“It’s Charlie. How are ya?”
Horny and confused. “Uh… good. Good, man. Thanks for calling. How are things at the shop?”
Charlie whistled a bit beneath his breath. “Better, depending on what you say to what I’m about to ask you.”
My heart stuttered to a stop as my brain finally caught up to what was happening.
“If you’re interested, we’d love to have you out here as the customs-build mechanic on a trial basis. See how you do, see how you work with everyone out here. Our trial periods are thirty days long, and obviously we’ll fire you if there’s an issue.”
“Obviously,” I repeated, fucking dazed.
“But we like your work, we liked your references, and we think you’re the best fit for what we need. Can you be in Los Angeles by next Wednesday?”
I scrubbed a hand across my face. That was only two days after the concert, which didn’t give me a lot of cushion to spend more time with Pop and Mateo and… and…
Fiona.
“You’ll be signing an NDA on the first day,” he added. “We’ve got several elite clients looking to bring their special bikes in for you to work on, Max.”
This job. This fucking job. It was the one. The one I dreamed of when I was sixteen, reading everything I could online about motorcycles and club culture and which shops were the best ones and why. My mother had successfully talked me out of having hopes like this since people’s hopes were so often crushed. But for the first time, she might have been wrong. Because I had a tiny amount of hope about this far-fetched idea, and here it was, coming true. Every mechanic I’d ever known, at shops all across the country, told me Rusty’s was the golden ticket to the next level.
I’d be a fool to turn it down.
“My answer is yes, of course,” I said. “And thank you for taking a chance on me. You won’t be disappointed in my work.”
“Good,” Charlie said. “Glad to hear it. Just get out here by 10:00 am on Wednesday. We’ll get you situated from there. Sound okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Yes, sir.”
Charlie hung up, and I stared at my phone like it had sprouted two goddamn heads. When I slid back inside the garage, Fiona was packing up her bag and fixing her hair in the mirror side of an old toaster. “Is everything okay?”
“I, uh, I got a job,” I said slowly. “Kind of a dream job.”
“In the city?”
The sparkling happiness and surprise in her voice sent dread spreading through my veins. “Um… no. In California. I applied for this custom-builds mechanics job I’ve always wanted. And never ever thought I’d get it, but the guy just called and they want me out in L.A. right after the benefit show. I’d probably catch a red-eye the night after.”
I watched her face fall like she was totally disappointed. That dread morphed into my own disappointment, and I didn’t know what the hell to do about it. A few weeks ago, if I was still working in Bar Harbor and completely disconnected from my home, I would have gotten this job, packed up my shit, and hit the road with nothing but peace in my heart.
“Max, that’s fucking amazing.” I refocused on Fiona, who was suddenly standing right in front of me with a big smile on her face. Whatever I thought I’d seen was gone. “I had no idea.”
I shrugged. “Haven’t really told anyone. I’m not really a dream job kind of guy. But I don’t know, I thought it could be time to take the next step. To be a little more serious.” I felt flustered and weird and really wanted to get Fiona back on the bike and into my arms. “So, yeah. I guess enjoy me while you got me.”
She took a step back, bit her lip. “Right. Of course. As a proponent of climbing the career ladder myself, it’ll pay off. You deserve the next step.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Thank you. I mean that.”
But her eyes held a question, and I was coward enough to ignore it. “Plus, you’ll want to be rid of me after the concert and focus on your quest. Time’s a wastin’, as you would say.”
The emotion and curiosity of our moment on that bike, our almost kiss, our almost everything, had completely disappeared. We were standing like two work acquaintances at a Christmas party neither wanted to be at. Dancing around a topic I kind of wanted to talk about but had not a fucking clue of how to go about it. Something like I know I’m suddenly moving to Los Angeles, and I know I always thought I’d never want to date anyone, ever, but I can’t stop thinking about you, and the thought of you going on dates with anyone but me makes me rage-sweat.
“True,” she said smoothly. Regaining some of her cool confidence. “As soon as the concert is over, and I have more time, I’ll be actively focusing on dating again, tweaking my processes and systems.”
My mouth tasted bitter, like old pennies. I literally ached with wanting her.
And not just in all the dirty and depraved ways I had her in my fantasies.
Like wanted her.
But we were back at these crossroads again with no path forward. Fiona might dominate my every waking thought, but I still wasn’t her future husband and never would be. She wanted a man who wouldn’t up and leave her. And I’d just confirmed that fear, walking back in here with a brand-new job in my pocket and a West Coast zip code.
“So anyway, I’ll work with Mateo to get these posters printed by tomorrow.” She was rapidly pulling things together, tidying up. Her walls were going back up again.
“Fiona.”
She brushed right past me, refusing to make eye contact.
“I think we need to talk.”
She spun around, halfway out the door. “About what?”
I reached for her wrist. Caught it. “I’m new at this, but I’m pretty fucking sure friends don’t tell each other the things we just told each other. Right?”
My crush on you makes me a little scared.
Her eyes softened, but her posture didn’t change. And she gently pulled away from my hold. “I’ve got a late work thing. And you’ve got plans to make for your new job. And we still need to sell 200 tickets in the next week. We should get to it, okay? I’ll call you later.”
Then she swept out of there without a backwards glance.
“Fuck,” I swore, leaning back against the garage wall and dragging my hands down my face.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
For the first time in my life, I’d said the words I need you to a woman and really meant it. That pinch, right over my heart, was back in full force.
This big-time sucked. How did Mateo and Rafael do it? Walking around, making themselves vulnerable for anyone to stomp on?
But how could I blame Fiona for believing every word I’d said about relationships until today? I had been telling the truth. She was right to believe me.
I just wasn’t sure if I believed it myself right now.
22
Fiona
An hour later, and I was pushing open the door at Roxy’s tattoo parlor. My big sister gave me a quick wave from the very back, where she was working on a client. The insistent buzz of the tattoo gun blended with Siouxsie and the Banshees playing on the store speakers.