“I ain’t sick.”
Beau does his awkward laugh. The one he uses when I’m salty, and he’s tip-toeing. Same laugh he used last year when I’d peel him off the floor, drunk as a sailor, and call him on his bullshit. Funny how that laugh is being used offensively now.
“Not what I meant, and I think you know that.”
“I don’t know anything. Why don’t you tell me,” I ground out, slamming my empty coffee cup against the metal shop counter. The cup crushes under the weight of my hand, and Beau’s eyes land on it.
“That,” he says, “is a bit… energetic and, oh, I don’t know, grouchy for a normal conversation.”
I blink at him and grunt because I don’t have words to defend what an absolute asshole I’ve been all week.
She got the job. Good for her. That’s fuckin’ great.
She. Look, I’m already talking about her without needing to say her name. I don’t know why I think we’re that comfortable–clearly, we ain’t. I didn’t get a phone call telling me about her job or inviting me to dinner. Hell, I barely got a glance at Beck’s place that night last week.
I throw down my towel and flop into a chair, watching Miller clean up the pit where we just finished a chassis rebuild on an old rally truck. It was a good time–we don’t get a lot of easy rebuild work, but I enjoyed it. No one would know it because I held onto my scowl and what Delane calls the “corn cob up my ass look” all damn day.
“I don’t even know where to start; that’s kinda the worry. I mean, I know it’s not Meredith’s birthday, and I just saw your dad at the Cork Pop two nights ago.”
“Brandy?” I ask, knowing their poison of choice.
He nods. “Yeah.” A grin spreads across his face. “I got champagne for Beck and me.” He’s one fuckin’ second from crossing a line with us, telling me where he poured it or, worse, where he licked it from when I hold up a finger.
“Don’t; I like Beck. I don’t want to think about your grubby hands all over her.”
He nods. “Got it. Then you’re going to have to tell me what’s wrong. Because you’re a prick, but this week, you’ve been… exceptional.”
I always love when a word used to describe something great is used to describe me and meant to emphasize my fuckin’ wretchedness. But I don’t argue against it because denying you’ve been a prick is an uglier quality than just being one. “I know,” I say with a sigh, catching my forehead in my hands as I rest my elbows on my knees.
“What’s up, man?” Beau takes a seat on a rolling stool nearby and slides over to me.
When I look up at him, a huge part of me doesn’t want to say a word. I trust Beau, but if I put this shit into the world and say it out loud to another human, then it has legs. It can run, which means it can leave me behind. It can drag me.
It can and probably will hurt me.
But Beau’s like a brother. I don’t want to be a prick and then lie about it.
“I’m catching feelings for someone, and I ain’t her cup of tea.” I sit back, stacking my arms over my chest to watch his reaction. There’s surprise initially, which I expected. I haven’t brought a girl around in years. I don’t think Beau’s even ever seen me take a woman home after a night out. But his surprise morphs into caution, and something in my gut lurches.
I think he knows. And I’m a smart fuckin’ guy, so I think I’m right.
He just stares at me for a second, then clears his throat. “Are we talking about a certain brunette who lives above a certain bakery?”
I roll my eyes.
“You like Goldie,” he confirms, a bit of questioning still in his tone.
I nod. “Fuck, I can’t believe I’m this guy,” I groan, scrubbing a hand down my face.
“What? The man that is attracted to a woman for more than sex?” He snorts. “I can’t believe it’s taken you this long to really like someone.”
I stare off into the open garage, watching Miller drop a wrench over and over with his greasy hand. “I thought I never would.”
We’re silent because Beau knows my loss. I had no plans of telling him, friends or not because I’m not lookin’ for the world to know my pain. But he came over to my parents’ once when he was my apprentice years back, and my Mom spilled our entire family story to him.
“The cabin?” he asks.
I nod. “I got eyes, so obviously there were things I liked before. But that fuckin’ snotty little attitude she’s got… that way she has of making you feel like you’re just… crumpled at her feet.” I shake my head, remembering the first few times I met Goldie. “I hated that shit.”