We face each other, and the way the fire flickers against her shining eyes makes my chest tight. The crotch of my fuckin’ sweats, too.
“Goodnight,” I say because I ain’t beggin’ her to stay up and what? Talk to me? I got my book. We’ve talked already. We’re good.
“Oh,” she says, her brows rumpling a little like I said the wrong thing or something but whatever. She said she’s going to bed. She hit me with an “anyway” when I asked her about her life.
It’s the reminder I need.
We’re friends of friends. We really ain’t even friends.
Getting hard for Goldie is a waste, and all that shit my Mom stuffed into my head a week ago is surfacing. I’m just… confused, and she’s here. That’s all.
Geographical confusion. Wrong place, wrong time.
“Well, goodnight.”
I don’t say anything, and she goes to the room we both slept in last night and rustles around a bit; then I hear the hall creak as she toes her way into the other room. The door clicks shut.
I grab my book off the side table and crack it open. I sit with my book for an hour but don’t turn a single goddamn page.
* * *
“Well,I said I’d head to your place once I get on the road. I’m just about packed up. Just hold tight. I can be there in about an hour. Alright?”
“Fine. Your dad just won’t sit down. He’s hell-bent on getting the pilot light lit, but his back–oh Jesus, Harry, just wait for Atti!” My Mom’s voice is worn and tired, and I don’t fuckin’ blame her. She called me this morning saying their pilot light went out sometime last night. They’ve been without heat and hot water for the night, and dad’s decided that even though he can’t bend that way anymore, he’s going to fix it.
Course, I know he ain’t, and now I’m rushing to get my shit packed so I can get up there and get them squared away. I was already eager to leave this cabin behind after last night. Now I’m really ready.
“I’m packed. I’m ready. I know you need to get out of here,” Goldie says, surprising me from behind. She’s got her bag slung over her shoulder; all her long hair pulled up into a bun a lot nicer than my own. In her dried puffy jacket, jeans, and Converse, the sight of her does this fuckin’ annoying thing to my chest. Makin’ it tight and fuckin’ warm.
“Are your parents okay? I got the gist that was your Mom.”
“Yeah,” I say, not paying her a second of extra attention as I shove my feet into my work boots, then zip my vest over my Wrench Kings hoodie. “Pilot light went out. Had to go by there anyway, but now it’s… urgent,” I say, peering around the corner to make sure the kitchen is clean and we’ve left nothing behind.
“Hand me your bag; I’ll put it in your car for you. I’m taking my cooler out, too.” I make my way to her, not even looking at her, and take her bag.
“Thanks,” she says lightly as the cabin door swings closed behind me.
When I get to Goldie’s little tin can car, I tug the passenger door handle and toss the bag in. Something metallic catches a ray of morning sunlight, snagging my attention. Her keys dangle from her ignition, and they’re twisted a quarter of the way.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter as I slam the passenger door and high step my way through the powder to the driver’s side. Popping open the door, I reach in and twist the key; to no surprise, it doesn’t turn over. She fuckin’ left the car on. For two days.
I’m feeling all sorts of guilt as I pull the keys from the ignition. I helped her inside–I shoulda fuckin’ checked.
After grabbing the cooler from the porch and tossing it into the bed of my pickup, I kick the snow off my boots and head inside. Ruffling a hand over my bun, powder shakes loose around me as our eyes meet.
“Bad news. Your battery is dead.”
She licks her lips as her eyes crawl over my body. “So jump me.”
I keep the reactive grunt in my throat and talk around it. “I can’t believe I’m sayin’ this but… I don’t have my cables.”
She grins, and I have to fight grinning back. Atticus Winters doesn’t fuckin’ grin. “Seriously? You’re a mechanic. And anyway, don’t all cars have them like, in the glove box or something?”
Arching a brow, I ask, “does yours?”
“Shit,” she harrumphs. “Touché.” Chewing the inside of her mouth, a hot, guilty look claims her face. “I took them out a year ago so I could put an emergency makeup bag in. I just remembered.”
“Too bad mascara don’t start cars, huh?”