There She Goes
"How has your day been?" My friend, Caitlin, wanted to know. But she didn't want to know, oh no, she didn't. Because my day, actually, wasn't going so hot.
"Oh, just great, great, ter-rific." I said into the phone, and she responded with curious silence. "Someone stole my door."
"What?" she said, confused. I can see why, I mean, door steal-age? It didn't generally happen too much these days, if any days at all. I'd be pretty confused, if I were her. In fact I was confused. It was my door that was stolen. "They stole your door?"
"They stole my door." I confirmed.
"Are you sure?" she hesitated.
"No, Caitlin. I misplaced it, I misplaced my front door." I said sarcastically. "Of course I'm sure."
"They didn't take anything else?" she asked.
"No, just my door. I checked everywhere, Caitlin. But no, they just stole my door." I said with disbelief. My TV was safe, my stereo, my speakers – they didn't even try and steal my car keys, and run off with my car (crap box that it is). No, they just wanted my plain old blue door.
My car shook and then stopped. "Caitlin, I'm going to have to let you go." She was curiously silent again. "My car just died on me."
I hung up, and got out of my car, inspecting it. "Do you need some help, ma'am?"
I turned around, crossing my arms, narrowing my eyes at the specimen before me.
The very, very hot dark haired specimen before me. "What are you implying?" I demanded, and he lifted an eyebrow at me. "You don't think I can fix my own car?"
"No, but I'm implying if you can't, or you need any assistance, I'd gladly help you." He said, still with that lifted eyebrow of his, like he found me something mildly amusing to him. "So can you?"
"Yes." I said, defensively. Even though I couldn't. Fix my car, I mean – I didn't even know what was wrong with the thing, oh wait, yes, it's old. I couldn't help blabbering on, though. It was like someone had disconnected the off button for my mouth, my brain kept thinkin' 'shut up, shut up now' but my mouth no listenin'. "My boyfriend Henry and I are all about cars."
Oh God. Did I just say my pizza boy's name? I don't even like that name. "Ill have this fixed in a jiffy, so if you don't mind..." I flicked my hair and went back to pretending to look over my car. I don't even know the names of the car parts, I only knew where the fuel was supposed to go, and even then I got the gas station guy to do it for me because the thing was rusty and too hard to get open to put the gas in.
"You don't look like you know what you're doing." He commented.
"How would you know?" I said turning around, hands on hips, getting defensive about it. I mean, sure, maybe I didn't know what I was doing – but he had no business judging whether or not I did, or sticking around when I had basically told him to get nicked.
"Well, for starters, you're looking in your boot – the front of the car has all the bits in it, try there." He suggested with a shrug. "It might help, just a little – tell that to 'Henry' when you next meet him."
"I knew that!" I said, slamming the boot down with a red face. Oh God, no I didn't. I had no idea what I was doing – how do you fix a car? How did you find out what's wrong with it, how? "I was just looking for my tool box, but oh, looks like it's not in here."
"It looks so." He said, resting against the back of my car and tapping his fingers on his tan, muscular (but in an attractive way, I-get-this-just-by-doing-my-job way) biceps. "So, what are you going to do?"
I don't know. It's not working. It's not like I could drive it to a repair shop, or anything – I couldn't even drive it home, what was I supposed to do?
"Um." I said intelligently, my statement so true, so honest, and so insightful – it had to have impressed him, of course. "Oh, I know! Henry told me this one!"
"Oh?" he said.
"I know exactly what to do." I said, nodding my head. If only he would leave, why wasn't he leaving? I said I knew what to do. So why wasn't he believing me? Was he believing me? I looked at him. No. No, he wasn't. He looked at me, that same eyebrow lifted at me in mild amusement. "Exactly what to do..."
"What are you going to do?" He said, shoving his hands into his pockets, his other eyebrow lifting up as well. He definitely looked amused, and with his hands removed from his bicep I could see a Japanese kanji tattooed onto it. I wonder what it meant, peace? Love? I tried to remember it, so I could show it to my brother's girlfriend who was from Japan.
"I'm going to push it home." I said the first thing that popped into my head.
And...He burst out laughing, pointing at me, "You, are going to push it home? With those tiny little arms, I don't think so!"
As he said tiny he poked my biceps and laughed some more. I looked down at them, they weren't that small. Besides, it wasn't like size mattered – I knew a boy I could beat in an arm wrestle that had totally huge biceps, but not much strength to match.
I frowned, and tried to recover my dignity. "I can too!"
"Can not." He shook his head, laughing. He brought his wallet out of his pocket and handed me a card. I looked down at it Ripper's Repair Shop. "I have a feeling you and 'Henry' will be needing that later, but for now...I'll leave things to you, have fun...pushing your car home."
He walked off; laughing some more, as if the idea was ridiculous. I mean, it wasn't so ridiculous. I'd seen a lady on TV drag a car with her teeth. I mean, if she could do it with her teeth then...well, it can't be so hard, can it?
I tried pushing it. It didn't budge, no wait – I think it moved, a little, I think it moved a millimetre. Okay, now just a million more to go, it can't take that long. I pushed again, another millimetre. I kicked it and it didn't move at all, it just made a nice, lovely dent.
I put all my body weight into it and shoved with all my might – millimetre, another millimetre.
I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.
Oh my God. I am dying.
I can't do this.
I took my phone out from my pocket and dialled. "Hey, daddy? I got myself in a little situation..."
When I called, my Dad wanted to know how many things I could break in one day, and I'd told him not to tempt me. It was a very unfair thing to say as I didn't exactly break my door, someone stole it.
Nonetheless he'd had it towed to the nearest repair shop, and I'd totally missed Baby Mama, which is really quite the tragedy. I frowned, sitting atop my station wagon and kicking my legs up in boredom. "Can't a girl get some service 'round here?"
"Sorry miss, I'll be with you in a second." A guy called from underneath a very sweet looking Porsche. He appeared to be tinkering with it, but what would a car like that need? It was complete, and utter, perfection. "Hey, could you hand me a spanner?" the guy wanted to know.
Before I could stop myself I was walking over there drawn like a bee to honey with his silky smooth (and somewhat familiar?) voice. I picked up what I thought was a spanner and placed it into his very warm palm. I let go, and his fingers closed around it. "Thanks." He said, very nicely, and after a few beats was out from under the car and sitting up.
It didn't take me very long to register, he was barely halfway sitting up, and I'd already registered. I couldn't withhold a gasp and I stumbled backwards over his toolbox. I saw concern flicker over his face as he stood up, reached forward – and caught me in his arms. "Careful, miss – oh, hello."
His hello wasn't a nice hello, and not a mean one either, but a teasing one. Oh why, oh why didn't I tell Dad to take my car to any place but Ripper Repair Shop? Why?
"Are you Miss Rose?" he inquired, his lips lifted in not a smile, but a smirk. "The Miss Rose whose Dad rang calling to say his daughter kept breaking things, and that I'd have the good fortune of fixing her car?"
"No." I lied. "I am not any 'Miss Rose', and I don't break things! If you so even think it, you are very wrong."
"The car speaks for itself." He said with the same smirk, letting go of my waist and wiping his hands on his jeans. "So what's the story, morning glory?" he walked right up to me, spanner spinning in his hand, he peered down at me through his lashes. "I thought you could fix your own car?"
I took a step back, careful not to trip again. "I don't have a toolbox." I shrugged.
"Oh." he said. "Well then, that's a bit odd."
Not really. Not if you can't fix your own car. I mean, what's the point of having one when you can't fix your own car?
Only he didn't know that. That I didn't know how to fix my car, or use tools, I mean.
"For a girl who claims to be all about cars, I mean. You don't have one?" he wanted to know.
Or maybe he did know.
"Oh, um...yeah just, misplaced it. I misplaced it." I said looking anywhere but at him. I could feel his gaze boring into me. I gulped.
"Misplaced it?" he inquired without hiding his amusement.
"Misplaced it." I said and looked around, spotting the Porsche. "Who's that's?"
My dented, paint scratched (not working) station wagon looked like a pea next to Cinderella, with that Porsche over there.
"Mine." He said, and added insult to injury. I looked at him with new eyes, a humble repair man, with a car such as this? It cannot be done, however did he get it? I would have asked, but it'd seem rude, wouldn't it? I think it would. He smiled, seeming to read my mind, "Dead aunt, left me a bit of money."
Horrified, I blinked at him. "Oh, I'm so sorry—"
"Don't be." He said, still spinning that spanner in his hand, oh his hand, and now he was wearing less than he was before, before when he offered his help on my car for the first time, I mean. Did I mention this dark haired blue eyed Greek God he wasn't wearing his shirt anymore? I think I spied it somewhere around the ground near his Porsche, but I'm not sure. All that matters, really, is that it stays there.
Not that I like him, or anything. To my great disappointment he walked around to the other side of the car and pulled it over his head, saying as he did, "Crazy cow, had dementia, she was a charm, though."
A charm to his wallet, I bet. "So," he walked back over to me with a smirk, "diagnosed it yet, doc?"
"Um, yes, yes. I have." I lied nodding in the direction of my car. "May I borrow a toolbox?"
"You certainly may." He said and picked his own up and handed to me. I took it, and then made a face, my arms sagging under its weight.
"Thanks." I said frowning, and I turned, walking over to the car and starting to pretend like I was doing something. I set the toolbox down on the ground. I was very glad at the thought of the pizza I had ordered, and opened up the front part of my car, staring at all the bits. Oh my God. Oh my God. They all look the same; all the bits look the same. How can anyone fix a car, when the parts are indistinguishable? It's an impossible task; I think I need a break, I'm already sweating.
But as soon as I turned around I found Him leaning against one of the wide gates of the repair shop, singing to the radio with a smile, "There she goes, there she goes again. Racing through my brain, and I just can't contain, this feeling that remains." He turned his head to smile at me, mockingly. He knew I had not a damned idea how to fix my car, he knew. He just wanted to torture me.
"There she goes, there she goes again." He sung to me. "She calls my name, she pulls my train – is there a problem here, Miss Rose?"
"I am not Miss Rose." I said, frowning at him. I'd told him I wasn't, but did he believe me? No! No matter the fact that I was, actually, lying to him anyway. "And no, no problems. I'm just...thirsty, yes, I need a drink."
"Oh, but I think you are, and I think you have a problem, Miss Rose." He said, smiling at me.
"Oh?" I said, crossing my arms. "Pray tell?"
"You don't know anything about cars, do you Miss Rose?" he asked. "Admit it, you don't, you really don't."
I stared at him, arms still crossed. He wasn't being very nice about it at all. It was a very unfortunate mistake for him to put his shirt back on. I might have taken it, had be been still shirtless. But now? Not so much.
Still staring at him, hopefully with an unreadable expression (as um, my thoughts wouldn't do my dignity much justice, had he known them). I said, "I'll admit nothing of the kind. Now if you please, leave me to my work." and went back to looking at my car. But he, ignoring my words, gently shoved me aside and started tinkering with my car. I was again staring, and watched him check things over – the metal bits didn't seem to be doing anything they shouldn't, if the way he dismissed them was any clue, anyway.
"Hello, miss," a whiney voice called me, and I groaned. "It's Henry, I have your pizza here, miss."
He looked up from the car; I know he looked up from the car as soon as the word 'Henry' past through the pimple faced pizza boy's lips. But could you blame him? After all, my boyfriend (who isn't really my boyfriend) is so very masculine sounding and attractive, I'd look at him too, even if I were a man.
"Um thanks Henry," I said and shuffled through my bag, grabbing my purse and handing him a twenty. "Keep the change." And go buy yourself some nice exfoliation cream.
He smiled, handed me my pizza and hurried off in his bright pink pizza wagon.
"You and your boyfriend are so very intimate with each other, I'd have told you to get a room – but the sight was too sweet, and I couldn't find it in me." He said from where he stood, closing the hood of my car and slinking over with a smile. He shouldn't be smiling at a very taken (or so I have said) woman that way, oh no he shouldn't – it's enough to make her want to dump her (supposed) boyfriend. Well, if his voice didn't ruin it for him (or rather, what he said with that very fine voice of his).
I narrowed my eyes at him. "Your point, we're taking it slow?"
"Slow, gotcha, real slow." He said with a laugh, and walked over and took it upon himself to check my fuel, and shook his head, he looked up at me. "So, pepsi or coke?"
"What?" I said, confused. What did pepsi have to do with anything, or coke, for that matter? Was this code talk, some kind of fuel language, or car language, I didn't know about?
"Pepsi or Coke. The drinks." He said slowly, smiling at me patiently.
"Coke?" I said, confused.
"How could someone be so right and so wrong at the same time?" he wanted to know, tapping his chin mock-thoughtfully. I didn't know. Why was he asking me this? It was like asking how someone could be so hot, and yet so infuriating, not that I speak from experience. "It's Pepsi, by the way, and it's in your fuel tank. You didn't know this?"
Pepsi. Someone put Pepsi in my fuel tank. In my fuel tank, where my fuel is supposed to go. But it didn't, no, not if Mr(s?) Plain Blue Door had anything to do with it; (s)he couldn't leave without doing something else incredibly strange. No, (s)he had to pour Pepsi in my fuel tank too.
I heard a snort of laughter coming from the direction of – well, he hadn't even had the courtesy of telling me his name, as of yet. Just my like, actually, being nothing else is going right today, why not add to it by having strange luscious young men laugh at me? Really.
"You think this is funny, do you?" I wanted to know, staring at him like he was insane – something, I'm pretty sure he was.
"Sorry," he laughed, shaking his head at me. "How'd you manage this? Mistake it for fuel?" he laughed at me some more, and this time I was indignant at it, being the fact that I didn't even do anything to deserve that comment. My face was reddening by the second, and the knowledge of this, made it redden even more.
"That wasn't very nice." I said. It wasn't nice, it really wasn't very nice. "I'm going."
"And leaving your car in here with me?" he grinned. "You're so trusting, I'm flattered."
I ignored him and turned to leave without so much as a second glance, and after a few beats, like on the movies, he called after me, but he was still laughing. "Rose!" I stopped. "Rose, come on. I was joking."
I smiled with and with a "Later" left him and my car to themselves, tossing the keys over my head.
Sexy. The tattoo was sexy in Japanese. Someone was modest, someone who's name was Adriane. Something, which, I had found out as soon as the second time that day, I walked in to Ripper Repairs.
"Rose is it?" the chick at the desk said, popping a bubble in her mouth boredly. She blinked her heavily mascared eyes at me and added, "Adriane's been waiting out here all day for you, you know. Way past his shift."
Waiting out here all day. For me. Someone who had sexy tattooed on their shoulder, and with good reason (not that I'd tell him this) had been waiting out at a repair shop for me all day, and it was eight o-'clock at night. Thinking about him, it didn't seem today was the first time I saw him, either. I'm sure I have seen him somewhere before, there was something familiar about him. I didn't know what.
Familiarity and all, I still couldn't believe he'd been waiting for me, who was and is anything but sexy. I guess I could forgive him for being annoying, just this once. I might even say thankyou.
"Huh." I said, as if boys did this for me every day, which they didn't, not even once. "So, where is he?"
"Tinkering with his Porsche. Again." She said, and ran a hand through her spiky short locks, pressing her red lipsticked lips together in a thin line. "He barely does anything else, go screw him or something. He should live a little."
I blinked, and tried not to look too stunned at the 'go screw him or something' and the fact she seemed so cool about it, telling me to go screw him, I mean. I guess I could understand her; she looked like the kind of girl that did things like that regularly. She was really pretty, in a movie star kind of way.
Not knowing what to say I said, "Thanks."
She nodded, "Oh and, mind not telling him about this – I'm an apprentice here, gonna learn me some mad skills and start fixing up old cars and bikes and stuff. Anyway, I'm just going go chill and smoke up a little something something, you know what I'm saying? Working at the desk can get a little dull, but I don't want no boy crying to his daddy, you know what I'm saying?"
I nodded. She seemed to like saying 'you know what I'm saying?' a lot. "Oh, yeah. I know how that is." I lied.
She narrowed her eyes at me with a smile, "Want a little pick-me-up?"
I widened my eyes. "Oh, no, no. I'm all, uh, smoked out."
She smiled wider and shrugged, "If you say so."
And then she walked off, and hearing the click of a lighter – I assumed I was dismissed.
Breathing a sigh of relief and incredulity I walked over to where his Porsche was last I saw it. It was as pretty as I remembered, shiny red (because, oh yeah, red gets the girls) and –
Well. Okay. Yes, red does get the girls.
"Adriane? Um, do you know where my keys are?" I said to the mass of brown hair that had a pretty brunettes hands raking right through it. He didn't appear to be answering. Well, I couldn't blame him; pretty brunettes tend to do that to people – especially when they're male, for me, anyway. I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be the same way for him, considering he certainly doesn't look gay. "Adriane? Keys? No? Okay, well I'll just go then..."
"Bye, Adriane." I waved to the back of his head, and then he twisted his head around. It wasn't Adriane.
"What the – who are you?" he said looking confused. His eyes brightened after a second, "Oh, you. You're that Rose chick," his voice dropped, as if he didn't want the brunette to hear what he was saying, but she obviously could anyway, if she wanted to and wasn't so busy already, "this isn't my car, it's my friends. Don't tell her."
"Sure..." I said, blinking.
"He's in the garage." He said and then went back to kissing the brunette.
I went into the garage to find Adriane watching Home and Away of all things. "Good choice." He fell off the bonnet of an old car and peered up at me, and then squeezed his eyes shut, cursing to himself. "Wouldn't want to interrupt your viewing but, do you have any idea of where my car keys are?"
"Oh. Yeah. Your keys." He said, getting up and dusting his pants. He pointed at me, and narrowed his eyes, "You, were supposed to be here two hours ago. Oh, and I don't watch home and away."
"The TV speaks for itself." I said, remembering his words from earlier in the day with a smile.
He rolled his eyes with a smile and went and got my keys, walking up to me and bowing, holding the keys out in his hand. "It would be my honour to present these to you."
"Cute." I said and took the keys, smiling down at his bowed self. "You have such weird friends, you know. One of them tried to offer me what I am sure was something of the smoking kind, and the other one's using your car to pick up chicks." I felt a little bad about ratting out the girl, but it wasn't like I could take it back now. He didn't appear to be caring, he appeared to be amused.
"Oh, believe me," he said, "they are not my friends. I deny it all."
"Denial it is, and not just a river." I said spinning the keys around in my hand, like he had spun the spanner around earlier. I said up through my lashes, "Have fun with Stingray and friends."
"That's neighbours." He smiled down at me. "Stingray died."
I mock-gasped and patted his shoulder, "Oh, I'm so sorry. I must have hit a touchy subject for you, want a shoulder to cry on? Your friend out there I'm sure has two big strong ones, little man."
He laughed and took a step forward, having to tilt his head even more, because my height was so very inadequate. "Little man?" He took my hand from his shoulder and into his own, I blinked at it. "Watch who you call 'little man', little girl. They might get angry."
"Oh, what are you going to do about it?" I slid my hand out of his and poked him in the chest, "Tough guy?" I poked him again.
He took my hand in his own again, not liking getting poked. "You're flirting with me; you like to tell Henry about that?"
My jaw dropped and closed, staring at him with incredulity. Of all the things to accuse me of! Flirting! With him! When I had a boyfriend! Oh, well, when I was pretending I had a boyfriend. Still, I wasn't flirting. I was so not flirting. How could he even think that? Me! I was turning red, red with anger.
Or so I tried to convince myself.
"What?" I stammered. "Don't flatter yourself, I'm not flirting with you – you dolt!"
He laughed some more. "Dolt? Is that the best you have?" he laughed even more. "Oh, Rose. You're funnier than Serena, the desk girl, on a hangover, trying to pretend it's PMS, every week. PMS. She thinks I don't know."
"I was not flirting with you! I have a boyfriend." I said crossing my arms indignantly.
"Oh," he said with a grin, "I heard all about that relationship when I ordered a pizza. His face went so red I couldn't tell where the pimples were anymore."
"That's not very nice." I said, pressing my lips together. He stopped laughing but his eyes still twinkled. I shoved the keys in my pocket, "Bye, Adriane."
I walked out of the garage, leaving Adriane with his twinkling eyes and smug look. I turned the key in my car, and reached to open the door, muttering to myself. "Who did he think he is? Flirting with him, my ass. I wasn't flirting." Much.
The door clicked and I felt someone's hand on my shoulder, "Oh, I'll send a cheque, sorry I don't have any money with me right—"
I barely got now out, and he had me against my car door, he was bent over me, a hand either side of me. He looked down into my eyes, and I gulped. I recognised him, he was the kid from over the road whom I sat so many times watching fix his car on his front lawn. The guy I'd gushed about to my friends, the guy I said I was the going to marry some day, jokingly. The guy who brought his lips down to my own, and started kissing me, not very jokingly.
It was the best thing I'd ever felt. Until he started kissing me deeper, not encouraged by the way I'd flung my arms around his neck at all, not one little bit. After a little while he pulled away, breathing raggedly, it was kind of big for a first kiss, very big. I barely knew him, but all I did know that he was sweet, and funny and one hell of a good kisser. "Kiss me again," I said.
"Oh, but why don't we take it slow?" he joked, and then planted his lips back on my own, pressing me against the car so I could feel the key start to dig into my back.
I think it was the key that did it. The key that jolted some sense into me, the key that stabbed me in the back and quite painfully reminded me I had to be getting home. I turned my head, and said, "I gotta go."
I got into the car and left.
"Isn't your car fixed sweetie?" my mum said into the phone. "We've been getting a lot of calls from Ripper Repairs – oh, and Lucy, your sister, says that – oh, the guy that works there has the hots for you. Whatever that means, is it some kind of band? Anyway, two weeks ago she gave him your new address. She says you'll thank her, says he has a nice – Lucy! There will be no talk of butts in this house. Sorry, honey."
"It's okay mum, my virgin ears are not scarred for life." I said, mortified. He'd been calling them? Oh God. I hope he didn't say anything about that night, two weeks ago – two weeks being about the time when my car got filled with coke (carbonated) and my door was stolen, and I'd made out with him outside his Dad's garage against the family hand-me-down old station wagon.
Though from the sounds of things Mum didn't have a clue about anything. "That's nice dear," she said to my ears not being scarred. "Oh look, the kettles boiled. Bye-bye sweetheart." She hung up and the doorbell started to ring.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," I opened the door to reveal Adriane, and my plain blue door.
"There she goes, there she goes again. Racing through my brain, and I just can't contain, the feeling that remains." He sung to me, leaning on the door like he leaned on the gates of the repair shop.
Lucy had given him my address, two weeks ago. The dots connected, he stole my door – he filled my car with coke, it was all part of some evil plot!
"Me." he smirked. "You haven't been returning my calls, but your mum gave me a nice biscuit recipe."
"You stole my door!" I said pointing at it with confusion. "Why did you steal my door?"
"So I'd have an excuse to come back here even if you didn't come to get your car fixed." He said as if it were obvious. It wasn't though. Obvious, I mean. I had no clue what he was talking about. I didn't see any point of any of this, filling my car with coke, stealing my door, coming back with my door. I obviously wasn't in any need of a door anymore, being it already replaced by now.
"Why would you want to come back?" I wanted to know. I could understand him maybe wanting to come back now, what, with all that unanswered for kissing we'd done, and hadn't mentioned since. But beforehand? Why would he?
"Because I've liked you ever since you started watching me two years ago, lounging around on your front lawn and only getting up when a Mister Whippy went past." He told me. "I had to get your attention somehow."
I tried not to look at him, and found a spot directly over his head very interesting. "I didn't watch you."
"Oh, really? That's too bad." He said, shaking his head.
"Why?" I said.
"Because if you admitted to it I was going to hug you and kiss you and take you out on a date tonight." He said.
I swallowed. Kisses and hugs sure sounded nice right now. Especially since he was getting so close to me. I looked up at him, and made the mistake of catching his eyes, they bored into mine, serious yet playful at the same time.
"I was lying," I said, and wrapped my arms around his neck. "Will you forgive me? And hug me and kiss me, and take me out to dinner tonight at six a clock at a restaurant of your choice – I strongly suggest McDonalds, so you can spend all your money on me and buy me coke. Why did you fill my car with Pepsi, why not water?"
"My friend sent a crate of it as a joke, had to get rid of it somehow. Kiss me, you fool." He closed his eyes, his hands at my waist, he waited. I didn't leave him waiting; I stood up on my tip toes and met his puckered lips with my own.
He smiled against my lips, "There she goes, there she goes again..." he sung and then we got so into the kiss he forgot the words. But he didn't forget to say, as he kissed me, "Mmmm...Oh, it's a date."
Okay, I should be sleeping right now. One in the morning, and I am writing for you guys. Fo' shame. Oh, if my daddy ever knew. Bye-bye. Hope you enjoyed. Sorry it is so long.