Rules of Play (The Script Club 2)

“Oh, right. I’m just nervous about—”

“There’s nothing to worry about. You’re in good hands and—” He stopped suddenly and cocked his head.

“And what?” I prodded.

“I have an idea that might work for both of us, but…I can’t talk here.” He pulled my key ring out and set it on the counter between us. “I assume you need these for your house. Take your computer and other valuables. I’ll get your SUV off the truck and give you a ride home.”

I grabbed my things and watched him move Willy into one of the empty bays with his cousin’s help. They made quick work of it, barking commands at each other while I stood on the sidelines like a kid.

If this had been anyone else’s uncle’s garage, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. I didn’t know anything about car engines. I was a big fan of letting experts do their thing. However, I felt impotent and out of place. Like the black sheep I was.

And that was the guy Aiden grew up with. The weird, geeky little brother of his two good friends who walked with his head buried in a book. I’d been an easy target for any bully looking for a laugh. I was too slow and too oblivious to my surroundings. I never noticed trouble until it was too late to do anything about it.

But I’d been lucky to have a tight-knit family and two protective older brothers who’d encouraged their jock friends to stick up for me when they weren’t around. Not gonna lie, they came in handy once in a while—like the time Jeff Schultz had locked me in the bathroom stall my freshman year of high school or the time Mickey Filino had thrown my backpack into the giant trash bin behind the grocery store…just because.

And yes, in those two instances, it was Aiden who’d come to my rescue. Aiden who’d unlocked the bathroom door and retaliated by putting googly eyes all over Jeff’s locker. Aiden who’d tossed Mickey into the trash bin and demanded he dig my backpack out and apologize.

Aiden sticking up for me, watching out for me, and Aiden probably wondering how the hell I’d make it in the real world.

Some things never changed.

Ten minutes later, I put my computer bag on the floor of Aiden’s white Chevy pickup and hoisted myself onto the passenger seat.

“So, what’s your bright idea?”

Aiden pulled his seat belt on, then revved the engine to life before casting a sideways mischievous glance at me. “I think we should trade services.”

Say what?

“Do you want a blowjob or something?”

He snorted. “I think those repairs are gonna cost more than a blowjob.”

“How much does a BJ cost? I’ve never bartered for one or given one for services rendered.”

Aiden’s eyes creased in amusement. “Well, gosh, neither have I.”

I grinned, shifting my gaze to the darkening sky. Twilight had descended, painting it pretty shades of pink and purple. I thought about commenting on the traffic or the weather to bridge the conversation gap until he spilled his grand idea.

Instead, I blurted, “I give an amazing BJ. We could add a hand job or three as incentive.”

“Might want to watch that sarcasm, boy. I’m in the midst of a long dry spell. I might just take you up on that.”

My dick gave an involuntary twitch. I ignored it with practiced ease as I studied Aiden’s strong profile. He’d taken off his uniform shirt at the garage and pulled on a red plaid button-down. The lumberjack look was now complete, and it was a damn fine view.

Screech. Halt. Terminate.

A crush was one thing, but I was not…repeat, not allowed to lust after my brother’s best friend.

“Fine. I’ll behave. So…what do you want to trade?”

He turned onto Colorado Boulevard and came to an abrupt stop behind a yellow VW van covered in peace bumper stickers. It was always busy along this stretch, but it seemed worse tonight. He strong-armed his way into the next lane and sighed as if resigned to the prospect of traveling at a snail’s pace.

“Your brain for repairs.”

“And what part of my brain do you need?”

“Well, it’s a bit of a story.”

I gestured toward the traffic. “It looks like we have some time.”

Aiden inclined his head. “True. Listen, G, what I’m about to tell you needs to stay on the DL. In other words, if you were to pick up your Bronco and I wasn’t at the shop, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to anyone there. Hank is my uncle, Timmy is a cousin, and there are another five or six relatives in the garage or who work the front desk. I don’t want them to know anything until it’s a done deal. First of all, I need that job and second, I wouldn’t quit until I had something else lined up…preferably in my chosen field.”