by Shandi Boyes
After gathering my heart from the floor from being snuck up on, I shift my eyes to the singsong voice that drifted over me like a refreshing late spring breeze. Savannah’s smile blacks out the low-hanging sun when she grins at my skittish response. Remaining quiet, she drinks in my wide eyes, gaping mouth, and bristle-covered chin before glancing down at my rusty, old engine.
“Looks nasty,” she grimaces, screwing up her button nose.
When she tucks a strand of her long, glossy locks behind her ear, her seductive scent penetrates my nasal cavities. Her smell reminds me of freshly picked roses and baby’s breath. There is no mistaking this. I know the scent very well, as my father buys my mother a dozen roses every time he screws up. That’s a minimum two to three times a week lately in my household.
Savannah gestures her hand to Axel leaning on the front panel of his over-waxed car, watching our exchange with amusement on his face. “Do you guys need a lift? Or...” She leaves her question open for us to fill in how we see fit.
I open my mouth, preparing to tell her I’d rather eat shit than get in the car with her dickhead boyfriend, but Chris’s words fire off his tongue before mine, foiling my endeavor. “Ryan’s battery is dead. Can we get a jump?” He slaps my stomach with the back of his hand before adding on, “Get your cables.”
My back molars smash together as I glare at him. Too bad if Savannah wants to say no.
“Umm... sure,” Savannah replies with a shrug. “I’ll ask Axel to bring his car around.”
I wait for Savannah to be out of earshot before rerouting my focus to Chris.
“What?” he asks, feigning innocence. “What would you prefer? Asking him for a jump or sitting in his back seat watching him grope her like he is now for the ten-mile trip home?”
My eyes snap to the right. Just as Chris mentioned, Axel's hands are all over Savannah's ass.
“If a feel-up is payment for a jump start, imagine what he’d request for driving your sorry ass home.”
“Shut the fuck up, Chris,” I grumble, my annoyance more directed at Axel than Chris.
Axel’s response to Savannah’s request for help proves what I’ve always known. Unless he benefits in some way, he’d leave a man to bleed out. He only looks out for one man and one man only—himself.
After securing the jumper leads from the bed of my truck, I head back to the hood. I clench the cables tight, reminding myself time and time again that Savannah isn't my girl, and that who she spends her time with has nothing to do with me. My attempts at ignorance are borderline, but when you’ve got nothing to work with, half-assed attempts must do.
“Thanks for doing this,” I say to Savannah, who is leaning over the hood of my truck with her nude lips twisted into a sexy pout.
Savannah has the type of beauty that doesn’t need to be accentuated with makeup. Her lips are the color of a peach, and her hour of cheerleading practice has given her cheeks a rosy red hue no amount of blush could match. With thick, luscious eyelashes gifted to her by her German grandmother, she looks like she's wearing mascara. Only I know she isn’t. I peered into her eyes many years before she started enhancing her god-crafted assets with girly products, so I’d know if they were augmented in any way.
“It’s fine, Ry-Ryan. I’m happy to help.”
I smirk at her stumble over my name. Perhaps she does remember my nickname?
After raising the hood of Axel’s car, Chris directs him so our batteries are appropriately aligned. Although my cables could reach Axel’s battery now, I pretend they can’t, happy to use Axel and Chris’s distraction to my advantage. Getting a minute alone with Savannah the past five years has proven more difficult than prying a bottle of scotch from my father’s hand—fucking impossible.
“How’s your mom?” I ask Savannah, starting with an easy question before smacking her with the big hitters.
Savannah's lips quirk as a glaze filters over her eyes. “Good. From the postcard I received last week, she loves the Hawaiian sun."
“She’s in Hawaii?” I question, shocked.
Savannah and her mom are tight, so I’m surprised to hear she’s hundreds of miles away. It was a good five months before Savannah’s mom stopped arriving at lunch to check on her during our first year of school. Most kids would be peeved by her overbearing nature, but not Savannah. She loved having her mom’s utmost attention and greeted every visit with a happy squeal and a gigantic hug.
When Savannah answers my question with a blasé nod, I ask, “On vacation?”
Savannah’s nod turns into a shake. “She relocated there nearly two years ago.”
“Oh.”
I’d like to say more, but I’m left speechless. Savannah’s family always valued their privacy, I just didn’t fathom it extended this far. Furthermore, gossip circles Ravenshoe more quickly than my dad can guzzle a can of beer—fast—so rumors of her parents’ separation should have reached my ears years ago.
“How’s your mom?” Savannah asks, happy to shift our conversation away from her family by focusing it on mine.
The worry in her eyes fades when I screw up my nose. “Same as always.”
My mother was a great woman; she just married the wrong man. I wish I could have met her before she shacked up with my father. The stories she told my brother and me when my dad was on nightshift filled me hope her life wasn't always as thankless as the one she lives now. Every mother would say they are lacking appreciation, but my mom has it ten times worse.
My eyes drop to my hand when a zap surges up my arm. Savannah’s hand is hovering over mine. Her touch is brief but potent enough for my body to respond, even more so since her thumb is grazing the thin red rope curled around my wrist. The string is so fragile, I’m afraid it may crumble under her touch, but considering it belongs to her, I’m not going to say anything.
The longer Savannah’s thumb grazes the friendship bracelet she crafted for me ten years ago, the greater the energy bristles between us. When we were young, I thought I was imagining the spark of electricity that fired between us, but this can’t be denied. It’s way too strong to be brushed off as a childish infatuation.
For the first time in years, I follow the prompts of my body instead of ignoring them. A blush brightens Savannah’s skin when I run my index finger down the indent in her right cheek. She chews on her bottom lip to hide her smile, making her dimples pop more. I’m glad she's finally accepting the little hollows she used to think were imperfections.
Growing up, Savannah hated her dimples. Like every girl in our neighborhood, she was ten going on twenty, and since she believed her dimples made her look immature, she did everything in her power to cover them. It was a pointless endeavor. She doesn’t just have those little creases that emerge when she smiles. Her dimples are permanently embedded in her cheeks, growing more mesmerizing each time she smirks.
“A dimple in the chin reveals a devil within, but a dimple in a woman’s cheek reveals a special treat.”
Savannah’s hand darts up to cover her mouth when she smiles brightly. “I can’t believe you remember that.” She stares at me with wonderment in her eyes, her smile growing for every second that passes in silence. “God, Ryan, how long has it been?”
“Nearly five years,” we say at the same time.
She peers up at me with glistening eyes, her shock uncontained on her gorgeous face. “Five years, and you still remember it like it was yesterday?”
I nod without hesitation. It’s also been five years since I’ve tasted her lips, but I still recall how delicious they are. Her mouth has the same rich, all-encompassing smell of her skin. Even the fumes pumping out of my rusty old motor can’t cover her intoxicating scent. She smells as delicious as she always has. Like a perfect, untouched rose.
“Just put the fucking cables on already. I’ve got shit to do.”
Hearing her boyfriend's vicious snarl, Savannah startles. Her jump is so violent, she stumbles on the cables weaved between her feet. When I reach out to catch her, the
earlier zap from her touch turns into a full-blown electric surge. It races up my arm, kickstarting both my heart and my libido. The girl of my dreams is right here, in my arms, directly in front of me. I’d be a fool not to take advantage.
Spurred on by a mass rush of adrenaline roaring through my veins, I lower my hands from Savannah’s arms to her waist. Her breathing quickens when my thumbs brush the bare skin on her smooth hips. I wait for her to move, to deny my advancement. She does no such thing. She just peers up at me with the same pleading, doe-eyed look of innocence she had the last time I kissed her.
If I had known the kiss we shared under the maple tree in my back yard five years ago was going to be our last, I would have made it more unforgettable. I would have made sure a million years couldn’t erase it from her mind. But I didn’t know. I had no fucking clue. I’m still clueless as to why she went from visiting my house every weekend to never seeing her again.
It appears as if it wasn’t just her financial status that had a significant overhaul, so did her entire life. Lifelong friends were forgotten, childhood pledges canceled without warning, and memories tainted by sullied thoughts. Savannah didn’t just walk out on me all those years ago; she walked out on herself.
Savannah has money, wealth, and popularity, but she isn’t half the girl she used to be. She likes to pretend she's happy, but her eyes don’t reveal that. They show she is as lost as I was when I rocked up to her thirteenth birthday party five years ago only to be turned away. I had the invitation, the present—I even had a freshly laundered shirt. I just didn’t have the girl.
A rare moment of clarity breaks through the excitement thickening my veins. With a hesitant smirk, I help Savannah back onto her feet before my eyes drift to my engine, pretending I didn’t hear her disappointed sigh. I want to ask her why this is the first time in years we’ve talked. I want her to fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness for throwing our friendship away like trash. But more than anything, I want to pretend this afternoon never happened.
Watching someone you’ve missed from a distance is easy, but having them so close you can taste them on the tip of your tongue... that’s just cruel. It's like leading a horse to water and expecting it not to drink. It’s impossible.
I stop fiddling with the jumper leads on my battery when a wingnut bolt is placed in my line of sight. “There's nothing wrong with your battery, Ryan. Someone just tampered with it.”
When my eyes lift from my battery to Savannah, she smiles a tight grin. “I thought maybe you were using car troubles as a ploy to talk to me. I guess I was wrong. You much prefer watching me from a distance.” Her words are throaty, choked through the remorse clutching her throat.
The tears threatening to fall from her eyes glisten in the late afternoon sun when she pivots on her heels and stalks to Axel’s car.
“Savannah...”
I want to say more, but I’m honestly lost for words. Five years of silence gave me plenty of time to devise what I planned to say when I saw her again, but that all went to shit the instant her eyes locked with mine. I’m not a blubbering teenage boy with communication issues... until I’m in Savannah’s presence.
After pulling the charging cables off Axel’s battery and dropping the hood, Savannah locks her tear-welling eyes with mine. “It’s fine, Ryan. I don’t blame you for keeping your distance. You see fewer cracks from afar.”
Stealing my chance to reply, she slips into the passenger seat of Axel’s car. Within seconds, it rockets out of the parking lot, leaving Chris and me standing in a dust cloud.
I take a few moments to gather my bases before my eyes swing to Chris. He's toying with the connectors of my battery, his confusion as apparent as mine. It’s a pity I know him better than that.
“Did the screws come loose?” I ask, suspicious.
Chris tucks his chin into his chest, hoping to hide his deceit. I don’t need to see his eyes to know he's lying. I’ve known him since we were in kindergarten. I can smell the dishonesty leeching from his pores.
“Chris...” I growl. “What the fuck did you do?”
He finishes screwing on the wingnut Savannah handed me before lifting his eyes to me.
“You’re an asshole,” I say, seeing the honesty in his eyes. “Savannah was right. There’s nothing wrong with my battery. You fucked with it!”
He waves his hands in front of his body, faking virtue. His acting skills are shit.
When I punch him in the bicep, he chuckles, "Hey, this wasn't all me. Brax had a hand in it too.”
“Don’t worry, he’ll get his,” I warn before heading for my driver’s door.
Chris rubs his hands together before sliding into the passenger seat. He's worse than the middle child of a family when it comes to getting attention. He constantly puts Brax and me on opposing teams, hoping a crack in our friendship will strengthen his importance in our trio. You can’t be the three musketeers without a third man. He doesn’t need to cause trouble to elevate his status.
My jaw works side to side when the first turn of my key fires up my motor.
“What?” Chris stammers, unable to ignore my glare for a second longer. “We were trying to help. How long has it been since you two talked?”
I want to pretend I don’t know who he's referring to, but realizing he knows me as well as I know him, I scrub my hand over the stubble on my chin before answering, “Nearly five years.”
A shit-eating grin stretches across Chris’s face before he holds his hands out in front of his body palm side up as if to say, “You’re welcome.”
If I knew it was going to be another two months before I saw Savannah again, I might have said thank you.
2
Ryan
“Another problem with your battery?”
Stepping back from my engine, I spot Savannah standing at the driver’s side door of my truck. With summer hitting a little earlier than usual, her golden legs are barely covered by a teeny pair of white shorts, and the bright green spaghetti-strapped cami she's wearing enhances both the generous swell of her tits and her green orbs. She’s got the Daisy Duke vibe down pat today.
“Not exactly,” I reply, dropping my eyes from her rack to the rag tucked into the waistband of my shorts. After my less than stellar performance during our last tussle, I don’t think she’d appreciate me ogling her boobs.
While scrubbing engine grease off my hands, I nudge my head to my motor. “It’s a giant fucking jigsaw puzzle. I can’t tell a belt from a bolt. All I know is when I stick my key into the ignition, nothing happens.”
The already scorching day gets a whole lot hotter when Savannah giggles at my comment, thinking I’m trying to be funny. I wish I were joking. Even after putting a hundred hours into my motor with Chris, I’m at a loss on what the hell is wrong with it. It started fine this morning, but the instant I want to go home and shower off the grease, it refuses to start.
Through lowered lashes, I watch Savannah make her way from my driver’s side door to my hood. “Do you mind if I take a look?” she asks, her raspy voice revealing she noticed my sneaky glance at her gorgeous grin.
“What’s Axel gonna think about you getting dirty under my hood?” I nudge my head to Axel and his friends watching our exchange with fire burning in their eyes.
The only time they’ve moved from their window seat at Bob’s Burgers the past hour was to toss pennies at my feet. If my salary wasn’t needed to fix my truck, I would have retaliated to their taunt. Unfortunately, flipping patties is the only job someone with my skillset can do, so I gritted my teeth and ignored them. It was a fucking hard feat.
Savannah sighs softly, drawing my focus back to her. “It won’t be the first time I’ve been accused of servicing your motor behind his back.” She locks her eyes with mine, the determination in them mimicking the girl I used to know. “At least this time I’m doing it in front of him.”
I try to reply to her boyfriend’s insinuation we’ve gotten freaky between the sheets—before our run-
in two months ago, we haven’t spoken in years, much less fooled around—but my words trap in my throat when Savannah steps onto the bumper of my truck and leans over the engine.
Savannah isn't very tall, standing a little over five foot five, so the leverage needed to inspect my motor has all type of advantages, the main one being the slightest peek of her glorious backside sneaking out of the bottom of her teeny shorts. If I were a man, I'd tear my eyes away from the image I have no right to observe. Since I'm not, I keep them locked on her ass and take a step to my right, blocking the enticing visual from anyone else hoping for a sneaky peek.
Just like Savannah, I’m not overly tall either, standing just shy of six feet. But years of track and field have kept my build athletic, ensuring even someone a few inches taller than me would think twice before mocking me. If I weren’t parked at the front of my workplace, I guarantee Axel wouldn’t have glanced in my direction, much less ridiculed me. He thinks my desperation to get out of Ravenshoe is his safety net. He is right... for now. All bets are off when we leave this turf.
My mind strays from reckless thoughts when Savannah announces, “I think it’s your spark plugs. Can you hand me the ratchet?” The eagerness in her voice relays her love of mechanics hasn’t dampened in the slightest the past five years.
I drop my eyes to the tools laid out at the side of my truck, acting like I know what I am doing. I don’t. I don’t have the faintest clue what I am looking for. What the fuck is a ratchet?
Wondering what has caused the delay, Savannah cranks her neck back to peer at me. I try to mask my confusion with a cheeky grin but fail miserably.
The smile Savannah was wearing earlier triples in size when she spots the bewilderment on my face. “Ratchet,” she informs me, pointing to a long silver instrument resting on the blanket I draped over the front quarter-panel of my truck to protect its recently restored paint.
“So that’s where it went,” I reply, pretending its glaringly obvious position wasn’t so obvious.