yeah, I know. But that’s what we do, isn’t it? The three of us? We have each other’s backs despite all our fucking faults.” My gaze lingers on the front of Jersey’s truck as his daytime running lights flicker on, and it takes a bump from Mig’s elbow into my bicep to snap me out of my daze.
“Hey, you know that I don’t hold any of your shit against you, right?” Mig shifts his posture enough to insert himself between me and Saylor, who is still hovering around the truck. I blink a few times and drop my gaze with a nod, not so sure about what he says. I’m a lot to handle. My baggage. My decisions.
“Don’t do that,” he says, snapping to draw my eyes back up. “You and Jersey, you guys aren’t the same. He’s a lazy hippy who is, unfortunately, an electrical genius that we need to have around. You’re a genius who was born into a fucked-up family dynamic. Two different circumstances. Not your choice.”
“Thanks. But maybe some of the chaos is my choice,” I say, glancing toward the truck, and the girl lifting her body up on her arms so she gets a better look inside a sixty-four Chevy.
Mig leans his elbow on my shoulder.
“Nah, that’s not such a bad move. I mean, is she your brother’s ex? Yeah. And is she younger than you? Yes. But that girl right there has her shit together a whole lot more than most. Age is a number. And your brother’s a dick, no offense.”
“No, he’s a dick,” I affirm.
We both shake with a quiet laugh.
“Right, well then? That decision? It’s growing on me. My sister loves her, and Cami’s got good taste in people. And you seem happy. That’s refreshing.” He tilts his head the other wayand steps back from the counter, creating a path for me to head to the truck and join my best mistake.
“I might be a little happy,” I mutter as I pass through.
I stop along the opposite side of the engine bay, leaning on my forearms. Saylor lifts her head and falls back to her feet before gathering her hair at the nape of her neck, twisting it into this mysterious knot that somehow stays in place. Her cheeks are pink from spending more time in the pool during the hot afternoons. The outline of her swimsuit is starting to show on her shoulders, too.
“You learn anything from Jersey?” I squint one eye as our eyes meet.
“Uh, make sure you put the drain plug back in before you add the new oil. That’s my big takeaway.” She twists her lips, and I chuckle.
“Well, that’s a key component, so yeah. That’s good to know. Wanna help me change the filter?”
She nods, so I wave for her to follow me to the supply racks in the back of the shop. I walk her through every little step, from picking the right filter type to how to remove the old one and replace it. I let her put the filter cap back in place when we’re done, and she gets a bit of oil on the side of her hand, which she proceeds to wipe across the middle of her shirt as well as her forearm and chin.
“You were so close to making it,” I tease, gesturing to the fresh oil stain that’s likely ruined my favorite shirt of hers.
“Aww, damn.” She pulls the center of her shirt out from her stomach and heads toward the towel bin. I stop her before she makes things worse, though, grabbing my sweatshirt from the hook by the counter.
“I’m convinced you did that on purpose just to get one more article of clothing out of me,” I laugh out.
“I was missing a piece of winter wear.”
She dangles my sweatshirt on a finger and heads toward the hallway, probably for the bathroom. I slide up to sit on the counter just as Mig finishes up reconciling our books. His gaze passes me, and I catch the tight smirk on his lips as he stows the laptop away in the safe below the counter.
“What’s that for?” I have a hunch, and I’m sure my hot cheeks give my inkling away.
“It’s sweet, is all, seeing you all goofy and shit. You really like that girl.” He taps the center of my chest with his fist and moves toward the open bay doors to wait for our next client.
I follow him and lean against the outside wall, bending a knee and flattening my foot against the tan stucco siding.
