Marry Me

Part 1

"This is gonna sound weird, but I need you to marry me."

You raise your head from the car you're working on, giving your best friend a startled look. Your eyes widen, and you blink a couple of times, wondering if you heard him right. Did you hit your head on the hood or something?

"Uh, what?"

Ricky shifts uncomfortably, crossing his tattooed arms. He knows it's a weird question, but it's necessary. He's standing in the auto shop you own, the smell of tires and grease making his stomach churn a little. It's Sunday, so you're the only two there, and the garage doors are open to let the cool air in. Tools are on the ground, some boxes --- your shop looks no different from every other repair place in the world.

"We need to get married." Ricky says, the words leaving a bad taste in his mouth. This is the first time he's really said them out loud, not just in his head, and he doesn't like them. He promised himself he'd never get married, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

"Usually I prefer lots of alcohol before someone asks me to marry them." You say after a moment, leaning up from between the car hood and the motor, a tool Ricky has no idea the name for held in your hand. "Or, y'know, at least some dinner."

You take a step back, your hands flecked with black from where you've been working. You're a mechanic, you own your own shop, passed down from your father. It's an odd profession for a female, but you enjoy it, cars are your passion.

Honestly, it's how you met Ricky.

He has no idea how to even change a tire.

If it wasn't for you happening to stop and offer him help, he'd still be stuck on that back road trying to figure out how to use a jack.

"(Y/N), I'm serious. I need you to marry me." Ricky stares at you, tugging his lower lip between his teeth nervously. He didn't know how to broach the subject before, so he just decided blurting it out would be better. You're his best friend, he trusts you more then he does anyone else, you're the only person he could come too with such a ridiculous request and you not laugh quite as long in his face.

"Why would you need me to do that?" you ask, growing confused. You reach for a rag, hastily wiping the black off your fingers, your red nailpolish starting to gleam once more. You like Ricky, he's good looking, incredibly intelligent, and the way he plays his guitar is kind of sexy if you're being honest. However, as attractive as he may be, you've never fantasized about a relationship with him, you're just friends. Hell, the two of you have never even flirted!

So what's this about marriage?

That's a rather big step, isn't it?

"Ricky, you better explain what's going on." You frown at him, your hands going to your hips. You're wearing a blue jumpsuit, the front open down to your waist, showing your tank top. It has a low neck, revealing just a hint of cleavage, black smeared across your sweaty skin; your shop is hot despite the fans, you can't help it. Working around cars creates a lot of heat, after all.

Ricky exhales heavily, nodding his head in resignation. He reaches for one of the rolly chairs you have, duct tape across the seat where it's been torn. He drags it to him before turning it backward and sitting down, resting his arms along the back of it while you sit on top of a stack of pallets, still frowning.

"My custody hearing is coming up soon," Ricky finally says, tapping his fingers nervously against the back of the chair. "I'm supposed to get joint custody of Chloe, where I get her one week and her mother gets her the next. But Claire is fighting for full, she doesn't want me to see the kid. She's gonna use the fact I'm a musician who travels a lot against me. I gotta show that I can provide a stable home life, somewhere Chloe can be with someone."