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“And she works on it?”
“Yep, but don’t let her hear you sound so surprised. She has a bit of a temper.”
Yeah, I already made that mistake with hockey. “No shit,” accidentally slips out of my mouth. I brace myself because most old guys I know get all pissy when I curse, but Gramps just laughs.
“She’s a tough one, my Lucky Pe
She is. I kind of want to tell him, but realize it’s ridiculous. I don’t know her.
We’re quiet for a few minutes. Gramps hands me a wrench. The first gasket is an obvious one, and the new package is resting on the edge of the engine. “What about you? What’re you into?”
Surprisingly, it only takes me a few seconds to answer. Gary and Troy’s stupid fucking trees pop into my head. “Drums, but cars are cool. Working on them gives me something to do with my hands. I like that…keeping busy.”
I’m not sure why I said that, but he seems to get it. I think he’d probably get a lot. He doesn’t reply, and we get to work. When he asks me questions about cars, I know all the answers. I even point out a few things to him, too. I hate to admit it, because I don’t want anything here to be cool, but it feels good.
Troy built a tree house to keep from going crazy in this town. Maybe the car can do that for me.
Chapter Six
Pe
I pull up in the driveway, exhausted. My body feels like Jell-O after practice. I’m frustrated because the team from up north in Barrow—the ones we’re supposed to play for State Semifinals—are snowed in and our game’s been moved back a week or more. I hate postponements, but it is Barrow, and it is still winter.
When I get out, I see Gramps and Bishop in the garage, leaning over the engine of my Corvette. I can’t believe that cocky prick has his hands on my car. I tried to be nice this morning. Well, until I flipped him off, but seriously—I was trying to be nice by waving at him, and he just stood there.
Cocky. Prick.
Oh. And that’s after I got him a beer, offered pizza, and he just took off while we were all hanging out. No good-night. No thanks. No nothing.
I jump out of my car and resist the urge to run into the garage. “Hi Gramps.” I give him a kiss on the cheek as he leans out from under the hood with grease on his hands.
“Bishop and I got all the gaskets changed out today.” Gramps pinches my nose with a grin.
“I can change gaskets.” It comes out snappier than I meant. But really, Gramps knows how picky I am. I don’t want some amateur working on it.
“I should take off.” Bishop grabs his coat from a stool and heads for the door.
“Oh!” Gramps steps toward him. “Pe
“I can what?” I don’t want to take this guy anywhere. Especially after he messed with my car.
“No.” Bishop shakes his head. “I’ll take care of it.”
Gramps chuckles. “But Pat doesn’t have a crush on you and might not give you the same deal Pe
“It’s fine.” Bishop shakes his head and moves toward the door. “Thanks anyway.”
I open my mouth to say see ya, but then I remember that the he had his hands on my car.
Gramps leans over, and I almost lean away because I know right now what he’s going to say.
“These guys are paying your mom a lot of money for two cabins and no work on your part. Grow up, be nice, and take the boy to town. Wouldn’t hurt if you were a little extra nice to Pat, too.”
Only Gramps could talk to me like this and still make me smile. His voice is quiet but all happy. Bishop’s almost to his cabin.
Hell.
I jog outside. “Bishop!” I even use my best cheery voice. “I’m heading to town anyway, and I’m sure Pat can get you a deal. If you need drums, we should get you drums. You’ve got to be bored out of your mind.” Because you don’t do anything except go for walks in the snow and smoke.
He pauses, and he flicks his gaze toward Gary’s. “Just a sec.”
Like he did last night, he shoves his hands in his pockets, looking everywhere but at me. It’s not like I asked the guy to marry me or something.
“Listen, if you don’t want—”
“No!” he practically shouts at me. “Just give me a minute.” Still, he looks like I’m trying to pull his teeth, not take him to get something he wants.
Bishop turns and walks away. His hotness is seriously seeping away with his crappy attitude.
He knocks on Gary’s door—I’m not totally buying that “Gary’s up here for business” thing—and I realize he’s asking him if he can go. So. Young enough to need permission, but old enough to not go to school?
What’s going on with them?
Since I’m trying to be all accommodating and want Gramps happy with me, I head to my truck and climb in the driver’s seat to wait.
When Gary’s door closes, I start my truck and wave at Bishop to come over. He holds up a finger, runs into his cabin, and comes out wearing another hat.
Bummer. I like his hair. Not that it matters what he does with his stupid hair.
It’s a ten-mile drive to town on icy roads, and already close to six. I’m pretty sure the music store closes at six. That’s not good. I dial Pat as Bishop opens the door.
“You sure this is cool?” Bishop asks, and the uncertainty in his voice makes me pause.
“I’m on the phone with Pat. Get in.” I force my lips into a smile. Bishop frowns again. The boy’s got some serious damage. He needs to get over it. Whatever “it” is.
He slides into the car, and I look over him again. Nice eyes. Good build. Something like fluttering hits my stomach before I snap my brain back into focus and start out of the driveway. My reaction is because Bishop is new, that’s all.
“Pe
“Pe
Focus, Pe
“Of course you are.” He chuckles. “What do you need?”
“There’s a guy staying in the cabins who needs a set of drums. I told him you could hook him up, but we’re just leaving my house.” I hit the gas at the end of the driveway, just to spin Bitty sideways for a bit.
Bishop’s jaw flexes, but he doesn’t flinch. I’m impressed. I let Bitty slide back to my lane.
“So you want me to stay at the store, is that right?”
“We’ll just be a couple minutes. Promise.”
He laughs. “I’ll stick around. See you in a few.”
I flip my phone off and shove it in my pocket. “He’s open late.”
A corner of Bishop’s mouth twitches. It’s the first emotion I’ve seen from him that doesn’t involve his scowl, and I like it enough to know I’ll be trying to make it happen again. “Of course he is.”
…
So. Pat only has a three hundred dollar set and a two thousand dollar one. Bishop is behind the two thousand dollar one, making me wonder what kind of computer work his uncle is into, if he’s actually into computer work at all. Pat grins from ear to ear while he watches Bishop adjust the drums. They exchanged a few whispers when Bishop sat down that made Bishop look a little sick. Later, I’ll have to ask Pat what that was about.
Bishop’s got a behind-the-counter set of sticks that he flips as if they’re part of him. The muscles in his arms flex in a practiced rhythm as he continues to spin the sticks. I sit on a stool under a row of guitars, and he drops his baseball hat before adjusting himself on the seat.
Suddenly, he doesn’t look sick anymore.
Bishop’s eyes close just longer than a blink. I hold my breath in anticipation and really take him in. Slightly long hair, perfect nose, strong and muscled but not huge, just…lean. His eyes open, and I swear he’s in a different place.