Page 3 of Grease & Grips (Friction Fiction #2)

“I’m just…” I glance at the road. At the gauges. At literally anything but him. “I don’t do well with... talking. I mean I can , I just... don’t. Not a lot.”

Still nothing.

“I’m not usually like this,” I mutter. “I mean, I am. I am like this. But I don’t… God, never mind.”

Embarrassment is written all over me like I’m a damn billboard. My face is burning up, and I swear it’s like my the flush in my skin is out here airing every thought I’m trying real hard not to say.

“I don’t really know how to act around you,” I say finally. As soon as it’s out, I want to eat the words. Choke on them. Die.

The tension in his shoulders shifts and when he looks at me again, he’s smiling. I thought it might be smug, but it’s soft and undeniably dangerous.

“Well…” he says gently, “This is a start.”

I pull myself together long enough to inhale, then let it tumble out.

“Sycamore is what it is. It’s the only thing I’ve ever known.

I mean, I’ve been other places. Atlanta, Macon…

even popped down to Tallahassee once or twice.

Used to vacation in Panama City Beach. But when it comes to living and the world?

” I shrug. “I don’t know that my life extends much beyond I-75. ”

The words just kinda sit there way heavier than I meant and now all I can hear is the engine humming too loud and him saying nothing. Probably should’ve kept my big mouth shut, but instead I told the truth.

Life’s always easier when I let silence do the talking.

“I’m not…” I start, then stop.

How anybody manages to talk about anything real is a mystery to me. Why would you willingly let someone know stuff? Why would anyone even wanna know?

I can’t really brush him off. Not with the way he’s looking at me like he actually wants to know, but that doesn’t make saying any of this less weird. Moments like this always feel like handing someone a loaded gun and just sort of hoping they don’t take the shot.

“I’m not trying to complain,” I add. “It’s fine. It’s the way it is.”

I grip the wheel a little tighter, knowing he probably sees through my bullshit.

I don’t even believe it myself.

“I ain’t sayin’ I don’t wanna see more,” I add, voice lower now. “Some people get handed that kinda life, y’know? The one with options. Some of us get... this.”

I gesture vaguely at the road, at the truck, at all of it.

“It ain’t that bad,” I lie. “I’ve got a roof over my head. Work is steady. Could be worse.”

Before I can think better of it, I just keep talking, something in me cracking open.

“I know it’s dumb, but in a place like this, I feel too big.

I wanna go somewhere the world’s bigger than me.

Somewhere like New York, where the buildings are so tall you gotta look straight up just to see the sky. I want that.”

Still no response from the passenger seat. I can’t look at him, but I feel the weight of him sitting there. Not offering some pep talk about how anything’s possible if you try hard enough.

Thank God for that.

“So...” Andrés says, weirdly tentative. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

I snort before I can stop myself.

I don’t exactly hide who I am. The guys at the shop know enough to keep their mouths shut or at least not ask questions they don’t want the answers to.

But I’m not exactly in the habit of laying out my personal life for strangers, either.

Even if this one’s already managed to pull more outta me tonight than most people ever get.

My eyes never leave the road. “Nope.”

“Right,” he says, nodding. “Me either.”

My skin lights up like I stuck a fork in a socket. Goosebumps crawling up my arms. I don’t know if he meant for it to hit like that, but the cab feels five degrees warmer.

All I know is... he sure as hell doesn’t smell straight. I mean, I’m no cologne expert, but around here you’re lucky if a guy remembers deodorant. This man smells like body wash that costs more than my rent.

I keep quiet as I take the exit, but I catch the way Andrés’ eyes go wide when he sees the sign for the shop. He whips around to look at me, disbelief causing his eyebrows to climb high on his forehead.

“Does that say?—”

“Yeah. Bussey Road.”

“You work off?—”

“Yeah, I do. I swear to God. Bussey. Wish I was kidding.”

If I was curious before, I’m not anymore. Straight men don’t know what a “bussy” is.

Something easy and warm and comfortable settles around us after that. Like we both finally exhaled.

We hit the only red light in town. No one at the intersection but the timing’s off, so we stop anyway.

I keep my eyes straight ahead, nodding along to Brooks & Dunn as Neon Moon filters through the speakers. I can feel Andrés looking at me like his gaze is pulling a tide through my chest.

Air flows through my lungs deep and sharp as I let it burn through my chest like fuel, and for a second, I think I might actually be strong enough to reach out and want something.

The light turns green, but we sit there anyway. With no one behind us there’s no rush to get anywhere.

A look passes between us.

Silent permission to move.

Simple, terrifying, and mine if I want it.