Free Make Me Yours by Alla Kar Page A

grab the pair of jeans that fell from Cindy’s outburst. “Well, because he took them off, Cindy.”
       She widens her eyes, pushing a curly blonde ringlet behind her ear. “And you didn’t give him any nookie? You’re the strongest woman I know.”
       If she only knew he makes me want to unravel. If she only knew it’s because I ’m afraid for him, she would understand. But, I don’t tell her. I shake my head. “What did you two do then, if you didn’t’ have sex.” She lies back on his bed, making fake snow angles against the covers.
       “We made out.”
       “And?” she asks, gesturing for me to continue.
       “Touched each other.”
       “And,” she says, sitting up like she has to know what happens.
       “He went down on me,” I whisper. “He wanted to see me come.”
       She burst up into the air, fist pumping like a mad woman. She stands up and jumps up and down. “ Layla, got a nut!”
       I start swatting at her legs. The door pops open both Brett and Taylor are watching us. Cindy sits down and smiles over at me. “Well, there are your clothes. Brett and I are heading to class. If you two don’t come to Lit of the South, we’ll see you at Fight Night.”
       I nod and watch them walk out of the apartment.
       Taylor glances over at me. “Hungry?”
       My gaze drops to his abs. You have no fucking idea. “Yea.”
     
       Taylor doesn’t practice the day of the fight. He insists that I go with him to the shop where he works. Apparently, he has a car that he is working on, that he wants me to see. Taylor stops in front of an old garage downtown. There are medal chairs outside, an old sign that says Dave’s Garage hanging outside. They’re closed, but he pulls out a key and unlocks the door. It squeaks. There are old seats as places to sit, and an old wooden desk. You can tell they do not clean, and it’s in a major need of one. An old 50s station is playing lightly in the background. It’s not my type of music, but it’s soothing.
       “Come on, this way,” Taylor says, lacing his fingers with mine. He leads me to the back, he flicks the switch and the light come s on. The florescent lighting flares and flickers above us. Like most garages, there are tools, cars and a giant TV settled over the wall. “This is my baby,” Taylor points toward a midnight black 65 Mustang Flashback.
       I lift an eyebrow and let him lead me to it. I reach out to touch, sliding my finger against the paint. “It’s beautiful,” I say.
       “It’s a 65 Mustang Flashback,” he says, a smile riding on his lips.
        “What’s wrong with it?”
       He furrows his brow and shakes his head. “I’m not sure. I just got her a few weeks ago and my boss hasn’t had time to take a look. I’m still learning.” He shrugs. “I know the basic stuff, but I’m still learning all the mechanics.”
       “Let me look,” I say, walking toward the front. I pop the hood and glance under at the perfection. It’s really nice, and in good condition.
       Taylor laug hs and tries to shut the door, but I push it back up. “You know about cars?” He lifts a pierced eyebrow.
       I stick my hip out to the side. “I do, for your information.”
       He smiles. “Did your dad teach you that, too?”
       My smile fades. He did. He taught me most things. A pain crawls up my stomach to my throat. I want to push back the memory, but it’s clawing at me.
    ***
       “Remember what I told you?” Dad asked. He reached out and slid a greasy finger against my nose, before wiping his hands on the towel hanging from his pocket.
       I nod ded, wiping at my nose, and watched as Dad reached under the hood. “Older cars need proper tuning, and the timing on the ignition is key. Also, fuel delivery. Those old Mustangs will give you the hardest time with ‘em,” he said, stretching to grab something.
       I watch ed and took in everything he did. “You get that?” he asked.