“And have you?” Annie asked. “Rehabilitated them, I mean.”
“We had a rough beginning, but now they’re doing quite well.” She was already giving them more and more complicated cases, and they seemed to enjoy finding what was wrong with the cars. She was getting an old Chevy pickup from the fifties to restore almost from scratch. She had the feeling XL, Ash, and Monti would dig that.
“A little birdie told us the sheriff gave you a piggyback ride the other day,” Christy said.
Right, she was going to have words with that little birdie—called Wilma, no doubt. She’d probably told Max and Annie, which meant all the Bowens knew by now.
Funnily enough, her grandmother hadn’t mentioned anything the morning after. She’d just looked at Rachel and smiled a very rueful, unsettling smile. That had been over a week ago and so far, nothing else.
“I overdid it with the tequila shots.” Which was about all she remembered from the end of the night. That, and how much fun she’d had with Adrian. She hated to admit it, but he was growing on her. Too much.
He’d kept coming to the garage whenever he wasn’t on duty. Why, she wasn’t sure. She’d tried telling him there was no need, but he’d grumbled and informed her that such matters were for him to decide. Sometimes he brought food and drinks, but mostly he just sat with her, and they hung out with the thugs. The ass wasn’t only attractive, but he was great company too, damn it. He had something she couldn’t describe, like a magnetic field around him that activated once you got him to smile and relax. It pulled at her. Or maybe she was just losing her marbles from too much work. The latter, probably.
“I know what that’s like,” Christy mumbled. “Tequila got me in such a mess when I came to Alden.”
“Don’t complain,” Annie said. “The end of that mess was Cole. I got a gigolo, remember?”
Rachel chuckled. Yeah, that had been interesting to watch from the sidelines.
They arrived in the center of Alden, and Rachel parked the car in front of the diner. Now that she was here, she could grab some coffee for the kids and her employees before heading to the garage.
She got the coffee, and Christy got the pizza boxes. She hadn’t been kidding; she wanted the boxes, empty at that.
“Why the empty boxes?” she asked.
“I have something to prove to Max. He makes fun of what I eat. He calls it fake food. And he refuses to eat anything I prepare.”
Rachel had heard Christy had had issues with food and that she didn’t eat sugar or flour—which, of course, left tons of dishes out of her everyday diet. She’d come up with alternatives, which apparently Max, being the junk food addict he was, didn’t approve of.
“Next barbecue,” she continued, “I’m going to demonstrate that my fake fast food tastes like the real shit he eats. I’ll make my own pizza, put it in these boxes, and tell him I bought it at the diner. I’ll bet you whatever you want that he won’t notice the difference.”
“Yo, ladies,” came a voice from behind them. It was Sara, Mike’s youngest sister. “I was looking for you. I have an emergency.”
Annie frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“The kickboxing class has been rescheduled to tomorrow, and today, we won’t have enough volunteers for our self-defense class. Mike can’t come to the gym today, so I’m in charge. Do you know of any Good Samaritans who’d agree to play assailants and be kicked in the gonads?”
Rachel smirked. “I’ll bring you three.”
She left the girls talking and drove to the garage. First the honey. She handed the coffees to XL, Ash, and Monti. Then the vinegar. “You’re supposed to do what I tell you to, right?” The guys assented. “Follow me.”
“That was a violation of our human rights, I’ll tell you,” XL complained the second Adrian picked up the phone.
“Pure torture!” That was Ash, screaming from the background.
Adrian laughed. He’d heard the guys had been drafted to help with the self-defense class the other day. “How bad was it?”
“It?” XL asked suspiciously. “You know what we’re talking about, right? Were you in on it?”
“I was working. Rachel told me afterward.” With a message that said something like she’d lent his disciples to the gym. “So, how bad was it?” he repeated, as he pushed open the door of the bowling alley, whose owner had called about some vandalism in the parking lot.
Inside, it was all dark. Flashes of neon colors blinded him for a second, catching him off guard, until he remembered they were having glow bowling day.
A loud snort took him out of his reverie. “Bad doesn’t begin to describe it,” Monti interjected. It sounded like the kids had the phone on speaker.
“We spent an hour and a half being kicked in the balls, getting our arms twisted and our knees jabbed,” XL explained. “Body protection only goes so far.”
“Damn right, Sheriff,” Ash said. “If my family jewels don’t recuperate, I’ll hold you responsible.”
“You should have tightened your groin cup,” Monti told him.
“And the girls?” Adrian was sure having Bottoms Up’s beauties all over them had been a ginormous plus for the horny teenagers.
He heard a collective snort this time. “What girls, man?” XL let out. “They were all grandmas.”
Adrian stopped dead in his tracks. “Don’t tell me you were drafted to help with the senior self-defense class.”
“Yes,” XL confirmed. “An hour and a half of not only being kicked by grannies, but also fondled. That’s called sexual harassment. You know how difficult it was to stop their advances? Fucking impossible.”
Adrian was trying to contain his laughter, but he was failing miserably.
“I think they even took pictures,” Monti added.
Adrian reached for his phone and checked Alden’s Facebook page. There they were, right after his own picture dressed like a stop sign.
“I’m sure they aren’t so bad,” he shamelessly lied. If anyone from the guys’ old crew in Boston ever saw those pics, their street cred would go to hell. Adrian’s too. “What about the next self-defense class? Didn’t you stay for that one? The women there are gorgeous.”
XL let out a dry bark. “For that class there was a line of volunteers that reached the front door. Grease Barbie is abusing her authority. She can’t lend us out at will, can she?”
“Complain to the judge if you don’t like her methods. Ask him to send you to another garage.”
XL and the other two harrumphed but kept quiet, as he knew they would. Adrian had seen them with Rachel in the shop; the three of them were having the time of their lives. No way would they risk the judge taking them away from their Grease Barbie.
“Guys, I’m working. See you next Monday at the garage? We can talk more then.”
They complained a bit more but finally hung up. Such crybabies.
With his eyesight now adjusted to the flashes of bright neon colors , Adrian went to the counter and waited for the owner. He turned around to check out a loud group on lane nine. Wasn’t that… fuck, yeah, it was Rachel and the OGs. They were all wearing the same retro red velour tracksuits, bedazzled, which clashed horribly with Greta’s turban and whatever shit she had hanging from her neck. They didn’t seem to mind; they were all laughing, their faces sporting dashes of neon paint. Rachel also had on that tacky bowling uniform. Not a single one of his former girlfriends would have been caught dead with those clothes on. Or playing with their grandmothers.