I blew out a loud, annoyed breath.
“Leave one just on the counter and the rest in the garage,” I said and pointed to the white door past the kitchen. “Not much room in the fridge or on the counter.”
He picked up three of the jugs, then stopped in front of the door, staring at it.
“Everything okay?”
“Yep. Just testing you.”
“How?”
“Seeing if you’re the type of girl who will get the door for a guy whose hands are full. You’re failing.”
I opened my mouth to criticize him, then stopped short. He had a point.
I turned the knob, pushed the door open, and turned on the light in the garage.
He set the water jugs down, and his eyes caught something in the corner.
“Well, there it is.”
I stepped into the garage and folded my arms to keep warm. The garage wasn’t insulated as well as the rest of the house and thus, wasn’t a sauna.
“C’mon, let’s head back in,” I nodded, but he walked to the corner and picked up my old bike.
He lifted it up and stared at it, a relic from another era. It felt surreal to see Shane all grown up and able to hold my bike up with no problem. When I was little I must have thought the thing weighed a thousand pounds.
The light shined on it, its silver color glistening.
Rubbing my upper arms, I shivered, but stepped toward Shane nonetheless. His own intense curiosity drew me in.
“Nice wheels,” Shane said, staring at it.
I smiled. “I told my dad I wanted a grey colored bike so I could fit in with the boys.”
“And he got you exactly what you wanted.”
I furrowed my brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Something about his tone seemed awry
“Oh come on. When we were kids, Louisa and I had those twenty-five-dollar used Schwinn’s. They were so rusty we could barely ride them. And you had this nice, shiny…”
Just then, the brand name written across the middle bar of the bike registered with me.
“Oh. The bike brand was ‘Dyno.’ That’s where you got my nickname.”
Finally it all made sense. Not D-I-N-O as I’d been thinking, but D-Y-N-O. He set the bike down and turned toward me, clenching his jaw.
“Just when I’m underestimating you, you pull something like that out of your hat.”
I bared my teeth. “Just when I think you might not be an asshole, you say something to remind me you are. Why, Shane?”
“Nine-hundred dollars.”
“Come again?”
“That’s how much your bike cost.”
“How do you know?”
“Your dad was bragging to my dad. I overheard them.”
I shook my head. “I was jealous of your bike, though. Why do you think I requested silver? Because you were the coolest friend I had and you had that silver Schwinn. He could have gotten me a used one-gear for all I knew and I would have been happy.”
He strode toward me, pausing before he arrived to the door. “Yeah but let’s be honest, you reaped the benefits.”
“You seem hell-bent on informing me about how spoiled I am, so why don’t you let me know?”
“How much have you paid to go to college?”
“I worked hard to go there. I got half a full ride.”
“Yeah? And who’s paying the other half?”
I reached out to, well, I don’t know what I thought would happen, exactly. But I ended up grabbing and squeezing his bicep.
How did he know exactly what to say to get under my skin?
“My dad is paying the other half,” I announced, slipping my hand off his arm and heading inside. “And I’m going to make him proud. He always wanted me to graduate from college. That was the number one thing he would tell me when I would visit. Do whatever you want with your life, but please graduate college like I never did.”
He came inside and I shut the door behind him with a little more authority than normal.
“Your dad didn’t go to college? I didn’t know that.”
“He was self-made,” I nodded.
We lingered in the kitchen, in the same spot we had shared our moment yesterday. His face twitched, and I wondered if maybe the man who was hell bent on fucking with me had some kind of a conscience under all that.
Suddenly, a bolt of inspiration hit me. I straightened my posture and toughed up.
This was the man who had revealed yesterday he wanted to hook up with me. Even if he held a tough veneer, I could still play a little with him.
“So what’s your deal?”
He squinted. “I don’t follow.”
“You’re so weird. You do whatever my mom asks of you. You buy me jugs of water. You say you like me...” I shrugged. “And every chance you get you say some bullshit about my father.”
“If I were you, I’d like to know more about my father. I’m telling you these things because if I don’t, who will?”
“I mean I have his journals upstairs. I can get to know him pretty well from that.”
“Do you now?” He took a sip of water from a water bottle he had, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, all the while keeping his eyes on me. “We should go read them some time.”
“You’re not allowed to read it. It’s private.”
He smiled. “I bet your dad has a lot of secrets he never told you. He probably didn’t write the good ones in his journals anyway. Because he knew you might read it some day.”
“What secrets do you keep alluding to?”
“Maybe he liked to dress up as a clown or something.”
I crossed my arms.
“What is the matter with you? Are you ever serious?”
“Oh yes.”
“When?”
“Right now. I’m having some very serious thoughts.”
“Like what?”
He flashed me a cocky smirk, playfully rolling his eyes.
“I don’t think I should tell you.”
“Please?”
“Say ‘pretty please.’ And what are you going to do for me if I tell you?”
I bit my lower lip. Somehow he had the ability to make even that innocuous sentence sound dirty.
I thought about what I could do for him. I didn’t have much leverage, and he seemed intent on messing with me. As I leaned against the kitchen counter, my eyes landed on the peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a few bites out of it.
I wanted to mess with him, so I said the most ridiculous thing I could think of.
“I’ll make you a sandwich,” I teased.
His eyebrows raised when he heard me say that.
“Excuse me? I’m offended. That’s sexist.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m from the new generation of men. We can make our own sandwiches, thank you very much.”
I rolled my eyes. My intent had been more to mess with him than make a serious proposal, and I hadn’t even been thinking about any isms until he brought it up. Just about peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and how my father used to make them for me when I was a little girl.
“But,” he held a hand up. “Just this once, I’ll accept.”
Just then, I couldn’t believe I was actually offering something just to hear this man’s serious thoughts. Since he’d rolled through the door, he hadn’t said much I could take seriously.