The Fine Line (6 page)

After we ate, the summer air began to cool, and shade enveloped the yard as the sun set.  The boys had started a bonfire in the fire pit, and by the time they had it going, it was dark.  We all took a seat around it with Logan taking the seat next to me. 

Gavin shooed Hailey off his knee to grab his buzzing phone out of his back pocket.  After answering it, he looked to Logan. “You in tonight, man?”

“Hell no, dumbass,” Logan replied.

Gavin responded to Logan with a certain finger in the air.  “Nah, not tonight,” he said into the phone.

*

The night ended early.  Hailey had become obnoxious, most likely because she had been guzzling wine coolers like they were going out of style.  Melody had been making smart remarks, telling her and Gavin to “get a room” and shooting her the evil eye all night. The atmosphere was tense.  Isaac, Jess and Hailey were the first to leave, and Gavin went with them at Hailey’s request.  The two of them had gotten quite cozy. 

Jess gave me a friendly hug before she left.  “Thanks for having us, Liv.  Sorry about Hailey.  I don’t know what her problem is tonight.”

“Don’t worry about it, Jess. We all have our moments.”  Who was I to judge?  Maybe Hailey was just having a rough night.

Melody helped me clean up, then I walked her and Nate out.  Logan was still sitting by the fire, which had burned down to embers and a few small flames when I returned from the house.  His features were stunning in the low orange light.  He looked up and smiled, causing my heart to flutter as I walked past him to sit in the chair next to him.

“Are you sticking around?” I asked, somewhat surprised that he hadn’t left with the others.

“I can leave if you want me to.”

I shrugged.  “Friends are always welcome here.”

“Well, if we’re going to be friends, I should probably stay and get to know you a little bit.” 

I began playing with a loose string that was hanging from the arm of my canvas chair.  There was something about him that made me want to share everything about myself.  “There’s not much to know.” 

“I doubt that.  Tell me about your family…Any brothers or sisters?”

“Nope, it’s just me.”

“What do you want to do…after high school?” 

“I have no clue.  Just be happy, I hope.”

And the only way for that to happen is to stay independent.  With no commitments.

He looked at the empty house, then back at me.  “Who keeps you company?”

“Well, right now, you are.”

He paused for a moment and squinted at me.  “Most girls love to talk about themselves.  I get the feeling you don’t like to share.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?  Let’s hear about you.  Tell me about
your
family.”  Then I remembered about his father, and I immediately wished I had more of a filter.

Logan shifted in his seat and stared blankly into the fire.  I sighed, inwardly scolding myself for making things awkward.  I didn’t want him to, but I was sure he would get up and leave now.  I figured I would beat him to the punch.  “My parents will be home soon…”

His gaze turned to me, his expression both serious and thoughtful at the same time, as if he were trying to decide whether or not he was going to say the next thing.  “It’s still early.  Will you come with me?  I want to show you something.”

Yes.

“I don’t know, Logan.  I should probably call it a night,” I said as I took a poking stick off the ground and began to push around the fire embers.

“What are you,
eighty
?” he laughed, lightening the mood.  “C’mon, it’s early.  I promise I won’t bore you.”

Every part of my subconscious screamed that it was a bad idea to get close to this boy.  Why did he have to be so endearing? 

“Really, Logan?  You want to
show
me something?” I grinned.

His jaw dropped as he feigned shock.  “Nothing inappropriate,
friend
,” he teased.  “You’re not gonna make me beg, are you?  Cuz I don’t beg.”

I wasn’t sure if he was trying to be funny, or suave, but the exaggerated puppy-dog look he gave me brought an unintentional laugh out of me.  Actually, it was more of a snort, but the expression of victory in Logan’s face after it came out of my mouth—and nose—made the embarrassing sound worth it.  I was beginning to doubt he could ever bore me.  My subconscious could shove it.  Just for tonight. I had to have more of this boy.  “Alright, Zoolander, take me away.” 

After putting the embers out with the garden hose, we climbed into his Mustang and drove off.

Chapter Seven

It was dark out but still warm enough to have the windows down, and the breeze felt refreshing on my skin.  The colorful glow of the city lights reflected on the interior of the car as we moved.  A blues song played on the car stereo as we drove through the city.  The waves of the wind pushed against my hand as I held it out the window

Logan’s fingers tapped on the steering wheel to the beat of the music, then he looked at me and busted out singing the words of the song.  I giggled at the face he was making as he sang. He was so into it.  The words were something about “riding with the king.”

“Oh, now I know what you really think of yourself!” I joked.

“It’s B.B. King, Liv!  He’s the king, not me!” he defended, pretending to be hurt.

I found it intriguing that someone my age would be listening to blues.  Logan seemed so different from other people my age, and for the first time ever, I was interested in finding out more about a boy.  As the song ended, Logan turned the volume down.

“The phone call that Gavin took earlier…It was for a race, wasn’t it?” I asked.

Logan looked at me and nodded.

“Why do they call Gavin?  Why don’t they call you?”

He shrugged.  “Gavin is better with the negotiations.  I’m better at the driving.  It works well for both of us.”

“You didn’t go tonight.”

He looked at me and smiled.  “I guess I had better things to do.” 

“What about the police?  Isn’t street racing…?”  I decided not to finish. We both knew it was not exactly legal.

He chuckled.  “I’ve got nothing against cops.  Police are good.  We just don’t want to see them during a race…or before or after a race, for that matter.”

“Isn’t it a little risky, though?  You never know when they could show up.”

“We take precautions.  I don’t race unless there are spotters around to let us know if police are coming close.  We change the location as much as possible.  There is always a risk, though.”  He paused.  “The real risk is dealing with some of the idiots that want to race.”

“What do you mean?”

He shifted in his seat, beginning to look uncomfortable.  “You never know if the other guy is on something or if he even knows how to handle his car.  Among other things.  The police are the least of my concerns.”  He looked at me.  “I almost called off the race last week.  The one that you came to.”

“Why?”

He didn’t answer right away.  Instead, he started tapping the steering wheel again.  “Derrick was more jittery than normal.  I didn’t have a good feeling about it.”

“Well, why didn’t you call it off then?”

His expression became serious as his eyes fixated on the road.  “I don’t know.”

He knew why.  He just didn’t want to tell me. “Why do you do it if it’s so risky?”

He pondered the question for a moment as if he had never really contemplated that thought before.  “It’s easy.  And fun.  And a hell of a lot better than working nine to five, six days a week.”

We pulled up to a two-story commercial building which had four overhead garage doors in the front and an entry door on the side.  The sign above the overhead doors said “Tanner Automotive.”  We parked in the lot in front and walked towards the building.

“This is my shop.”

“
Your
shop?” I found it hard to believe that a nineteen-year-old owned his own building.

“Yes,
my
shop.  My dad left it to me and my uncle.  My uncle runs the business.  I help him out when he needs it, and I live in the apartment upstairs.”

“Geez, must be nice,” I teased.

“Actually, it is pretty nice,” he grinned back at me.

I watched as he unlocked the side door.  We entered a hallway which had stairs to our left, and the garage was straight ahead.  We walked into the garage, and Logan switched on the florescent lights, revealing a sizable object underneath a grey canvas cover in the very first car bay.  The remaining three car bays were empty, making the room appear enormous.  Against the walls were shelves and peg boards stocked with tools and auto supplies.  Each bay had its own tool station which included several different tool chests.

We moved to the back of the garage, and Logan tossed his keys on a metal desk.  I took a seat in the swivel chair in front of the desk and stared curiously at an old-time movie poster that hung on the wall.

“It’s John Wayne,” Logan explained, noticing my interest in the poster.  “My dad was a huge John Wayne fan.  He always had those movies on when I was growing up.  We even had a room in our house specifically designated for all the John Wayne memorabilia that he collected.”

He leaned back against a tall Craftsman tool chest directing his attention to the grey canvas cover in front of us.  His expression turned apprehensive, and he silently stared at it for a moment.

“Why did you bring me here?” I asked softly.

He turned his face to me, meeting my eyes. Slowly he shook his head as if he wasn’t sure he knew the answer.  My heart skipped a beat.  What was it about looking into his eyes that made me feel so…at peace…and thrilled at the same time? 

He stepped toward the canvas cover then slowly removed the cloth, rolling it up along the way to reveal an old white muscle car with black racing strips which traveled from the front bumper to the back bumper.  The condition of this car wasn’t nearly as pristine as the Mustang.  The finish was dull with several nicks and scratches, and a few small spots of rust lined the bottom.

“It’s a ’72 Nova,” he disclosed as he walked around the car, taking in the sight of it as if it were for the first time. 

“It must be your current project.”

“Not really,” he shrugged.  “This one’s been on hold for a while.  I’ve barely looked at it since…”  He didn’t finish.  His face turned serious, and he stayed silent for a moment.  Then, his expression melted into warmth and he looked at me, cocking his head to the side.  “Hey, do you wanna go upstairs and get a drink?”

I frowned at him suspiciously.  “Is that why you brought me here?  You’re not going to get lucky with me.”

He let out a chuckle then bowed his head down as he shook it, trying to hold back the laughter.  He couldn’t hold back the gigantic smile on his face, though.  “Don’t worry!  I’m not going to try anything with you.  I think you’re cool, Liv.  You’re someone I could hang out with, that’s all, nothing more.  Friends have drinks together, right?”

I nodded, feeling embarrassed that I jumped to conclusions.  I stood up from the chair.  “Alright then, let’s go.”

“Usually it’s the guy’s mind that’s in the gutter,” he teased as we walked up the stairs to his apartment.

“Oh, please!  You have to admit, it sounded a bit forward,” I counter attacked.

The apartment was only half the size of the garage downstairs.  The décor consisted of a few posters on the wall, a couch with a coffee table in front of it, an oversized round wicker chair in the corner, and a giant TV.  There was a breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the living room.  I took my shoes off, sat down on the couch, and brought my knees up, resting them on the cushion. 

Logan handed me a beer, sat down next to me, and raised a brow.  “Now it’s my turn to ask the questions.”

He didn’t ask anything too deep or too personal, and I was grateful for that.  We spent the next few hours laughing and talking about everything from our favorite foods and music, to embarrassing moments, places we’ve been and want to go, and a rather extended round of “would you rather.” I found out that he would rather get a cardboard cut between the toes than get poked in the eye.  And I informed him that I would rather drink pickle juice than sour milk. 

There were no awkward silences or lulls in the conversations.  I showed him that I could walk across a room with a full bottle of beer on my head without spilling it, and he showed me that he could spin a pen around his fingers so fast that it looked like moving helicopter propellers. Towards the end of it all, as we started to get tired, I asked him about the blues music that he was playing in the car earlier.

“There’s such a raw emotion behind the really good blues music.  The guitar speaks to you in a way that doesn’t happen with any other genre,” he explained.

“So, let’s hear it.  Play me your favorite blues song,” I challenged.

He turned it on, then looked at me with a small smile.  He stepped over to the couch and sat down beside me, as the track started.  It was a mellow song with no vocals.   I didn’t expect it to have such an effect on me, but he was right.  The guitar’s voice had a way of pulling the emotion out of me, and I was hooked no more than thirty seconds into it. 

I turned my head to face him, somewhat shocked that this beautiful music moved me in such an intense, hypnotic way.  He stared straight ahead, looking at nothing in particular and had a serious expression on his face.

Slowly, he turned his face to me, and our eyes locked.  We stared at each other for several moments, taking each other in.  The friendly smile I attempted quickly faded as the intensity in his eyes increased.  The atmosphere was becoming much more than friendly.  His brows furrowed as his gaze moved slowly from my eyes, to my hair, to my lips, and back.

I’m not sure if I leaned into him, or if he leaned into me, but we were slowly getting closer until I could feel his minty breath on my face, his nose on my nose, and my heart began to pound in my ears.  Something told me this shouldn’t happen, that I didn’t want this to happen, but I couldn’t stop it.  Was it the music that was causing me to lose control or just him?