Numbers. Yes, I need to look at some numbers for a while. I pull my book in front of me and go to work. I get as far as I can on each problem, and Cody keeps checking on me, helping me through my hurdles. It’s strange how it all makes sense when he explains it. In the 40 minutes or so that I’ve sat in his shop, I’ve learned more than I have in two months of Dr. Rush’s class. And that’s despite the constant distraction of his arms pressed on the tabletop around me, his body leaning over mine, and his breath hot along my neck.
I’m finishing up the last problem on my own, and I jump a little when Cody drops the hood closed from the car. Gabe notices, and sticks his tongue out with a smile. “You daydreaming there, sugar?” he teases.
I stretch my arms, yawning, and shut my book, tucking it along with my papers and pencil back in my bag. “Brain just full, I guess. I finished everything, though,” I say, now looking at Cody. “Thank you, I couldn’t have figured those out on my own.”
He shrugs, and turns away to clean up their workstation. “You’re better at this than you think. It’s just practice,” he says, almost sounding disinterested. I’m starting to wonder how welcome I really am, wonder if I should ask him to take me to my car now so he can get on with his day. I gather my things, get to my feet, and am about to find an excuse to leave when Gabe pulls my bag from my back and shakes his head no.
I’m worried where he’s going with this, but I put my bag back down without Cody seeing, and wait.
“I’m hungry. You guys want burgers? I’m buying!” Gabe says, pulling the keys from his pocket.
Cody looks at me, waiting for me to answer. “I…uh, I guess I could eat?” I stammer. I’m not sure what he wants, what move is right, but he seems relieved when I say I’d like to go.
We’re walking to Gabe’s car when I notice a bike covered by a tarp in the corner. Curious, I pull on the fabric, just to sneak a peek, and the tarp falls to the back against the wall. The bike is a mixture of shiny chrome, rusted parts, and various logos. I’m about to put my hand on the seat, just to feel it, when Cody starts to retrieve the cover and hide it once again.
“Wait, I want to see it. Is this your bike?” I ask, knowing it is.
Cody’s posture dips, and he just looks at me with a flat smile. I run my hand down the seat and over the handlebars. It doesn’t seem like there’s much to it at all, though I know that’s far from the truth.
“That’s the one. I told you about it, remember? He rebuilt it. Boy can ride, too,” Gabe says, almost bragging.
Cody interrupts us by pulling the tarp over it quickly, like it’s a wound he’s left exposed and needs to bandage up to avoid infection. “Yeah, I don’t know how I feel about you two talking about me when I’m not around,” he says, a little gruffly. He bumps into Gabe noticeably as he passes by and heads down the drive to Gabe’s car. “Well? You hungry or what?”
“Yeah, yeah. Cut the shit-attitude, man. We’re coming,” Gabe says, looking at me and mouthing, “Sorry.”
“What was that all about?” I whisper before we’re too close for Cody to hear.
“He’s just funny about it, riding again, that’s all,” he says. “That…and he’s trying to impress you, but he has absolutely no game.”
I laugh quietly, though inside I’m unbelievably flattered that Cody could possibly be trying to impress me. My stomach feels like it did the first time I noticed a boy on the schoolyard—except this time the flutters in my tummy are a million times more pronounced, and the rush is felt all over my body.
Cody takes the backseat, forcing me to sit up front with Gabe. I notice he and Gabe keep exchanging glances in the mirror, and I’m once again giddy that it could be about me. We get to the diner down the road in a matter of minutes, and Cody pulls open my door as I’m about to get out.
“Why, thank you, sir,” I tease, but Cody only rolls his eyes, which makes me instantly feel childish and regret my decision to come. I follow the two of them inside and notice Gabe softly punch Cody on the shoulder, and Cody harshly shrugs it off. When we get to the door, Cody walks inside and lets the door fall shut on both Gabe and I, but Gabe catches it to stop it from hitting me on the side.
“I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry, I’m making him uncomfortable,” I say, wrapping my arms around my stomach to hug myself and make myself small and, God willing, to rewind time.
Gabe stops me before I walk through the door, holding his arm in my way. “Stop that, it’s not you. It’s like I said—just give my boy some slack. He doesn’t trust so well,” he says, looking me right in the eyes.