No one ever said having the front wheel of a motorcycle jammed into an SUV's wheel well was a good thing, Riley thought with a grunt as he strained to drag the bike backward. Unfortunately, jammed was exactly the right word. He hadn't thought Kelly had been going that fast when the impact occurred, but it had been enough to mess up the guy's helmet and cause a minor concussion, so what did Riley know? And maybe the seemingly permanent joining of vehicles had something to do with the rain. Like the wetness made the rubber slicker than usual and the bike's wheel had pushed in farther and harder than it could have done while dry.
Now, of course, it was dry, which might explain the degree of difficulty in uncoupling Harley from Ford. The added weight of the trailer-type contraption that Riley had managed to detach from the motorcycle had probably contributed to the degree of connectedness, too, but the fact that the trailer was up against the side of the house didn't seem to be helping much right then. "Fuck, I'm gonna have to lube it up."
"Um, excuse me?"
Kelly stood on the front walk, a grin on his face, though Riley didn't know if the smile was due to the way he'd jumped at Kelly's voice or what Riley had just said. Only one way to find out, though, so Riley repeated what he'd thought a moment or so earlier.
"I'm thinking you got it way deep in there because it was so wet, man, but it's dry now, and just jerking it at random isn't doing any good. So maybe if I work something slick in there, it'll be easier to slide you the fuck out again. Make sense?" Riley shrugged and Kelly burst out laughing. "What?"
Kelly shook his head slowly. "Nothing. Just... no, never mind." That grin was still there, though.
"What?" Riley demanded again, crossing his arms and trying to look stern.
Another head shake. "I don't know you well enough to say what I'm thinking," Kelly said, shoving his hands into the front pockets of what Riley knew were freshly laundered jeans. "It might freak you out or something."
Riley cocked his head, trying to figure out what the hell Kelly was talking about. Then he replayed his own words and it hit him. "Fuck," he said, laughing, "I say that kind of shit all the time, man. Jer says I'm missing my brain-to-mouth filter, but what the fuck ever. I just think it's funny." And sometimes he didn't even notice when he said things that might make other people -- like Kelly, apparently -- try to censor themselves. Weird.
"I guess it is," Kelly agreed once Riley had gone back to examining the intimacy of the vehicles. "Honestly, you kind of reminded me of my kid brother for a minute, there. He's seventeen, but his sense of humor stopped maturing around twelve."
Riley's loud snort was deliberate. "And you're what? Twenty going on forty? Please. Now do us both a favor and find me something to oil these babies up, okay? Or... wait. I'll do that. You need to get your ass back upstairs and rest or some shit. You had a fucking concussion yesterday, man."
"I'm twenty-four. And I feel okay now," Kelly answered, and Riley snorted again.
"Shut the fuck up, get inside, and sit your ass down. Play with your fucking dog or something. Or... fuck. He didn't shit in my house, did he?" Because that would suck. Goober already smelled bad enough. The last thing Riley needed was to have his apartment stinking of dog shit on top of it.
Kelly's eyes rolled. Riley saw it while he stalked toward the porch. "I took him out a couple hours ago. You were still asleep. He's fine. But I need to find a store. I gave him what little food didn't get ruined by the rain, but there isn't any left now."
Well, shit. That was what Riley got for taking in a guy with a big-ass fucker of a dog, wasn't it? "Fine. Get upstairs. I'll get your bike the fuck separate from my ride, then you can tell me what kind of shit we need for Goober, okay?" And Uncle Peter was going to get a fucking earful, just as soon as the man started answering his phone. He should have mentioned that his new fuck had a dog.