Page 68 of Cherry Picking
This time, the person I call actually picks up the phone, even if I’m already dressed and out the door.
“Bring food or don’t bother, jerk face,” Locke says through the near deafening sound of a truck exhaust.
“That sounds like death.”
He huffs a laugh under his breath and mutters into the line, “Not looking forward to diagnosing this one.”
AKA: he can’t fix it, and the customer will be totally pissed off.
“How about a milkshake, and I’ll break the news for you?”
The laughter is more genuine this time. “I knew there was a reason I kept you around.”
“Ah yes. Because your pretty boy good looks undermine your rugged mechanic experience.”
“Butterscotch Cheesecake. Large. You’ve got twenty minutes.”
12:15PM
“You don’t have to pretend to be in love with my ass anymore.”
Locke has his feet propped up on the desk in the office of the repair shop, greasy coveralls leaving smudges on the wood. He gives me a dull, tired look while slurping at the last of his milkshake.
“I’m not sure anyone was ever convinced I cared for your ass anyway.”
“Harsh. Riley likes my ass, thank you very much.”
My best friend smiles at me like I imagine most people smile at a puppy chewing on the carpet: like they’re lucky they’re adorable.
“I’m happy that’s working out for you, Griff. Seriously. I give you a lot of shit, but I’ve seen you put through the wringer. You’re a sappy romantic who thinks with his heart and his dick. Someone has to keep an eye on you.”
“If you don’t shut up, I’m going to kiss you.”
Locke wrinkles his nose and tosses the empty shake in the trash. “Been there, done that, burned the t-shirt.”
“You were quite literally the first boy I ever made out with. Excuse me, I got a little excited that for once kissing didn’t feel like rubbing my face in wet cement.”
“Shouldn’t you be sucking face with your boyfriend?”
Solid concern, but when I check my phone, no calls or texts.
“I think he’s freaking out.”
“Really?” He stands and wipes his hands on his nasty coveralls, flipping me off as he passes me back into the shop.“Like, ‘going to skip town’ freaking or ‘hiding out at the cereal bar’ freaking?”
“I’m going to wager on that last one. Yesterday was kind of a whirlwind, you know?”
Locke stops and leans over Theo—the desk boy who keeps up with the books—and grumbles something about one of the appointments that makes the poor man cower before straightening and scrubbing a hand through Theo’s hair.
“So, you’re being mature and giving him space?”
As we make our way back to the bays, I shoot off a text just checking in, and catch Locke staring me down when I pocket the phone.
“Or not.” His lips twitch into a smile, and I take his oil rag to slap him over the shoulder with it.
“Can you blame me for worrying?”
Locke’s smile softens. “No, I guess I can’t.”
