Page 19 of Rhodes

Fuck me.

I sit back against the headrest and let out a breath. So it's not the terminals. The battery's live, connections are tight, and I'm still getting that one hard click instead of a crank.

It's got to be the starter. The solenoid pulls in and the motor behind it won't turn, and I know that sound because I've heard my dad swear at it in the boat shed a dozen times.

Figuring out how to diagnose that exactly, not to mention fixing it, is above my pay grade.

The clock on my phone says fourteen minutes. I could get under there, find the starter, rap the housing with something heavy, and see if that does it. Sometimes that shakes the brushes loose for one more start.

What am I thinking? I have no business being anywhere near that.

"Piece of junk." I slam the hood hard enough to rattle it.

I jog back and push through the front door, still working the problem, picking at the crud from the battery terminal that's wedged under my fingernail now.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and scroll for anyone close enough to grab me and get me there in record time. I round the corner into the kitchen and nearly slam straight into Rhodes.

We stop a hand's width apart. There's no contact, just heat and the smell of soap rolling off him.

He's in nothing but a towel.

My eyes go before I can stop them. Wet chest, water still tracking down over his defined abs, a droplet hanging off the point of his shoulder. For a second he isn't the kid I grew up around or the name I keep filed next to Coop's. He's a man, and an annoyingly good one to look at, wet, those hipbones cutting down into the white terrycloth towel.

A line of dark hair runs down under the towel, and I’ve never in my life wanted more than now to see where that trail leads. My mouth goes dry.

My eyes catch and hold for a second too long before I get them up to his face where they belong. My face goes hot, which I decide to blame on the battery acid that surely seeped into my skin and made me lose my mind for a second.

"Sorry." He shifts back half a step, one hand going to the towel where it folds in on itself. "I don't usually walk around like this. Let me go put something on."

"It's your house, Rhodes. Stop. I'm sorry I barged back in." It comes out clipped, faster than I mean it. "I'm not supposed to be here."

"What are you doing back? Is everything okay?"

"Car won't start. I cleaned the terminals. They were corroded, but it didn't do anything. It's the starter, I'm pretty sure. Or the solenoid, something in there."

"Okay." He says it easily, like a dead starter is nothing. "Give me a second to put on clothes. I'll drive you."

"You don't have to." I'm already back on my phone. "I can go to another meeting later in the week."

"Tallulah." Still calm, not pushing, saying my full name, of course. "I've got professor markups to read anyway. I can do that in the truck while you go to your meeting. It's no problem at all."

"Are you sure? I don't want to put you out."

"Of course. Don't move," he says as he rushes back to his room, his hand still holding his towel closed.

That's it. I stand there waiting for the leash to close around my wrist, and it doesn't. He asked if I was okay. He never asked the rest.

The truck smells like him, cedar and clean cotton, and under it the faint diesel-and-oil ghost of the garage. Rhodes backs out of the drive with one hand hooked over the wheel, the other resting easy on his knee. The engine settles into a low, steady hum that fills the quiet between us.

"You still put ketchup on eggs?" He asks out of nowhere.

I turn my head and laugh. "Okay, that's random as hell. And that was one time when I was nine."

"That image lived in my head for years. And I know for a fact it was not one time." He checks the mirror and pulls onto the street. "You did it at the fish camp every single morning. Coop used to gag."

"Coop gags at everything. He's dramatic."

"He is dramatic, I will give you that." A streetlight comes on overhead as we pass under it, washing pale gold across the dash. "You still do it, though. Tell the truth."