Trapped In Your Bleeding Heart (Riff x Reader)

Chapter Thirty Two - Best Shift

Sitting on a bench for an hour and a half may sound boring to some, but watching Riff work was anything but boring. He had a system of surprisingly organized steps that he followed with every vehicle he looked after- itwas no wonder he was hired by such a large company. Although I understood close to nothing he was doing, he looked good doing it. And sure, as well. As if he had done it hundreds of times. I wondered if he had.

As more time went on, my eyes began to drift over the more mundane aspects of the shop. A red clock hung on the wall, but it was an hour off the actual time. Cracks scattered the garage floor, which water seeped through when given the opportunity. And then even aspects of Riff appeared different to me. Over the next hour he fatigued, and his posture heaved when he had a moment to breathe.

I noticed that in partnership with Bill and other older men, Riff would always do the heavy lifting, and anything that required bending down. Things that would be taxing on an older body. And then I noticed the other younger workers. Another man would maneuver through a tight group of people, but all Riff had to do was walk. People got out of his way.

A different set of keys was attached to Riff's overalls almost constantly. As soon as he finished one car, the keys for another were hooked to one of his belt loops. Without even looking at him, I could tell when he was doing a certain activity, because the keys would jingle. One of the sets even had a small bell on it, which I found amusing.

"Dolly! What are you doing here?"

Normally, a Jet would be a concerning sight to see. Apparently, they were dangerous. But after spending time with them I learned that they were just boys. A big gang of goofs. And Tiger, as large and intimidating as he may have appeared, was really just a bad dancer. I wondered if Tiger thought 'Dolly' was my name. That's all he had heard from Riff, after all. I didn't think Riff had ever used my real name, and he probably didn't plan to. "Tiger, what are you doing here?" I asked. "Do you have a car?"

Tiger moved the toolbox that sat next to me, and took a seat on the bench. "Come on, I'm not rich." He nodded to the big red clock on the wall. "My shift is in ten."

Back in the West, not only rich people had cars. It was pretty important for farmers to have at least one truck. They had to get their job done. Regardless of snow or mud, getting around was of the utmost importance. A pay check came in the form of trade and harvests. Life was about life. Raising it, nurturing it, and when the time was right, killing it— or selling it. People in Santa Rusto likely couldn't even imagine a life like that.
Wait.

How did Riff get a car? I gave the busy garage a vacant look, half searching for Riff. But he was nowhere to be found– not even the clatter of keys could be heard. This man constantly puzzled me.
"Are you leaving with Riff? I'm guessin' you aren't hanging around for a good time."

"I am." I said, and then shared a look with Tiger. "Waiting for him, I mean."

"Lucky cat." He leaned back. The bench leaned with him. "He got the best shift in the house today. Talk about convenient timing."

"What do you mean?"

A funny expression grew on Tiger's face. "Haven't you heard about the storm?"

Of course I had. "Of course I have."

"Well it comes tonight. And Riff's gettin' off early."

"How late do you work?"

"Just an eleven to seven. I don't get the flexibility they give Riff."

My eyes trailed back to Riff, who had reappeared next to the old man I had spoken to before– Bill. Now that Riff was wiping the sweat from his brow, I felt better about sitting on his shirt. After all, as long as he wasn't cold, no damage had been done. "How do you mean?" I asked.

"He's good. Real good. So he shows up when he wants, and he leaves when he wants." With great effort, Tiger pulled his bulk body off the bench. "And somehow he still ends up working more than anyone else."

It didn't take long for Tiger's large legs to carry him out of the garage. It was odd when he would leave so suddenly, but when Riff returned with him I figured it must have been about the job. And then Riff was packing up, and walking towards me once more. "Come on." Was all he said.

With a tired movement, Riff bent over to me and reached down to the bench, pulling his long sleeve out from under my skirt. This shot me to my feet, and I almost collided with Riff's chest. Trust me, I wouldn't have minded if it weren't for the motor oil coating his skin and clothes. But I had gone through enough to not dirty my dress, and I wasn't going to give in now. I placed my hand forward, onto Riff's left shoulder, and maneuvered around him. When I had regained my balance and composure, I smiled. "Where to now, Jet?"

There was a pause, and then Riff was in a hurry to get his long sleeve on. "Wherever you want, Dolly." His long arm wrapped around my waist, and he led me back to the truck.

"How about going back to your apartment?"

Riff walked to the passenger side door and opened it. "Well you're exciting." He remarked.

Once we were both in the car, I wore a teasing expression. "As a matter of fact, I am."

One of Riff's eyebrows quirked, and he gave me a fazed look. "How do you mean?"

"I am exciting." I titled my head, and observed the dark spots scattered across Riff's face and hands. "I just don't want to be seen with you while you're covered in motor oil."

"You're taking me to my own apartment so that I can change?"

"So you can shower." I corrected.

The truck rumbled to a start. "You better be ready to cook for me, since you're so set on acting like my mother."

Authors note: ooooooohhhhh👀👀👀