Regan grinned. “Can I hang out for a little while? I don’t wanna interrupt or anything. I’m just not ready to go home.”
“Let me understand this: You wanna hang out with me on your birthday?”
“You seem confused.”
“I am.”
“Is it weird I wanna hang out?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Why’s that weird?”
“Because you’re you and I’m me.”
She rolled her eyes.
“And because it’s a big night for you. And this garage is gross. And there are better people to spend your time with.”
She thought for a moment. “I can’t think of one.”
Wave of intense heat. He wasn’t expecting it. He wasn’t expecting the sweat to break out under his arms either—like his metabolism was revving after a particularly grueling interval training session.
“Well?” she asked, waiting. “May I? And will you shut that door? I don’t like all the darkness. I feel exposed.” She shivered.
“Uh, sure,” he replied, walking over to the garage door and closing it.
She pulled herself up on the counter and cocked her head, considering him. “You’re not very nice to yourself.”
“What?”
“You act like you don’t matter. You act like I’m crazy for wanting to spend time with you.”
He scratched his flushed cheek.
“Did they beat all the self-worth out of you?”
Shocking question. How dare she ask him something like that!
“Not all,” he replied quietly. “Most, but not all.”
Only when he uttered the words aloud did he realize they were actually true. They didn’t take everything from him. If they had, he would have hung from a rope a long time ago. His mission kept him alive.
“If anything, you’re cooler than all of them,” he heard Regan say.
He smiled. “How do you figure?” Yeah, he needed an ego boost.
“Well, you can build cars. Brandon’s pretentious self can barely pump his own gas.”
“He’s too good for it, or he really doesn’t know how to work the pump?”
“Both, but I think it’s more to do with him not knowing how to work the pump.”
Jeremy searched for other tools to continue his work on the car.
“You snowboard. That’s hot. I mean cool! That’s cool,” Regan said, grimacing. “Brandon skis. Totally lame.”
Jeremy smirked. “Agreed.”
“You should show me sometime.”
“How to snowboard?”
“Yeah.”
He felt the immediate need to flirt. Real, in-your-face flirting, because it was dark outside, and the garage was shut up tight, and he had her all to himself.
“I don’t know, Regan. You may not like it,” he began, abandoning his project for a table in the far corner of the room. He searched until he found it, rolled up crisp and brand new.
“What do you mean? I know it’s hard,” Regan replied.
“Not that. I don’t know if you’d be comfortable going like this, and this is how the chicks do it.”
He unrolled the poster, then peeked around the left side. “You got something like this you could wear?”
Her mouth dropped open. She stared at the back of a naked brunette, long dark hair cascading all the way down to an inch above her plump, round ass. Her feet were snugly enclosed in boots strapped to a snowboard. She stood against a pure white background that accentuated her tanned nakedness.
“And what would I be wearing again?” she asked.
“Your birthday suit. Naturally.”
“I’m freezing just looking at her.”
He chuckled.
“You have these posters in your room?” she asked.
“I’m too old to hang posters in my room,” Jeremy replied, rolling up the brunette until she disappeared from sight. “But I’ve been collecting them for years. My favorite snowboard brand. Blind Boards.”
“Blind Boards?”
“Yep. They’re totally underrated, but I think they have potential to get bigger than Burton.”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Regan said.
“Burton’s, like, the ultimate snowboard brand. I like their stuff, but Blind Boards takes it to a completely different level. They’re way more innovative.”
“And you like the way they advertise,” Regan pointed out.
“Hey, what can I say? Their girls are hot.”
Regan laughed. “Man, it’s gotta be the easiest thing in the world marketing to guys. Just include some tits and ass and you’ve got instant customers.”
Jeremy’s eyes bugged. Regan noticed.
“What?” she asked.
“I’ve never heard a girl say ‘tits.’ Ever.”
“Crude?”
“Coming from you?” He thought a moment then shook his head. “No. Doesn’t sound crude. But I do feel like you should have been holding a beer while you said it.”
Regan sighed. “Kinda wish I had one.”
“Thought you didn’t drink.”
“No, I qualified that statement. I don’t like drinking with those people.”
“Oh, I see.”
Regan watched as Jeremy headed to a fridge on the other side of the garage. He pulled out a beer and popped the top, then extended her the drink.
“I have to drive home,” she said, reaching automatically.
“I’ll drive you.”
“But you don’t have a car. Unless you got that thing running,” she said, glancing at the Camaro.
“Not yet. And I can drive your car.”
She didn’t consider that.
“But then you’d have to walk home,” she said.
“Not a big deal.”
Regan scratched her head. “You sure?”
He nodded. “Drink up.”
“So, you’re not having one?”
“No. This is your night. Drink all you like. I’ll watch after you.”
She smiled brightly. “Really?”
“Sure.”
Her eyes narrowed. “No ulterior motive?”
“Don’t even know what that is,” he said.
She snorted and mumbled, “Yeah, I bet you don’t.”
He watched the bottle reach her lips, tilt with the tiniest upward thrust of her hand. Her throat muscles contracted, and he imagined the liquid sliding down deep inside her, slinking around her belly to warm it instantly. She licked her lips and exhaled an exaggerated sigh.
“Thank. You.”
“You’re welcome.”
A comfortable silence filled the garage as Jeremy resumed work on the axle—a project that was nearly complete. The Camaro might run by January if he were lucky.
“Why that name?” Regan asked.
“Huh?”