Rules of Play (The Script Club 2)

“You’re welcome.”

“Last question…how long will it take?”

“Well, that’s the downside. I can only work on it when I’m done for the day at the garage…and on the weekends. You may be without wheels for a couple of weeks.”

“That’s fine. I can hitch rides with my friends.”

“Cool. By the way, I had no idea you were such a hothead.”

“I’m not…usually. But if it’s not one thing, it’s another lately,” I griped without heat.

“Who’d you kiss today?” he joked.

I barked a laugh. “No one. And remember, that didn’t happen.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s right. Hypothetically speaking, I didn’t mind it.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you’re not a bad kisser.”

I smiled at his playful tone. The silly throwaway line was the perfect reset…Aiden-style. I appreciated it more than I could say.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Dude, I’m a master kisser. I’ve been perfecting my craft since junior high. Fun fact: My first kiss was thanks to a secret game of spin-the-bottle. I was twelve and was not prepared when Jenny Clements stuck her tongue down my mouth.”

“You didn’t love it?”

“I think my exact words were, ‘Ew, that was gross.’ She got offended and tried to blackball me from the cool-kids list. My utter obliviousness saved me. That and I think she had a reputation for being a French-kissing bandit. Kinda like you.”

“Ha. Ha.”

Aiden snickered. “Who was your first kiss?”

“Patrick Gonzales. We were lab partners in seventh grade biology. I’m not sure how it happened. We stayed after class to work on a project. We were sitting closer to each other than usual and it seemed like the air buzzed between us. At least that was how I read it. We both reached for the same pencil and stared at each other for close to twenty minutes before I finally leaned in and kissed him.”

“And? How was it?”

“Sweet.”

Aiden hummed. “Tongue?”

“Nope.”

“What? How is a no-tongue kiss hot?”

“I didn’t say hot. I said sweet. And it was. We’d kiss like that every chance we got. It never became anything, though. Just sneaky kisses in deserted classrooms. By the time we were in eighth grade, he’d moved on to girls and ignored me if we bumped into each other.”

“That sucks,” Aiden huffed.

I shrugged even though the gesture was lost over a phone line. “Meh, that’s life. He wasn’t ready for the teenage queer label. I get it. It wasn’t easy.”

“Hmm. Well, just so you know, I’d never ignore you, Murphy.”

I grinned. “Thanks, Baker.”

“No prob. Look at the estimate. If you’re cool with everything, I’ll have your SUV towed in the morning and get started on it tomorrow night. Shoot me a text to let me know.”

I had a stupid smile on my face when we hung up. Which made no sense since I’d literally just added another complication to my list. I didn’t think my friends would mind if Aiden worked on my SUV in the driveway, but I had a feeling his presence would prove distracting. But maybe not. It wasn’t like I was going to kiss him again.

No way.

Willy the wonder Bronco magically showed up in our driveway the following morning. I was in the shower when the SUV arrived, but my friends reported seeing a skinny, scruffy-looking man behind the wheel of the tow truck.

“He waved at us through the window and hurried away. Is he coming back tonight to work on it?” Holden asked, adjusting his thick glasses.

Topher shook his head. “That wasn’t Aiden.”

“It must have been his cousin,” I replied, crossing my arms.

“What does Aiden look like?” Asher fussed with the button on his crisply ironed white oxford shirt, then glanced at his watch.

“Good question. If there’s going to be a stranger around, it might be wise to meet him,” Tommy added, worrying his bottom lip.

I put a comforting hand on Tommy’s shoulder and smiled. “I personally vouch for his character. I’ve known Aiden since I was a kid. He’s six four, has dark-blond hair, blue eyes, a nice tight beard, and a lot of muscles.”

“Can I have his number?” Asher quipped, waggling his brows.

My friends snickered appreciatively, turning away from the kitchen window to move on to other topics as they sipped coffee and double-checked their itineraries for the day. We were all final-year grad students at UCLA with part-time internships at either NASA’s Jet Propulsion Lab or at Caltech, and though our schedules varied, there was usually someone heading in a direction I needed to go.

Topher must have read my mind. He bumped my elbow companionably and smiled. “Need a ride?”

“Yeah, thanks. I’m not sure how long the repairs will take, but—”

“According to Google, rebuilding a transmission is a three-to-four-day affair,” Asher piped in. “On a limited schedule, I’d guess it will take him two to three times that.”

“Can you survive without solo transportation for that long?” Topher asked.

“As long as you and Asher don’t mind me tagging along to work and school, I should be fine. I don’t have any plans.” I waited a beat too long before adding, “Do you have any exciting extracurricular activities planned?”