“That was my dad’s, too. It was his project car. She runs—barely—but I’d like to get her in working condition,” Cody says, looking back at me with a flash of pride in his eyes. I find myself a little taken in by his eyes, so I smile back and just drop my gaze from his before getting out of the truck.

Cody isn’t far behind me. We walk up to the large garage door in front of us, and he pounds on it three times. In a few seconds, it starts to slide open. I recognize Gabe’s dirty boots immediately, and I’m genuinely excited to see him.

“Hey, look who’s here!” Gabe says, turning to Cody, raising his eyebrows before reaching for me and bringing me into an unexpected hug. I wrap my arms around him, while he squeezes me hard, lifting my feet off the ground. Once I’m back down, I move back to look him in the face.

“Hey, Gabe. Thought I’d tag along today. Cody’s going to tutor me later. I hope…I hope that’s okay?” I say, worried now that I might be interrupting their work or other plans.

“Charlie girl, you’re welcome here anytime,” Gabe says, winking at me while he turns to head back into the shop. I notice Cody grab one of the hand towels and snap it at him, grimacing and lowering his brow in warning.

There’s a table near the back with a few stools by it, so I move over there and slide onto one of the seats, dumping my bag and portfolio on top. Gabe follows me and starts looking through my stuff almost immediately. Out of instinct, I reach for my portfolio, but I’m too slow; he grabs it from my reach and starts flipping through my drawings in front of me.

I’m uncomfortable showing these to others—they never feel ready. I know Cody’s seen them, but he’s really the only person other than my professor. Cody looks over his shoulder, and I notice him smile with half his mouth when he sees what Gabe’s looking at.

“Dude, I told you she was good,” Cody says, turning to raise the hood of the only car in the shop. I bite my lip, but can’t hide the smile that sneaks up on my face at the thought of Cody talking about me to Gabe. When I look back at Gabe, he’s smiling at me, too, and then he winks. Realizing I’ve been caught, I quickly look to the side.

Desperate to get the attention away from me, I start looking around the shop for something—anything—to talk about. Then I see Cody’s chair sitting in the corner. I waver back and forth on whether or not to bring it up, but curiosity finally wins out.

“Hey, I noticed you haven’t been using your chair lately?” I let my question linger. Gabe turns to look at Cody, but he’s busy taking the cap off of something and staring at the exposed engine in front of him, clearly not wanting to respond. Then Gabe turns to me with a wide smile.

“Yeah, it’s strange. But for some reason, this last month, my boy here’s been going to rehab every morning,” Gabe says, his voice clearly in tease mode now. “Something…or maybe someone…seems to have him motivated.”

The cap flies from Cody’s hand in a flash and hits Gabe squarely in the forehead without Cody even looking. “Shut your mouth, asshat,” he says, squatting down and sliding himself underneath the car.

Gabe looks at me with a wide smile, almost proud that he got under Cody’s skin. The two of them act like kid brothers, and seeing them together makes me realize how un-brotherly Cody and Trevor are.

Gabe slides my portfolio back to me and joins Cody under the car. I take advantage of this time to check my phone for messages. My message screen is blank, which means Trevor’s either still asleep or got called in to work. I sigh, noticeably, and then look to the side to see Cody’s face. He’s slid partway from under the car and is looking at me, intently.

“Something wrong?” he asks?

“No, nothing. Just checking the time. Just a little worried about my assignment, that’s all,” I say, not really worried about my assignment at all, but not wanting to bring up Trevor here, in Cody’s father’s shop.

Cody slides out from under the car and gets to his feet. He wipes his hands on a towel and leans over me, reaching for my backpack. He pulls out my calculus book and flips to the page I left marked.

“Why don’t you get started, see how far you can get, and when I’m done here, we’ll go through them together?” he offers. Here he is being helpful and earnest, and all I can concentrate on is how soft his tongue is when it touches the tips of his teeth while he talks—how perfect the stubble is all over his face—how much I want to touch the soft, gray T-shirt he’s wearing, and the strong muscles I’ve seen underneath.