It made life on the road easy because I was only loyal to whatever machine I was working on at the moment. Shops and bosses and coworkers were temporary. And I was upfront in every job interview, just as I was upfront with every woman I was about to take home and fuck all night long. Hanging around ain’t my thing. But I’ll work hard while you’ve got me.
The issue being that mentality didn’t translate to the people I loved back home. Hanging around was kind of the point of friendship and family, even if you weren’t physically in the same place. But Mateo was hurt by my actions when I thought you couldn’t really get hurt by honesty.
“Looking good, hermanito,” Mateo said, slipping beneath the garage door with an arm full of rolled canvas.
I grinned, sitting up from my prone position and working a rag between my dirty fingers. “I can’t really take credit. This baby’s a stone-cold fox, and she’s gonna sing for you once you get her out on that highway.”
Mateo set the canvas down and sat in a metal chair. “I agree. But I wasn’t talking about the bike. I was talking about seeing you back in my house again.”
I ran a hand through my hair and kept my tone easy. “It hasn’t changed, has it?”
“Why change perfection?” Mateo smiled. “And after you’re done, Mom wants you upstairs to wash up for a late dinner. She cooked arroz con gandules just for you.”
I clutched my heart. Then reached out for the beer Mateo cracked open from the small fridge. “She’s too kind. And I am ready for a verbal thrashing.”
“I told her to go a little easy on you.” He held his fingers an inch apart. “But only a little. She’s convinced you’ll get engaged and married while you’re out gallivanting around, and she’ll never know.”
The bottle paused in front of my mouth. “That is not something she needs to be afraid of.”
Mateo walked over to examine what I’d done on the bike so far. I stood, shoved the rag in my back pocket, and pointed out some of the changes I was considering. “It really won’t take me long. I’ve got a guy in Queens who used to get me parts way back. You’ll be riding in no time.”
Mateo cast me a steady gaze. “It does mean something, you doing this.”
He seemed so earnest and hopeful I felt like shit all over again. “Yeah, well, I’m still really fucking sorry.”
He nodded, clapping me once on the shoulder. “I can only stay for a few minutes. Last minute buyer is on their way to the gallery. But I think you and Fiona will like my ideas. The old box of photos you dropped off from Pop really helped give me inspiration.”
I breathed out slowly, letting that information soften the hard knot in my chest. I hadn’t expected coming home to be so complicated. But I also hadn’t expected all these people in my life to come together like this. To want to do something.
Mateo pulled his chair next to mine, unrolled the first print. The force of it hit me in the gut—the bright colors, the vintage throwback style, the black-and-white images of punk rockers dancing while Patti Smith clutched a microphone and sang her damn heart out. Pop was endlessly behind the scenes—the invisible man, through and through—but his hard work and no-bullshit dedication made this place happen.
“Fuck,” I said.
Mateo chuckled. “In a good way?”
I took a long pull from my beer. “You’ve only gotten better. And I thought you were Picasso when we were kids. I still carry around that drawing you did for me before I left. The one of the skyline. I hang it up in every apartment.”
So many apartments over the years, none unique enough to stand out. But that picture went up day one, hour one, on moving day.
“For real?” he asked.
“Yeah, of course,” I said. “It makes me feel… actually I don’t really know how it makes me feel.”
Was this just your basic nostalgia or actual longing? Was there a difference?
“Maybe you miss home more than you want to admit,” he said.
“You might be right.” I peeled at the label around my beer, needing the distraction. Then I decided to check my phone three times in one minute to make sure Fiona didn’t need me or had gotten lost or whatever.
“Nervous?”
“What?”
He glanced at the open garage door and then back at me. “Are you nervous to see Fiona?”
“The last time I got nervous about seeing a girl, we were in middle school.”
“Sure.” He sipped his beer, laughter in his eyes. “And you’ve been shaking your knee and rubbing your palms on your pants this whole time for other reasons, I guess.”
“Fuck you, I haven’t been—” I started to say, then looked down to catch my knee shaking. I glanced back up to catch his shit-eating grin. “Be fucking cool when she gets here, okay?”
“Oh yeah,” he drawled. “I’ll only tell her all of my favorite embarrassing Max stories.”
“Did someone say embarrassing Max stories?” Fiona Quinn appeared in the doorway, hand on her hip and a smirk on that smart mouth. She looked head-to-toe expensive—pearl necklace, heels, a black dress with a loose skirt that hit right above her knees. She was corporate, buttoned-up sex appeal, and I wanted to dirty her up. Rip her dress, tangle her hair, bend her right on over this goddamn bike and wrap my hands around that slender waist of hers.
“I’ve got enough to shame him for years,” Mateo said, arms spread and smile casual. “And I know you’re Fiona, and I know we’ve kind of met over the years, but it’s still a pleasure.”
We both stood up. Fiona hadn’t made eye contact with me yet, and I was suddenly desperate for her to notice me. I crossed my arms and leaned back against the bike, wondering when I’d officially lost my cool.
Last night I’d tossed and turned while hyper-focusing on that contract of hers, the dedication she had to marry a man the exact opposite of me. Like everything else, Fiona was prepared to conquer, and given her tenacity, she’d probably find the perfect man. The kind of man who would do romantic stuff and bring her breakfast in bed in their nice house.
Fiona probably looked soft and sleepy and gorgeous first thing in the morning.
“I think I do remember you a little bit. From school and maybe later, too. Which shows at The Red Room do you go to?” she asked, setting down her work bag.
“Well, there was a long stretch where I saw The Hand Grenades every week.” He shrugged. “Your parents are fucking legends.”
“They’re utterly ridiculous,” she replied. “You’d think getting older would make them less intense, but they’ve only doubled-down on their anti-establishment lifestyle.”
Mateo rubbed his jaw, nodding. “You seem to be the only Quinn on the straight and narrow.”
Emotion flickered across her face. Fiona always seemed seconds away from wincing whenever their differences were brought up. Which was strange, given how confident she seemed.
“Someone has to be the odd one out,” she said smoothly. And then finally, finally, let her green eyes settle on mine.
My simmering nerves ignited, went full inferno status.
I was flirting with you on purpose. You, and only you.
The second I’d hit send on that message, the weird lightness I felt whenever I thought about Fiona—lately, that was all the fucking time—multiplied and spread throughout my body.