Henry returned in a jiff with the board and set it down on the ground next to his dad.
“Sit,” the kid ordered me, so I sat.
Once again, I found myself laying side by side with Carter. This time, there was no canopy of stars above us. Just the cement ceiling of a shitty garage.
“Do you take all your girls under cars?” I joked.
Bad choice.
He muttered, “You gotta stop asking about my girls, Phoebe, it’s getting obsessive.”
With that he slid beneath the car, and anxious to win back his approval, I followed suit, not even thinking about how scary it is to get under a car. That’s how desperate I was to please. I totally ignored all my usual good instincts about being under heavy, precariously balanced objects.
None of it occurred to me until I was completely under the car and more capable of feeling the full brunt of regret.
The metal parts hung mere inches from my face. Oil dripped onto my jumpsuit. Carter and I were pressed up against one another, our combined shoulder widths nearly taking up the whole underside of the vehicle. It was like being in an MRI machine — the claustrophobia, the indecipherable machinery.
Suddenly, I was terrified.
“Carter—”
He clasped my hand. “I’m right here.”
I squeezed his hand back, and asked, “How’d you know I was scared?”
“Everybody’s scared their first time. I had to get Henry under a car dozens of times before he could do it without holding my hand.”
“So I’m not being a wimp?”
“On the contrary, I’m surprised you stayed under here.”
His voice was soft, muffled by our close quarters. Our hands were intertwined in the tiny gap between our bodies.
“I’m gonna show you some parts, okay?” He squeezed my hand. “Knowing about things makes them less scary.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
He began to point at parts at random. “This here’s your brakes. They’re important. And there’s the battery. Also important.”
“So, basically, everything’s important.”
Carter chuckled. “Yeah, fair enough. That’s the beauty of cars — nothing is there that doesn’t need to be there. It’s all designed for one goal — making you go forward. And stopping. And if you have a nicer car, it’s about making you go forward, and fast.”
“Got it.”
His worldview was so simple, so straightforward. Things served a purpose, or they didn’t. He lived in the black and white, while I lived in the gray. I envied him his ability to delineate. I often felt like I was in a swamp of the in between.
“Okay, I’m gonna roll out, and then I’ll pull you out.” His voice was reassuring. I wondered if it was the one he used to put Henry to bed.
I gave him a thumbs-up in between our locked hands.
He trundled out, using both his hands and feet to maneuver his body forward. It was an impressive feat of grace and coordination, and not for the first time, I wondered what it would be like to have him use that expertise on me.
I supposed I was about to find out, because Carter said, “Cross your arms over your chest,” just before wrapping his hands around my ankles and slowly guiding me out from under the car.
When I emerged, he was hovering over me, his body still bent from leading me out.
“Hey.” It seemed to be the only thing to say with his head so near to my own, his hands having slid up from my ankles to my calves and so close to my knees.
“Howdy.”
Shit, had to think of something else to say. “Um, the car was cool.”
He grinned. “Glad you liked it.”
His hands were still on my calves. Had Carter changed his mind? Had he decided that maybe I was worth trusting, that I was someone he could just be real with? Was he also feeling a connection so strong that it was no longer possible to ignore?
I tilted my head back a little further, exposing my neck to him. Urging him on. Hungry for him, and for the thing between his legs which continued to straddle me, his feet on either side of my arms.
His mouth opened, and I thought perhaps this was it — he would close the distance, move a foot down so that our bodies were touching everywhere, and we’d be making love.
But of course, as usual, I forgot that we were in a public place — that Henry was somewhere nearby, and so was Big Bob, who, I knew, would kill for a good show. I wanted Carter something awful, but not like this.
I lifted one of the arms that had been folded across my chest, and extended it to Carter. He got the hint, wrapping his fingers around mine and lifting me to my feet in one controlled yank.
“Thanks,” I said, breathless. We were face to face, our chests so close they nearly touched.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he said in a low voice. What was that supposed to mean?