I sag, confused beyond measure because that is not at all what I thought he was going to say.
“I . . . uh, I wasn’t expecting that,” I tell him honestly. I go back to stirring the eggs because they’re in danger of burning and I promised him a better-than-pancakes breakfast. I toss in some shredded cheese to make up for the bacon it’s too late to fry up now.
“It’s kind of a long story, but the shorthand version is that once upon a time, my dad ran the garage and did racing engines on the side. I spent many a night at races with too-big earmuffs covering my ears from the racket. When I was about sixteen, Dad had a friend who died in a crash. It wasn’t even at a race, but he was showboating his hot rod—the one he built with Dad. It damn near killed my dad too, even though he wasn’t there. It just hurt him.” I absently rub at my chest, remembering Big John, Dad’s friend who had been larger than life until the tree he wrapped his car around had taken his. “Anyway, Dad went totally strict after that. He wanted everyone to live in this safe little bubble, for our own protection, you know? From then on, Cole Automotive only did maintenance and repairs for regular cars. Dad never even touched a racecar after that. Won’t so much as watch NASCAR these days.”
Brody puts some puzzle pieces together. “And if you called Emily or Reed to bail you out on excessive speed charges, they’d tell your dad and he’d be pissed that you stepped out of the bubble of safety. So you’re trying to protect him while doing whatever the fuck you want?”
I nod, plating our breakfast. He understands. The only question now is if he’ll understand.
He chews thoughtfully. “This is good. Not as good as my pancakes, but damn good.”
I growl at the topic change, and he smirks that grin that kills me. Or makes me want to kill him. Maybe both.
“Okay.”
“Okay, what?” I demand.
“Okay, I won’t say anything. I just want to make sure I’m not getting in the middle of something major, like you’re the getaway driver for your family’s bank robbing side hustle or something. You drive fast? Okay.”
“Stop saying okay.” I shake my head, not sure I heard him right.
That shrug again, the one that’s driving me crazy with its casualness when I’m letting him in on something huge to me. But he’s just . . . accepting it?
“I keep stuff from my family too, for their protection. My dad . . . we grew up good, but after Mom died, he didn’t . . . well, I guess you could say he didn’t handle it well. I bailed him out of the drunk tank a few times, kept my brothers and sister from the worst of it, and took the brunt of it. It was better that way.”
I tease all that apart, the information between the words he actually said. Maybe he does understand me and what I’m doing. A tenuous thread weaves its way between us, something more than sex and flirting, dangerously closer to friendship. Or maybe even more.
“Thank you.” It shouldn’t be hard to say that, but it is.
“No problem, Lil Bit.” Our plates are empty, and he stands to pick mine up, planting a kiss to my lips before hitting the sink.
I have no idea what just happened. I expected something dire, feared a harsh judgment, but none of that materialized and I’m not sure what to make of it. Brody is different from most, and I don’t think I gave him enough credit, making some pre-judgments of my own.
He washes our dishes quickly and lays the towel out to dry. “I’m guessing you’ve got work today?” I nod, enjoying the show of him at my sink. “I should probably get to the ranch too.”
He lets that hang in the air, giving me a chance to disagree.
I make a spontaneous decision, praying it doesn’t kick me in the ass. “Do you want to come with me tonight?”
“Yeah, I’d love to.” His answer is instant.
“I didn’t tell you where or to do what yet,” I tease.
“Bank robbery?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.
I roll my eyes. “No, the track. I’m not racing, but some of my engines are. I never get to share that with anyone . . . well, the guys I build the cars for, but that’s not the same.”
Smug satisfaction swipes over his face as he steps in and pulls our bodies together, looking down at me. “Not the same as me?”
“Don’t get cocky, Cowboy.”
He drops down, closer to my ear. “Well, I tried that, but you said we didn’t have time.”
I push him away, laughing lightly. “Let’s get dressed. We’ve got shit to do today.”
It’s a damn tragedy to watch Brody put his T-shirt and hat on, but I distract myself by pulling on a tank top and clean coveralls. We pause at the door so we can both put our boots on, smiling stupidly at the symmetry, though mine are covered with grease and oil and his are covered with dirt.
Downstairs, Reed and Manuel both look up when the breakroom door opens, framing me. I can feel Brody’s presence looming behind me, but just as heavy is the look in Reed’s eyes.
I walk with a purpose across the garage, not looking back once. Brody follows me, and though I can’t see, I imagine him and Reed are mean-mugging at each other in some dick-measuring, territory-pissing contest. A useless one because nothing they do will determine this situation. That’s all up to me.
Outside, I pause by Brody’s truck. “You don’t need to do that. It only makes it harder on him.”
Brody backs me up against the door, weaving his fingers into the hair at my nape and tracing his thumb over the freckles along my cheekbone. “That’s where you’re wrong. It pisses him off because it hurts, but it’s a kindness in a way. Unless you’re trying to string him along and keep him on the back burner?”
My brows knit together. “What? No, I’m just trying not to be a bitch about it when I know he still has hope.”
“You’re pulling the Band-Aid off too slow, ripping out each hair and every bit of skin, prolonging the agony. You need to tell him, show him that it’s not happening. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re gonna have to be a bitch to be nice. Does that make any sense?” He says it softly, as if encouraging me to be mean is somehow a caring thing. I’ll have to think about that.
“Just kiss me goodbye and shut up, Cowboy.”
He smiles at that. “Yes, ma’am.” He steps back to lean down to meet me as I lift to my toes. Our lips press together, and though we don’t get too involved for a quick goodbye in the middle of the garage parking lot during business hours, it feels important. A seal on everything that happened last night, a vow to keep it between us, a promise to trust one another.
Brody pops me on the ass as I start to walk away, and I turn back, flipping him off, which only makes his eyes darken. But he climbs in his truck and I watch as he pulls away, surprisingly not second-guessing myself on sharing my secret with him. In fact, I’m looking forward to showing off my engines to him a bit tonight.
Inside, Reed is standing stock-still, arms crossed and feet spread wide. “This what we’re doing now, Rix? Sleepovers and coming in whenever we want?”
He doesn’t care that I’m late for work. He cares that I just paraded Brody through the garage after obviously spending the night with him. Brody’s words replay in my mind as I see the betrayal in Reed’s eyes. Rip the Band-Aid off?