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TIGHTENING THE BOLT, I chewed my lip in concentration.
Ever since I’d gotten back to work, my head had started to clear. Obviously, I was too busy to think of much more than what the cars I was repairing required, and I was damn thankful for that fact. I needed the normalcy that came with my work. At least when my mind was busy, it couldn’t run wild.
Plus, I tended to be in better spirits when my hands were busy and I had a puzzle to solve. My attention faltered from the brake-line at the sound of footsteps. I quirked a brow when a pair of dirty jeans covering feet in rough-worn boots greeted me.
“Hi, Dad,” I said, not bothering to slide out from under the car. I could hear him just fine from here.
I flinched and almost hit my head when I heard something smack the ground next to the car. “Looks like you’re famous... again,” he said in an amused tone.
My gut clenched. I glanced at the Racer’s Weekly mag Dad had dropped to the ground and instantly felt sick. The last thing I wanted to see were more photos of Tyler and me, happy and smiling at one of the parties.
“Thanks,” I murmured.
He chuckled. “Lock up when you finish that one.”
“Always do.”
I waited a few beats before curiosity got the best of me. I had intended on finishing the brake-line, but I couldn’t concentrate with the magazine beaming at me from under the harsh shop lights, like a beacon of temptation. I rolled out from under the racer, and snatched up the magazine. I sat up on the creeper and wiped my hands on a red oil rag I kept in my front pocket. Turning my head slightly, I flipped the magazine over. Looked like a regular issue of Racer’s Weekly. I could only imagine what was in it.
Groan.
Lifting myself from the creeper and stepping over to the rec bench, I sat down, already flipping through the first pages of the stupid magazine.
In the first few sections I made my way through, everything inside looked to be just as ad-packed and half-assed as it usually was. At least until I reached the event coverage and my eyes landed on a photo that nearly stopped my heart. I squeezed my eyes shut and slowly opened them again, hoping it had been a mirage.
No such luck.
This isn’t happening.
Right there, in all its colorful glory, was an image of Colton kissing me for all the world to see. I reluctantly read the caption, and cringed:
“It looks as though things have cooled off with Tyler Dalton, as Charlyse Cruise has already heated things up with a handsome stranger at DiDi’s Lounge Saturday night...”
Heart plummeting, I slammed the magazine closed. I angrily chucked it with a flick of my wrist, Frisbee-style, across the garage floor and watched as it landed with a smack against the cement and then slid. A lump formed in my throat. The picture made it look like it was the exact opposite of what it had actually been. It left no room for any other possibilities. Anyone who looked at it would think Colton and I were together.
In that way.
I sighed and pulled my phone from my coveralls pocket, stopping myself from sending some sort of explanation for the pic to my Dad. Why had he sounded amused, anyway? He had teased Colton and me in the past how we should just be together already... but that obviously would never happen. Now, I would have to explain.
Dad, I could handle... but Tyler? Would he see it? Laughing at my stupidity, I walked over and picked up the rag mag, and then tossed it into a nearby trash can. That asshole wouldn’t give two shits if he saw it.
Plus, I didn’t owe him an explanation. I actually grinned at the little fantasy in my head of him seeing it and getting jealous. Was Tyler a jealous person? I had no idea, he’d never shown any overly jealous tendencies in my presence, except the last night we were together when he’d placed that showy kiss on me as I had been casually chatting with Justin whats-his-name.
I put the phone back in my coveralls. I’d get back to work and forget about it. What was done was done. I could talk to Dad in the morning.
And... maybe Colton after that.
I’d been avoiding his calls and texts. Mainly because I needed space. But we were better than that. I still didn’t want to pursue anything beyond what we had, and his texts had stated that, very bluntly, along with his zillion apologies. But deep down, I didn’t want to lose him any more than he’d want to lose me. Especially not for something as silly as misguided feelings and an impulsive mistake.
We could get past this. Right?