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Thankfully my phone buzzes and I pull it from my pocket to see as good an excuse as any to get the hell out of here.
Twenty minutes later, I’m strolling into Priest’s shop to pick up my bike. It’s the one place I can expect people to act normal and not be caught in some emotional tantrum like I constantly am with Damon and Emily.
My shoulders relax at the familiar scent of gas, oil and sweat, the tension bleeding away to hear the squeal of a wrench or the hiss of a hydraulic lift.
Across the garage, Shane is making some last-minute adjustments on my bike, and I weave through the different cars to get to him.
“It looks great,” I say as I approach him. “Good as new.”
“Better than new.” His eyes tip up to me. “And I’d appreciate it if it stays that way.”
With a roll of my eyes, I grin. “Yes, sir. I’ll be sure not to kick it again.”
“You sure about that?” he asks, pushing to his feet. “Tanner told me you and Damon are having some issues.”
Fuck. At what point did our group turn into a bunch of gossiping hens? If it keeps going like this, we’ll end up with a weekly newsletter detailing all the bullshit going on with each person and a toll-free number to call to talk about our feelings or report suspicious behavior.
“You too? I came here to get away from that crap.”
“You came here to pick up your bike,” he counters as he wipes the grease from his hands on a mechanic’s rag. “And I’m taking the opportunity to corner your ass and ask what’s going on with Emily.”
Shane’s eyes lock to mine, his brow arching in question.
“Nothing anymore. Damon and I both agreed it’s done, so you can save whatever it is you were planning to say.”
Laughing at that, he shakes his head and tips his chin as Priest comes ambling over.
Slapping his hand down on my shoulder, Priest gives me a crooked smile, his hair tied back at the nape of his neck and his blue coveralls smeared with fuck knows what.
“I highly doubt it’s actually done,” Shane grumbles.
“What’s done?”
Priest glances between us after asking his question, but something in our expressions must answer it before we say the first word.
“Oh, that crap with you and your brother over the same girl? It’s about time you ended it.”
“He hasn’t ended it,” Shane says.
My head snaps his direction.
“What the fuck? Are you Miss Cleo now? Where’s your crystal ball, jackass? Would you like to read my palm next?”
“I’m just stating the obvious.”
Like hell he is.
“Damon and I just had this conversation before I came over here.”
“So what did you do to them at the cabin? Because from what I heard, you’re acting like a complete dick lately.”
Son of a bitch. I’m going to lose my patience with this entire situation soon.
I spend the next fifteen minutes explaining what happened at the cabin, the fight I had with Emily and the fight I had with Damon.
By the time I’m done, both of them are leaning against a wall facing me, their mouths quirked as if something is funny.
“What?” I ask.