Page 27
Story: Twisted Love
CHAPTER17
RAVEN
The air smells of grease and gasoline as I step into the mechanic's shop, the sounds of clanging tools and a distant radio filling the space. My heart races in my chest. I’ve spent the entire morning building up the courage to come here. I don’t even know if he’ll recognize me—or worse, if he’ll care.
I spot him under the hood of an old pickup truck, his body half-hidden. His father isn’t in sight, but Earl is here, his jeans low on his hips, grease smeared along his forearm. Then he rolls out from beneath the truck, his shirtless body glistening with sweat. Sitting up, he reaches for a rag to wipe his hands.
My eyes widen.
I’ve never seen him like this. The sunlight streaming through the open garage doors catches the sheen of sweat on his chest, the lean muscles of his shoulders. There is a faint smudge of grease on his jaw that I itch to wipe off. My face burns, and for a moment, I feel like I should turn around and leave. But I can’t.
He glances up, and his dark eyes lock onto mine. There’s a flicker of something—curiosity, maybe—but his expression remains guarded. He’s so different from the boys at school. Much more mature, much more regal.
“Do you need something?” he asks coldly, like he’s embarrassed I’m seeing him unwashed in these greasy surroundings.
I swallow hard, gripping the handles of my bike tighter. “Um, my chain,” I say, stumbling over my words. “It—it’s broken. I thought maybe … you could help.”
He raises an eyebrow. “We fix cars, not bikes.”
“I know,” I say quickly. “But you’re good with tools, right? It shouldn’t be that different.”
“Fine,” he says gruffly. “Bring it here.”
I wheel the bike over, feeling both triumphant and stupid that my fairly transparent stunt worked. He crouches down, inspecting the chain with a practiced hand, and I catch a better view of his face—a sharp jawline, a stray strand of dark hair falling into his eyes. God, he’s beautiful.
He doesn’t say much as he works, his hands deftly repairing the chain while I stand awkwardly beside him. I’m mesmerized by the precision of his movements. My heart beats erratically as I watch him, every tilt of his head, every flex of his fingers sending a spark through me. I try to keep my gaze neutral, but it’s impossible not to admire the way his body moves—fluid, efficient, strong.
For once, I do not get bored. I soak in every passing second as I watch his body move. Eventually, he’s done.
“There.” He stands. “It’s fixed.”
I beam at him. “Thanks! How much do I owe you?”
His brow furrows. “Forget it.”
“Okay then, how about a game of Monopoly?” I offer quickly.
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Monopoly?”
“Yeah, I’m the best there is. If you can beat me, I’ll buy you an extra-large burger, chips, and the biggest sundae at Tim & Marty’s.”
He crosses his arms. “Okay.”
“Great,” I flush all over. “I have it right here.”
I reach into the basket and retrieve the box. I’d known when I’d destroyed my bike chain that I’d need an excuse to spend some time with him.
He stares at me.
Does he suspect that I came here intentionally with the flimsiest plan ever just so I can see him again? My pulse quickens under his gaze, every second stretching endlessly. His dark eyes are sharp, penetrating, and entirely unreadable and I feel like I might disintegrate under his gaze. Is he trying to figure me out? I shift nervously on my feet, gripping the Monopoly set tighter in my hands, but I don’t look away.
Finally, he exhales and pulls a stool next to the wall with one hand, setting it down near the workbench. “Fine,” he mutters. “Let’s play your game.”
I can’t help but grin as I pull up a stool across from him, setting the board on the workbench between us. My heart pounds with excitement, but I force myself to keep it together. He agreed. He’s actually going along with this.
“Okay, rules are simple,” I say, opening the box and pulling out the pieces. “No cheating, no backing out, and no crying when I destroy you.”
He snorts, leaning back slightly. “You’ve got a lot of confidence for someone who brought a board game to a mechanic’s shop.”
RAVEN
The air smells of grease and gasoline as I step into the mechanic's shop, the sounds of clanging tools and a distant radio filling the space. My heart races in my chest. I’ve spent the entire morning building up the courage to come here. I don’t even know if he’ll recognize me—or worse, if he’ll care.
I spot him under the hood of an old pickup truck, his body half-hidden. His father isn’t in sight, but Earl is here, his jeans low on his hips, grease smeared along his forearm. Then he rolls out from beneath the truck, his shirtless body glistening with sweat. Sitting up, he reaches for a rag to wipe his hands.
My eyes widen.
I’ve never seen him like this. The sunlight streaming through the open garage doors catches the sheen of sweat on his chest, the lean muscles of his shoulders. There is a faint smudge of grease on his jaw that I itch to wipe off. My face burns, and for a moment, I feel like I should turn around and leave. But I can’t.
He glances up, and his dark eyes lock onto mine. There’s a flicker of something—curiosity, maybe—but his expression remains guarded. He’s so different from the boys at school. Much more mature, much more regal.
“Do you need something?” he asks coldly, like he’s embarrassed I’m seeing him unwashed in these greasy surroundings.
I swallow hard, gripping the handles of my bike tighter. “Um, my chain,” I say, stumbling over my words. “It—it’s broken. I thought maybe … you could help.”
He raises an eyebrow. “We fix cars, not bikes.”
“I know,” I say quickly. “But you’re good with tools, right? It shouldn’t be that different.”
“Fine,” he says gruffly. “Bring it here.”
I wheel the bike over, feeling both triumphant and stupid that my fairly transparent stunt worked. He crouches down, inspecting the chain with a practiced hand, and I catch a better view of his face—a sharp jawline, a stray strand of dark hair falling into his eyes. God, he’s beautiful.
He doesn’t say much as he works, his hands deftly repairing the chain while I stand awkwardly beside him. I’m mesmerized by the precision of his movements. My heart beats erratically as I watch him, every tilt of his head, every flex of his fingers sending a spark through me. I try to keep my gaze neutral, but it’s impossible not to admire the way his body moves—fluid, efficient, strong.
For once, I do not get bored. I soak in every passing second as I watch his body move. Eventually, he’s done.
“There.” He stands. “It’s fixed.”
I beam at him. “Thanks! How much do I owe you?”
His brow furrows. “Forget it.”
“Okay then, how about a game of Monopoly?” I offer quickly.
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Monopoly?”
“Yeah, I’m the best there is. If you can beat me, I’ll buy you an extra-large burger, chips, and the biggest sundae at Tim & Marty’s.”
He crosses his arms. “Okay.”
“Great,” I flush all over. “I have it right here.”
I reach into the basket and retrieve the box. I’d known when I’d destroyed my bike chain that I’d need an excuse to spend some time with him.
He stares at me.
Does he suspect that I came here intentionally with the flimsiest plan ever just so I can see him again? My pulse quickens under his gaze, every second stretching endlessly. His dark eyes are sharp, penetrating, and entirely unreadable and I feel like I might disintegrate under his gaze. Is he trying to figure me out? I shift nervously on my feet, gripping the Monopoly set tighter in my hands, but I don’t look away.
Finally, he exhales and pulls a stool next to the wall with one hand, setting it down near the workbench. “Fine,” he mutters. “Let’s play your game.”
I can’t help but grin as I pull up a stool across from him, setting the board on the workbench between us. My heart pounds with excitement, but I force myself to keep it together. He agreed. He’s actually going along with this.
“Okay, rules are simple,” I say, opening the box and pulling out the pieces. “No cheating, no backing out, and no crying when I destroy you.”
He snorts, leaning back slightly. “You’ve got a lot of confidence for someone who brought a board game to a mechanic’s shop.”
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