I follow him into the garage and turn on the light as I pass the switch. I point out the oil before realizing that within the space of two seconds, Noah is already distracted. “Fuck me,” he breathes. “Your dad has a fucking awesome setup.”
“What did you expect?” I question. “His truck is his pride and joy, and not to mention, our only source of income. If he doesn’t look after it right, we could be digging ourselves a pretty nasty hole. I don’t even want to begin to think how much buying a new truck would cost.”
“Trust me,” he says as his eyes run over all of dad’s tools like a giddy child in a candy store, “it’s not cheap.”
As he gets distracted by all the gadgets and gizmos, I take the opportunity to roam my eyes over his tattoos, and I have to admit, they’re done to perfection. Whoever his artist is, is damn good.
I take in all the typical ones. You know, the naked chick who looks absolutely terrifying and the patterns and twists which seem to protrude from his skin. There’s a skull which looks as though it’s melting and makes him look even more terrifying, though I think that was the point.
As my eyes scan over his chest, I find myself zoning in on one particular design as this one stands out in contrast compared to the rest. It’s different. This one isn’t about making himself look like a work of art. This one is personal and it screams of heartache.
I take in the lily that completely takes over the right side of his chest, but what catches my attention is the soft line of a heartbeat which fades into a flat line. I don’t know why, but something tells me this is real. This is a dedication, something that means something to him, and I’d dare say, this is for someone he’s lost.
“You’re staring,” comes his deep voice from across the garage.
My eyes flick up from his body and realize he isn’t even looking at me, he just senses my heavy gaze on his body. “You covered your body in art and expect people not to stare?”
His lips lift up into a playful smile as he turns to face me front on. “I’m going to keep you,” he tells me. “Now, where the hell is this oil?”
Chapter 4
“Tell me, Spitfire,” Noah says from underneath dad’s old pick up with his legs hanging out from under the hood, giving me the perfect view of his tight abs. “Who do you hang out with?”
I scoff. “Is that a trick question?”
“What?” he grumbles from under the hood, clearly not understanding where I’m going with this. I mean, that’s not the usual response someone would expect from a question such as ‘who do you hang out with?’
“I don’t hang out with anyone,” I clarify.
“What do you mean you don’t hang out with anyone? Who do you talk to?”
Shit. Why didn’t I just go inside when he started working on the truck? I just had to awkwardly stand around passing him random tools instead of going in and getting myself lunch. I could have had the house clean by now, but instead, I’m standing here, letting some strange guy from school drill me on shit that isn’t his business. Yet, here I am, about to give him the answers he’s looking for.
“No one,” I tell him. “I don’t have friends.”
“What?” he grunts again before wriggling his way out from under the truck. He looks up at me from the ground as though I’m some kind of puzzle. “Of course, you have friends,” he says, deep in thought. “I’ve seen you talking to…shit. I don’t know. There’s got to be someone.”
“Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “Why would I want to bother with that?”
“Wait,” he grunts with an amused grin, looking at me like the pathetic loser that I am. “You have no friends on purpose?”
I raise my eyebrows, daring him to challenge me on it. “Correct.”
“Why?” he scoffs as though it’s the most moronic thing he’s ever heard, and he might be right.
Why am I entertaining this? It’s none of his business and hell, why does he want to know anyway? Nobody wants to know shit about me. I roll my eyes and play into his line of questioning, not yet ready to lose this rare moment of human interaction that doesn’t involve me getting ranted at by skanky cheerleaders.
Letting out a low breath, I give him my hard truth. “All friends are good for is stabbing you in the back.”
Understanding dawns in his eyes and I’m saved from having to explain myself. He knows what I’m referring to. Everyone in Haven Falls knows what I’m referring to.
“You’re seriously disturbed,” he tells me, sliding his way back under the truck and getting on with changing the oil, which he shouldn’t be doing anyway. I should have taken it to the mechanic like a good little girl instead of setting myself up to owe somebody something. I can only imagine what a guy like him is going to request as a reward for his troubles. “Tully’s the same. She’s a total psycho bitch. I’ll introduce you.”