Fly High | ✅

38 | Third wheeling

◈A D R I A N◈

"You should get your own show, Bones." Logan said after hearing the familiar whooshing sound from the blades of the exhaust fan. I looked up from the stacks of crumpled invoices to see Bones getting up from the floor where he was squatting down to fix the faulty machine.

As soon as the exhaust started to work, the dank air filled with fine particles began to flurry in the air in a slow dance. An oddly mesmerising sight as they twirled and swirled under the golden rays of Saturday afternoon.

The squeaking sound from the wheels of the plastic creeper pulled my attention to Logan as he rolled from under a red mustang, his face was smeared with black soot.

"Bones, the machine whisperer," he announced with his hands waving out in a half moon. "Bet you'll make much more money than that Caesar salad. Just don't forget about me when you're rich and famous, pal."

Bones, in his usual aloofness, just blinked and walked to the tap at the front of the workshop to wash his hands. Believe it or not, he seemed to be in a lighter mood without the presence of that chatty guy, Mike. He looked almost serene. Like how you would get when you finally killed that annoying mosquito buzzing near your ears in the middle of the night.

Logan shook his head at Bones' reaction and grunted when he pushed himself up from the creeper. Using the back of his hands, he wiped at his cheeks only to smear them around even more. His nose was the only part left unblemished by the soot.

He might as well be Rudolph the Red with his prominent nose.

A laugh escaped my lips unwittingly and I cleared my throat quickly to mask it under the pretence of a cough. Sharp as ever, Logan caught that and arched a brow at me. He dropped the spanner in the toolbox and strode towards me, his gaze dropping to the messy desk.

"How's the filing going on? I hope the papers aren't too heavy for your broken ribs," Logan asked, his left leg crossed over his right one as he leaned against the door frame.

"It's going swimmingly," I mumbled in annoyance, not too happy with the monotonous duty Logan had entrusted to me with. Since I was still pretty much recuperating from the periodic therapy sessions, I wasn't allowed to do even the most basic thing.

The flimsy, thin papers rustled dangerously between my fingers as I sorted them according to date. Some were yellowed with age and I didn't dare to breathe too hard for fear of rendering them into desecrated dust.

"Don't you have better things to do than holing up in my place? Boys your age would be out there chasing skirts or shooting the breeze." He dragged a nearby chair and slumped on it, the chair creaking slightly under his weight.

I gave a nonchalant shrug, "I'm not some horn dog sniffing around with a constant erection. Besides, I'm a man of words. I mean it when I said I'll do anything to repay your favour."

There was a tingle of pride bubbling up my chest. Man, I can't believe I can say something as cool as that!

A ghost of a smile played on Logan's lips before he hid it behind a small towel he used to wipe at his dirty face. "What about your girlfriend? Don't you need to bring her to dates? Girls can get real pissed when you played it cool like that."

I frowned. "Girlfriend?"

When the hell did I get myself a girlfriend without knowing it?

Logan narrowed his eyes at me almost accusingly. "Your girlfriend. The one you've been dating for three months. Ring any bell?"