Page 20 of Diesel

He raised his hand and gestured for me to come over, enthusiasm radiating from every pore of his pocket-sized body.

Threading through the tables took longer than I expected. There were too many people and obstacles in my way. A walker here, a purse there, someone’s cane sticking out into the aisle. But I kept my eyes on Ollie the entire time, and he kept watching me, that grin never fading.

When I finally reached his table, Greta spotted me first among Ollie’s seniors. Her eyes grew round, then she elbowed Irene hard enough to make the other woman yelp.

“Well, hello there,” Greta said, her voice pitched loud enough to carry three tables over. “Look what we have here, ladies.”

Irene’s hand flew to her white hair, patting it into place. Edith straightened in her seat, and even Walter stopped fiddling with his dentures long enough to look me over.

“Everyone, you remember Diesel,” Ollie said, standing up. “Diesel, I’m sure you recall everyone here.” He gave me a nervous look, like I might tell them how he gossiped about them behind their backs.

I would never betray his trust. That wasn’t my style.

“The mechanic,” Irene said, her tone appreciative. “The brawny one who fixed the shuttle.”

“Among other things,” Greta added, her gaze traveling down then back up in a way that made her intentions extremely clear. I wasn’t sure why that amused me so much or why I found her appraisal adorable.

“Miss Greta,” Ollie said in a warning tone. “Behave.”

“What?” she exclaimed innocently. “I’m just looking.”

Ollie narrowed his eyes, but there wasn’t an ounce of heat in them. “You’re doing more than looking.”

“Can you blame me?” She turned her attention fully to me, leaning forward on her elbows. “You single, honey?”

I could not believe her flirtation had me blushing. My face felt as if I was standing in the blazing sun. Please never let my pack find out an elderly woman has me blushing like a fucking school boy.

“Greta,” Ollie said again, louder this time.

“I’m just asking. You can’t invite him here and not expect the ladies to drool all over their dentures. We’re geriatric, most with cataracts and bad hips, but we still have a pulse, Oliver.”

I had no flipping clue what to do with that.

“My teeth are real,” Edith muttered.

Ollie reached out and touched my arm, the contact making me grin like an idiot. “Ignore them. They have no filter.”

“Kinda hard not to notice.” I pulled out the empty chair next to Ollie and sat down. The table was covered in bingo cards, daubers in every color imaginable, and what looked like good luck charms ranging from rabbit’s feet to plastic trolls with neon hair.

“Have you ever played bingo?” Walter asked, squinting at me suspiciously.

“Not a day in my life,” I admitted truthfully.

“It’s easy,” Ollie said, grabbing a card from his own pile, along with a purple dauber then set both in front of me. “Numbers get called, you mark them off. First person to get five in a row wins.”

“Horizontally, vertically, or diagonally,” Edith added. “And you have to yell ‘bingo’ when you win, or it doesn’t count.”

“Got it.” I nodded, pretending she was preparing me for the upcoming bingo war. “Five connecting splotches, and if I have bingo, give a battle cry.”

Ollie’s lips twitched, but his eyes had gone soft. I’d wanted to pull him into my pack, but he was pulling me into his.

“Also,” Walter said, leaning across the table, “how many people have you dated?”

The question was fired so fast, I just blinked at him. “What?”

“Dated.” He stabbed his finger against the table like a punctuation. “Romantically. How many?”

“Walter.” Ollie looked mortified. “You can’t just ask people that.”