I use the simmering frustration at Reed to crank the wrench a little harder, and it gives like I knew it would. The door to the break area opens and Manuel comes out, wiping his hands on a rag. “Where you want me, Boss?”
That’s what I like to hear. Manuel’s ready to work, and once I set him on a course, he’s solid until the job’s done. Phone call to the customer and all.
“Hit the blue truck next. Needs brake pads and rotors,” I call over my shoulder, keeping a mental tally of what we need to accomplish today.
“On it.” Manuel’s voice is already disappearing from behind me, and a moment later, I hear the truck start up, pull into bay three, and then he gets to work.
And all is well for a moment. Work being done, money being made, and grease on my hands. Life is pretty much perfect.
It’s not the norm, a female running a mechanic shop, but running Cole Automotive is what I always knew I’d do, even before I started helping here. I used to listen to Dad talk shop with the guys and hang on every word, read Car & Driver instead of Vogue like other girls my age, and sneak out to the garage at home to work on the lawnmower engine for practice.
At this point, I can hold my own against any penis-dragger who thinks he knows more about cars than I do because of his dick-birthright. I know everything there is to know about engines, even a few things more than Dad at this point.
“Oh, my God! I met him! The man of my dreams.” Emily’s voice is loud and high-pitched, ending my moment of peaceful bliss as I work. I love her but she’s . . . a lot.
Still under the truck, my voice echoes. “Again?”
My wry response isn’t meant to belittle her pronouncement of a happily ever after. It’s just that I’ve heard it before. Several times, in fact. Emily isn’t prone to giving her whole heart that readily, but she’s enamored with the idea of love and basically walks through life thinking it’s everywhere, all around her, free for the taking whenever she’s inclined.
My cynical heart tends to disagree.
Cowboy was free for the taking, a hushed little voice says, and my pussy perks up, agreeing wholeheartedly. Good Lord, he’d been something.
Tall and broad and dirty. I know most women wouldn’t be turned on by filth, preferring their men clean-cut and showered, probably wearing khakis or a suit. I am not most women, and work-earned dirt on a sexy man is like my kryptonite, instantly flooding my basement.
“He’s so hot and sexy and broody.” Her voice lowers on the last bit, which makes me laugh a little inside. Like she has to sound broody to describe it. “Why are moody assholes so addicting?”
I duck out from under the truck, giving the shorthand version of a conversation we’ve had before. “It’s not. You’re just mental. FUBARed in the brain, Em.”
I meet her scowl with a smile. “Rude, Rix. But you didn’t see him. He was so sexy, and we talked and flirted. Did I mention hot?”
I use my screwdriver to clean the grease from under my nails. “Where’d you meet this one?”
“Not this one, The One. And at the resort bar a couple of nights ago. I was just dancing around with the girls, and like the sea parting” —she mimes parting the Red Sea like she’s Moses of Morristown— “and there he was, watching me. He tried to play it cool, but Mama didn’t raise no fool, so I went on over to him.”
“Is this the part where you fell madly in love with him?” I might not be the romantic type like Emily, but she’s entertaining when she gets like this. Which is relatively often.
“No, this is the part where we flirted.”
She delves into the details of their conversation, and I swear I mean to listen, but my attention is haphazard at best as I let my eyes check on Manuel, who’s working hard on the brake job, and then to Reed as he walks back into the shop and gets to work on a Dodge Viper that needs an oil change. I know he pulled that ticket because he wants to listen to that thing growl up close.
I know because I was thinking the same thing. Reed and I might butt heads sometimes since he’s been here as long as I have and is basically the son Dad always wanted, but there’s one thing we agree on every time.
Engines.
Yeah, while Dad was training me to be his legacy at the garage, he was teaching Reed too. Reed is Dad’s best friend’s son, and we grew up together. Hell, I call Reed’s dad ‘Uncle Smitty,’ though we’re not actually related, but that’s what Dad told me to call him and I’ve just always gone along with it.
But not the rest of the plans they have concocted.
“And then he left with her, so I don’t know what that’s about.” Emily’s story is wrapping up, and though I haven’t been paying attention, this part catches my ear.
“Wait. He got a text from one woman and then left with another, all while sitting there, flirting with you?” I repeat her own words in a harsh tone, hoping she hears how ridiculous that sounds. “Em, you know better than that! If he’s a player, you’re going to end up hurt. Even if he left this other woman for you—which let’s be clear, is disgusting and cheating and a myriad of other things that end in fucked up and wrong—he’ll do the same thing to you when he sees a greener pasture.”
I’m not known for sugar-coating hard shit. Emily, however, is a believer in the power of love, gifted with a heart of gold, and sees the best in everyone and everything, even when they’re no-good, cheating assholes.
“It wasn’t like that. It might’ve been his sister or something, I don’t know. What if it’s fate that we met? What if we’re meant to be?” Her plea for me to understand falls on deaf ears, and I wish I could get her to hear herself the way I hear her. Naïve, charming to a fault, and so full of goodness, it makes my teeth hurt.
We couldn’t be more different if we tried. For her every softness, I’m sharp; her sweetness, I’m bitter; her trusting nature, I’m cynical to the point of jaded. For as rough as I am, she’s baby’s butt smooth. I’m dirty and greasy, and she’s clean and prissy.
I raise one brow, glaring at her in disappointment. “Then you’d meet when you’re both single.”
She sighs grumpily, deflating. “Not like I’m going to see him again, anyway. I didn’t even get his name and the bartender wouldn’t give it to me. He said he didn’t know it, but I could tell . . . he knew.” She points at her eyes like she could read this bartender’s mind.
“You didn’t even get Dream Guy’s name and number, Em? Shit, he might as well be a figment of your imagination then. Maybe you did dream him up.”
“Nope, and we’re going to the resort bar for a drink tonight after you close up the shop.”
The laugh pops out of my mouth before I can stop it, sounding like a loud bark. “No fucking way am I going drinking at the resort.” Coming from my mouth, ‘resort’ sounds like ‘hell’ because to me, it basically is. Fancy and expensive, and not my couch with a cold beer.
“Come on, Rix.” It’s not begging, but more teasing encouragement because she knows she’s going to get her way. She always does, but I have to at least put up a fight to maintain appearances. And because maybe this will be the time I will get out of doing what she wants. Because the resort? Fuck that.