Throttle: A Dirty Mechanic Romance

by Kira Blakely

  “Lucky for you, then,” I said with a light laugh. “This is just the mask I wear when I go to scary places.”

  Connie giggled. “This isn’t scary,” she assured me. I glanced at the raucous throng of tipsy athletes in cheap evening wear and couldn’t disagree more. I’d rather navigate a silent auction full of dusty billionaires than dive into that rigmarole. Barefoot. “My dad has never shown me a new friend before. And I’m eight. That’s a long time.”

  “You don’t know, you can’t remember being a baby,” I replied, reaching for the champagne bottle in the center of the table and hastily refilling my goblet. I hoped that this girl’s incessant questions would soon find their cork. “Maybe the first few years of your life were filled with introductions. In fact, they probably were.” I brought the fresh drink to my lips and chugged.

  I brought it back down and felt better. A little loose, a little spacey, but better. I watched Andrew across the field, pounding down the stretch with the football stashed under his arm. Grant crashed into him out of nowhere and they went down hard.

  “My dad is awesome,” Connie informed me staunchly, certainly. “You never answered my question.”

  “What question?” I wondered, keeping my mouth close to the rim of the goblet, in case I needed an emergency drink. Lisa scooped up a handful of mud and tossed it at Lola, who dissolved into laughter, even though her dress was probably ruined for good now.

  “Are you my dad’s girlfriend?”

  I swallowed another gulp of champagne. Then another. Then there was only one sip left, so I killed it off. “No,” I answered simply, burping softly. My hand flew up to my lips. “Excuse me.”

  Connie giggled. “Well, good. My dad has been awesome for my whole life, and I don’t want him to start dating. Love ruins people.”

  The words brought my attention fully back to Connie. It was just such a dark, bitter thing for an eight-year-old to say. “Um,” I told her, frowning. I put my goblet down. “Why do you say that?”

  “My mom has been in love a bajillion times. It makes her a worse person. She goes out all night. Then she’s mad and checking her phone all the time. Then she’s crying and she wants to take me to the mall and buy a ton of stuff. I don’t get it. It ruins people!”

  I braced my hand on Connie’s shoulder and peered deeply into her eyes. “You don’t have to worry about me,” I promised. “There’s no way a man like your dad would ever fall in love with me. I mean, look at me.” I dropped my hand from her shoulder and shrugged, raising my eyebrows helplessly. My bookish, reclusive lifestyle left me stranded on the sidelines all the time. Someone like Andrew would never be satisfied long-term.

  “I guess you’re right,” Connie allowed. “Definitely nothing like my mom.”

  I glanced over at Lola, who had linked arms with Lisa to down a glass of champagne, and grimaced. Nothing like her. She was lively and intriguing and adventurous. Here I was, at the table with his daughter, shoes still on. He hadn’t even looked over here. It’s his best friend’s wedding. He doesn’t want to babysit you.

  The sound of a tinkling glass brought the attention of the wedding party to focus on Andrew, whose bare, muddy feet were firmly planted in front of the microphone on the outdoor stage, next to the DJ booth. The music quieted and Andrew tapped the mic and grinned out at this sea of faces.

  “It’s amazing to see everybody could make it out this afternoon,” he greeted, raising his own flute of champagne in welcome. “I know you all had really important court hearings and hangovers to attend today.” A smattering of appreciative laughter bubbled from the crowd. “If you’re here on the groom’s side, you know this is something he’s been planning since the eighth grade... and if you’re here on the bride’s side, you know she’s been trying to find a polite way to decline this invitation for years.” Another laugh. I even felt my own lip twitch. “But most of us are both bride and groom sides because the bride and the groom have been Lisa-and-Grant for longer than they’ve been just Lisa or just Grant.” The crowd softened with feels, but Andrew went on, “Does anyone even remember Lisa before Grant, or Grant before Lisa?”

  No one spoke up.

  “I do,” Andrew said. “Grant was... prickly.”

  The audience responded with a healthy swell of laughter. I wished that I knew these people so I could laugh, too. I also wished that I hadn’t doused my throat with three glasses of champagne back-to-back. I fanned my suddenly perspiring neck and felt a little too loose. Damn my low tolerance.

  “He didn’t have the patience for getting to know anyone, so he would have died alone if it wasn’t for Lisa. And Lisa—” He said her name with such drama and despair, the crowd cracked up at the mere expression on his face, and my heart warmed with pride. They loved him here. He was killing it. Even if this wasn’t my world—I was glad he had his own throne here. He deserved one. “Apparently you all remember Lisa,” he said, which got another uproarious laugh. “She was impossible to control—and she wouldn’t listen to anyone. Except Grant,” he added, winking at the groom on the other side of the crowd. “And somehow, he turned that baby hooligan into a lady.” Andrew made a face and tilted his head from one side to the other. “As much of a lady as he could, anyway. He’s not a miracle worker.”

  “Hey!” Lisa yelled, waving her fist at Andrew. “This is still my party, Ace!”

  “Aaanyway,” Andrew went on, pointedly turning his back on Lisa, getting another giggle to ruffle the audience. “You can tell true love when you see it because it... changes you.” His eyes drifted over to mine and latched for just an instant, over all the tops of these other heads. A blush fluttered to my cheeks. Was he being serious? I swallowed hard. I hadn’t changed him. He hadn’t changed me! The room tilted a little bit to the side and I blinked slowly. “And it makes you better,” he went on. I tipped my eyes back to his and he looked away, eyes settling on Connie next. “It calms you down, or it lifts you up. It’s whatever you need it to be. Whatever you’ve been looking for.” He winked, and my eyes moved away from him, incidentally fixing directly onto Lola.

  She glared at me thoughtfully, a pouty, simmering glare that could almost have been mistaken for a glare of desire, it was so overpowering. My heart rampaged in response and I tore my eyes away. Why was she giving me that look? What did that mean? Shit. Shit! I didn’t want any of this. This was exactly why I told him no when he originally invited me. I didn’t want to worry about his catty ex and his kid’s questions. I just wanted to work and resolve my student debt. It was simple. It was all so simple.

  As Andrew wrapped up his speech, I stood and lunged toward the church, where I could squirrel away in the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror for the hour or two left of this event. I desperately wanted to check my hair, to give myself a classic bathroom pep talk. Most importantly, I think I needed to puke. My stomach was too empty for half a bottle of champagne.

  Applause swelled up behind me as Andrew finished his speech, and I smiled softly for his success, even though I was also relieved to be out of the crowd. I was almost to the church now. Dizzy and overheated, but almost there.

  “Hey,” a female voice chirped behind me, drawing my attention away from that wonderful door across the parking lot. “You’re Michelle, right?”

  I whirled and a wave of vertigo washed over me, partly because of the champagne and partly because Andrew’s ex had stalked me across the field and to the chapel. She took long strides to catch up with me quickly.

  “Yes,” I answered meekly, praying this wouldn’t develop into a thing between us. “I’m Michelle.”

  “Andrew’s new girlfriend,” she went on, reaching me. I realized that she was a tall girl. She loomed a few inches over me, and I thought that she might be here to kick my ass.

  “Oh,” I said, blushing and smiling awkwardly. “I’m not his new anything.”

  “Don’t be coy,” she instructed me, her tone both acidic and teasing, so I couldn’t tell if she was threatening me or if I was just
too nervous. “He would never bring just anyone to this wedding.” She hesitated and her eyes flashed over me with intense assessment. “He must really like you.”

  I was going to throw up soon, and it was so hot out there. I fanned myself and tried to focus on this unpleasant conversation. “You’re Lola, right? Connie’s mom?”

  Lola straightened herself to her full height and glowered down at me with a cold pride. “That’s right. You must know that Andrew is a very devoted father, if you know him at all.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m not trying to do anything, Lola.” I waved my hands in the air, exhausted by this entire exchange. “We’re just friends.” Semi-true.

  “Sure.” The look in Lola’s eyes confirmed that she was thinking the same exact thing. “He hasn’t had a girlfriend since he was with me, Michelle. What do you think that means?”

  That he hadn’t met me yet. The comeback popped into my conscious mind without any prompting and I intentionally disregarded it. No way. I wasn’t going to fight with this woman over Andrew. No way.

  “I don’t know,” I said instead. “Haven’t you two been separated for a long time?”

  Lola furrowed her brow at me. “Finding ourselves,” she answered. “You can come around, Michelle,” she told me, taking another step, glowering down at me. She seemed a little tipsy herself. “Help my baby find himself. But just know, at the end of this long day, he’s going to find his way back to the mother of his child.”

  “The mother of somebody’s child, anyway,” I snapped, and then my fingers flew to my lips. I couldn’t believe I’d just said something so combative. That wasn’t like me at all.

  “What?” Lola sneered. “What did you just say?”

  “I was actually on my way to the bathroom,” I told her, turning and scurrying into the church. I pushed on the bar over the door and it fell open and my relief tripled as the air conditioning circulated around me. I was surrounded by shadows and alone now.

  I glanced over my shoulder to see if Lola followed, but no one was there. The door shuddered closed, and I didn’t see Lola standing on the other side anymore.

  Feeling like a little mouse, I stepped to the door and watched Lola through the glass pane as she marched across the field, back to the covered tent and platform of the reception. I pressed my forehead to the cool glass and told myself to breathe. I was still dizzy. I needed water. I needed—

  I twisted and rushed through the chapel toward the bathroom, losing one high heel along the way. I needed that toilet right now. I pushed my way through a series of doors before finally collapsing in a sweaty pile on the tile floor in front of the women’s toilet, losing half a plate of pasta and three or four glasses of champagne in one heave. I gave a few more gags for good measure.

  When my roiling insides felt calmed, I leaned back and gathered the hair off my neck. I sighed and let myself cool.

  Even though I hadn’t washed my mouth yet, I smiled a little bit to myself. I even giggled.

  Ever since meeting Andrew again, this little voice in the back of my mind told me again and again that nothing would seriously happen. Not long-term. He was too perfect; something was bound to go wrong. I kept telling myself this. It wouldn’t last. We were too different. This was ill-advised and temporary, ephemeral.

  But Lola wouldn’t have approached me if she wasn’t threatened.

  My lip quirked and my eyes opened, gazing up at the ceiling of the bathroom stall, feeling oddly victorious.

  Lola wanted to fight me because her ex had never brought a girlfriend out into public before. I was the first.

  And that little factoid made the little voice of doubt in my heart finally sit down and shut up.

  Chapter 9

  Andrew

  People think that living in a town like Pelham is the same as never graduating high school, never growing up. It’s a small town, and when a lot of your high school friends stay, it seems like you should be able to always hang out and see each other, but that’s not the case. The true story is that old friends get demanding jobs and get married and have kids and then those kids get the flu, and somehow, even though they only live a few streets away from you, you end up only seeing your best friend once during all of 2016. I needed this wedding just to reconnect with myself.

  But when I glanced up from the invigorating game of touch football and saw Michelle sitting by herself at our assigned table, my heart gave up a little ache and I swallowed, leaving myself wide open for a tackle.

  I just wanted Michelle to have fun, to let go and stop worrying about everything.

  But it was okay. This was just our first time. Things would get better. We would keep trying.

  “Our first time”? a little voice doubted me, incredulous at my audacity.

  Shut up, I told the voice.

  “We will keep trying”?

  I said shut up.

  Connie took a seat next to Michelle and I relaxed a little bit. Good. I wanted Michelle to have someone to talk to, and I wanted Connie to have someone to talk to, too. Maybe they could bring each other out of their shells.

  After the speech, I scanned the clusters of folding tables for Michelle again but I didn’t see her anywhere anymore. My brow furrowed and I scouted for Connie, thinking that Michelle may have told her where she was going.

  I felt a little hand slide into the pocket of my suit coat and I logically assumed that it was Connie. “Ace.” Lola’s voice startled me, and I jolted, glaring down at her. It had literally been as many years as Connie had been alive since Lola had slid her hand into my front pocket like that.

  “What are you doing?” I wondered, just a touch accusatory.

  “Nothin’.” Lola’s hand slid out of my pocket again and she beamed up at me. “Nothin’ at all.”

  “Hey, have you seen Michelle?” I asked, since Lola was right here, but she made a face like she wasn’t sure what I was talking about. “My date,” I clarified.

  Lola blinked. “Oh, no. I haven’t. Do you want me to help you look?”

  I sighed. Not really. Then again, Michelle was a little bit of a wild card. Being shy didn’t make her easy to control. She could have been anywhere here. What if she felt overwhelmed and folded? Shit. She hadn’t tried to socialize with anyone; I only saw her smiling a little bit during my speech. Maybe she had left. Maybe she was balled up in the restroom, crying into a napkin.

  She could be anywhere, and Lola’s help meant that we could cover more ground—even if her attention span wasn’t really conducive to helping me for more than a few minutes.

  “All right,” I said.

  “You’re the one who knows her so well,” Lola told me, eyes gleaming with something strange. She looked more engaged than I had seen her look in a long time, even when she was with Connie. “Where do you think she would go?”

  “She’s really shy; she almost didn’t come,” I said. “I think she might have left.”

  “Shy?” Lola’s eyebrows twisted in a sardonic kind of arrogance and she scoffed. “Oh, my god, you’re dating a wet mop.”

  I rolled my eyes. I didn’t have time for Lola’s shit. “Help me or not,” I grumbled, striding toward the church. If she wasn’t in the chapel, she would have to be in the parking lot, or the worst possible scenario, walking home.

  My gut clutched at the thought. Should I have made her play football with us? Had I scared her away with the speech? I hadn’t meant for my eyes to fall across hers at some key points in my delivery, but when they rested there, it just felt right. There was a click, and I almost forgot I was in the middle of a speech. The moment became real, even inside of some sentences I rehearsed a dozen times before tonight.

  Before I even knew her.

  I was halfway to the church when Lola jogged up alongside me, grinning at me in a weird way. “I like the dress-I-got-from-the-trash look on you,” I told her.

  “Back atcha,” Lola said with a wink. She watched me for a few seconds, but my gaze was pinned to the church, and I didn’t kn
ow what her problem was. She seemed to be working up her nerve, which was great. What? Did she want to pump me for some child support? Was there a field trip she didn’t want to chaperone because it would mean getting up too early on a Tuesday? “So,” she said. Here it comes. “I have something to tell you.”

  She slowed to a stop, knowing she had me hooked, and damn it, she did. I glanced over my shoulder at her and saw that her body language had shifted into a stance of sincerity and totally uncharacteristic sobriety. It was almost penitent. I scowled and turned fully to face her. This would probably be worth turning for. “I actually talked to Michelle a little while ago, actually.”

  I took a step closer to her and reined myself from jumping to any conclusions. “Okay. Did she say anything of note?”

  Lola swallowed and her eyes crusted with real tears. My scowl deepened. This was bad. Lola can cry on command, but the fact that she felt like she needed to was disturbing. “I just wanted to talk to this girl you like so much, you know? I wanted to see what it was that finally got you to move on.”

  I scoffed. “Aaron Hershel is the one who finally got me to move on,” I reminded her. I found Aaron Hershel sinking his face between her legs in the backseat of a 1962 Studebaker I had rebuilt myself over the course of years. I had to sell that damn car afterward. No amount of upholstery conditioner could cover the stench. “Look, Lo. Please don’t do this.”

  “Do what?” Lola demanded. “Have emotions? Care?”

  “It’s 2017!” I barked at her, hating myself for the bull that she could bring out of me. I didn’t like myself like this. “If you were going to care, you should have started in 2012.”

  “Your stupid girlfriend told me that she was leaving,” Lola sniffed, marching toward the church. Now it was I who followed after her.

  “What? Why? When?”

  “You could have told me you were going to bring a date!”