Dirty Delilah(11)
“Bend over, Delilah.”
She almost turned around at that. “Excuse me?”
He laughed and nudged her with his hips. “I need you to pass me that Post-it pad on the shelf under the table. I have to write some notes.”
She grumbled as she opened her eyes and bent down to get what he wanted. “So I’m supposed to believe this? That he knows you break in and leave notes like a motorcycle fairy? That all that talk he gave me about you not believing in what he was doing and hating change and turning Angel and the Major against him is a crock? I’m supposed to go to his place for breakfast tomorrow. Do I just pretend I don’t know that you’re the one building the ‘brilliant engineer of tomorrow’s’ motorcycle for him?”
He took the pad from her and wrapped his arms around her. “He said all that? I do give him hell, and I admit to hating most change—I certainly prefer our garage to this fancy, sterile workshop vibe he has going on. But I think he might have a great machine here. And he envisioned the KII all on his own but he’s just…well, he’s an on-paper guy. Some things you can only learn with hands on experience. And none of his guys have what I do. Honestly, I’m only trying to help the guy out. I’d hate to see a sweet ride like this flop.”
She heard the pen scratching on the pad and crossed her arms. “So why am I here? Why are you breaking in to help instead of working with him and sharing the credit? Why did you make an offer on the garage?”
“Those are all complicated questions with more than one answer, Del. And I’m done now, so it’s time to go.”
“Where?”
He was guiding her with his hand over her eyes. God, his hands were sexy. A few seconds later he stopped and took his hand away. “Upstairs.”
Upstairs? He opened a narrow side door that looked like a closet, but Delilah’s eyes widened when she realized there was a narrow walkway behind it. “There is no upstairs. Is this new?”
“Nope.” Asa sounded smug. “When I first got here, as soon as Dallas realized I was sleeping in a blanket behind his building because I didn’t have a place to stay, he showed me this. The office is on the other side of that wall. This leads to an attic storage area, but it might as well have been the find of the century to your dad. And to me. I threw down a mattress and called it home until I made enough to afford my own place. See that ladder? That’s where we’re going.”
She hadn’t known about it, or about Asa having nowhere to sleep, but his early arrival at work every day made sense now. He’d lived here.
She climbed the ladder, feeling his presence close behind her, and pushed open the hatch that led to his secret loft. It was too dark to see anything, and she stood in still silence until he walked around her and flipped on a switch.
Her eyes widened as she looked around. She’d expected a mattress on the floor and empty fast food bags. Not this. A funky chandelier made out of cracked headlights. A bed frame of welded chrome. A rebuilt 1970’s dirt bike welded to a stand, as if it would start and drive away if it wasn’t bolted down. There was even a stunning sculpture made out of rusted transmission gears. And all over the wall were sketches of motorcycles and engine parts.
“How did I not know this was here?” she breathed.
“You had the whole warehouse to yourself. What would you need with a hole in the wall?”
“You made it all didn’t you?”
His fingers sifted through her hair as he stood behind her, letting her take it in. “Out of extra or throwaway parts, yeah. I didn’t have a television. Had to find some way to entertain myself.”
“This is amazing, Asa. If you ever got tired of repairing bikes you could sell some of these pieces.”
“Funny.”
“I’m serious.” She turned around, unable to hide her reaction. “You’re incredible.”
“So are you, Delilah. And I wanted to show you that I always saw it. Even when you were too young for that to be a good thing. Come here.” He guided her to the bedside table and handed her a ragged sketchbook. “Take a look.”
She heard him moving around, taking off his jacket while she sifted through pages filled with drawings.
Almost all of them were of her.
A teenage Delilah in her overalls sitting on the ground, holding a modified wrench to adjust the timing cam on a beautiful 1930 Henderson. A detailed sketch of her profile, wisps of hair damp against her cheek in the summer heat. Still another of her standing in the rain, her grease covered hands outstretched and the shirt she hadn’t realized was that thin clinging to her round breasts and hard nipples like a second skin.