Ever wondered how the Creekwood Crew would take the news of having to wear masks? Me, too! This scene has no bearing on the series and was written just for fun. It’s also unedited. If it were to fit on the timeline, it’d definitely take place after Detour’s epilogue but again, it has no effect on the actual series since the pandemic will not be written into anyone’s story. Seriously Corona, go away!
“Masks are in!” Angela announces as she drops a box full of soon-to-be state-mandated masks. They’re not technically required at the moment but with the way things are going, they will be soon. As usual, Angela wants Pop The Hood to be ahead of the game so she put in a large order before the rush. “Here you go, boys.”
I press a quick kiss to her lips, saying, “Thanks, babe.”
“Thanks? For what? These things look more like panties than protective gear. I’m supposed to believe this,” Beck holds one of the small black pieces of cloth in front of his face, eyeing it suspiciously, “will keep me from catching something?”
Angela gives me a pointed look but I just twist my lips up, remaining quiet. I mean, both points are valid. Had I not been told these were masks I would’ve asked my girl why she was buying her underwear in bulk all of a sudden. And why the hell she had them delivered to the shop for everyone else to see. I personally don’t really get the mask thing but if scientists suggest something as having a strong likelihood of saving lives, then I’m in. That’s what seat belts were once upon a time and with all of us working in the car industry, we can’t exactly criticize safety precautions.
Marc walks up, staring down at the box with a similar expression as our tall friend.
Angela notices and rolls her eyes, snatching a handful from the top. “You’re such a baby sometimes. Look.”
We follow her over to the car wash side of our joint business venture. She waits ‘til a car begins rolling slowly past on the conveyor belt then yells over the various mechanisms flaring to life, “Say you’re talking to someone. You don’t know if they’re sick just by looking at them, right? Hell, maybe they don’t even know. Not everyone is showing symptoms the entire time they’re contagious, or at all.” I look at my brothers finding them with the same blank stares. I definitely didn’t know that shit. “Droplets carry germs. Sneezing, coughing, even just talking, can carry droplets.”
At that we all make some form of disgust in our throats and Angela even does a little shudder. Droplets? From talking?
“And that g-string wannabe is gonna stop some spit-talker from infecting other people?” Beck crosses his long arms over his grease stained chest.
Angela only pops an eyebrow, holding a mask directly in front of one of the spray nozzles. And not one of the weak ones towards the end either, one of the good ones that’s supposed to loosen up all the build-up before the scrubbing kicks in. The stream hits the fabric and immediately starts flowing straight down like a leaky faucet instead of a full pressure hose. Some still makes it through for sure, but not nearly as much.
“Holy shit!” Beck’s arms drop to his sides.
I take the other masks from her grasp, passing them out to the others.
She wrings the drenched mask out, smirking. “It won’t catch everything, of course, but it’ll help cut down the risk. Especially if both parties in a conversation is wearing one.”
Marc turns his over in his hands while I fit mine over my ears then adjust it to cover both my mouth and nose comfortably.
“If people really talk like that, I want a fucking hazmat suit.” He gestures to the spray dying down now that a car is no longer triggering the sensor.
Angela’s laugh lacks any real humor. “We’ll probably have to move to those next if people don’t start wearing their masks like decent human beings.”
He hands his back, saying, “Thanks, but I still got a bunch of handkerchiefs in my glovebox.”
She shrugs. “Those work, too.”
I nudge his shoulder. “Once a farmer always a farmer, huh?” It comes out somewhat muffled from having my mouth covered but everyone else’s grins tell me they heard me okay. Plus, I’m only messing with him anyway. Marc’s “handkerchiefs” are probably covered in creepy skulls or some shit.
“Whatever,” he mutters, shaking his head.
“Nope, I can’t do it,” Beck bursts out, pulling the mask from his face and making a show of gasping. “I can’t breathe with it on. I just can’t.”
I’m the one rolling my eyes now. Idiot.
With a huff, Angela pushes past us, probably wanting to get back to work already. “Some of you are acting like you’ve never had a woman sit on your face before.” Just as she’s turning, she pins Beck with a hard stare, saying, “And it shows.”
I shut my eyes thinking it’ll help hold in the laugh begging to get out but it’s no use. It all comes out in one harsh whoosh as I fold over, hands on my knees for support.
“The fuck? Yo, why’d she only look at me?”
Beck’s head is swiveling like an owl on the hunt when I rise to stand again.
If only I could touch my face to wipe the tears away.
Marc chuckles darkly, his shoulders shaking.
“What are you laughing at? I don’t see you rushing to wear one.”
Marc shrugs before sticking his hands in his pockets. “I could double up and still be good.”
Beck and I glance at each other, our eyebrows raised, but before either of us can ask him to elaborate—with details—the guy just spins on his heel and heads outside.
Once he’s out of earshot, Beck leans over, asking, “So, that’s what you and Angie get up to?”
I point to the mask still affixed to my face. “I’m breathing just fine, aren’t I?”
His light eyebrows furrow and he drops his gaze, rubbing the fabric between his fingers.
Almost to the door, I hear a mumbled, “this shit better pay off,” and when I glance back, half of Beck’s face is taken up by the black material. And even though it does a good job covering his mouth and nose, it does nothing to hide the gleam in his eyes.
A smile tugs at my lips hidden from view. I’ll have to give Angela a real thank you tonight—for all the practice she’s given me.
© A. Marie
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