Why, oh why was the damn universe against him?
“Yo, guys, whatcha doing?” Max Bowen walked to them, already dressed for his kickboxing class.
Grinning, Mike pointed at Adrian. “He had Pedestrian Safety Education Day at school this morning with the OGs.”
“And what went wrong?” Max asked. “Did they forget when not to cross the street?”
Mike and Adrian shook their heads.
“Did they arrive to school under the influence? Some of the pills they take leave them a bit out of it.”
Adrian would have preferred that a thousand times over. He would have arrested them and thrown away the key. Easy. Until Rachel came to raise hell, of course.
“They made costumes. They were dressed like a traffic light, one color for each grandma. And they made a stop sign for Adrian to wear,” Mike explained, attempting unsuccessfully to contain his laughter.
Max didn’t even try. “Oh, God. Did anyone get a picture?”
“It’s on Alden’s Facebook page.”
Adrian was going to get that account shut down. He still hadn’t figured out how to achieve that, but by God, he would. Oh, and he was going to have a talk with his dispatcher, Holly, because he had the feeling she was behind the offending pic.
Max took out his cell, did some tapping, and voilà, the bastard was laughing his ass off. “How did you agree to wear that shit?”
Adrian scowled. “Have you ever tried to tell them no?” They’d steamrolled over him with their innocent smiles, harassing and bossing him, and before he realized it, he’d had that shit on and looked like… he wasn’t sure what. Like a moron.
“Wilma is your neighbor,” Adrian reminded Max. Then he turned to Mike. “And Rebecca is your grandmother. Couldn’t either one of you have given me a heads-up?”
Both Max and Mike lifted their hands. “Sorry, man,” Mike said. “Too busy with Kyra and Sam. Besides, I thought they were getting ready for Halloween.”
Sure, because they weren’t in early spring, with Halloween months and months away. Adrian looked at Max.
“Too busy with Annie and the baby,” he explained. “Don’t have as much free time to control Wilma as I did before.”
“Yeah, yeah. Excuses, the both of you.” Although, in their defense, his friends definitely had their plates full. Not that they were complaining, mind you. They were happy, in love, and had big, sappy smiles plastered on their faces 24/7.
“Maybe you should have arrested them again,” Max offered, “for making a mockery of authority.”
Right. So they’d get more hours of community service. No, thank you.
“Wrong,” Mike interjected. “You shouldn’t have arrested them in the first place. At the very least not Rachel. She’s a sweetheart.”
A sweetheart? Maybe to everyone else, but not to Adrian.
The only positive note during the last week had been that he hadn’t seen Rachel. She always put him in a foul mood. She was loud and belligerent and aggravated the living shit out of him. He loved his women meek and agreeable, and definitely not smelling of gasoline. Or louder than him. Even when she was apologizing and cajoling, there was a hint of arrogance on her face, silently screaming she was right, which only pissed him off more.
“Going to be late.” With a salute, Max headed for his class.
They walked to the bag and Mike held it from behind as Adrian started punching it.
“Wow, easy, man,” Mike said after a while.
Easy, his ass. He had some shit to work out of his system.
“You can’t be this pissed over the OGs and their stunt. They’ve done worse things,” Mike said, frowning. “And you ought to admit they’re ingenious. No kid in Alden will ever forget their safety education class today.”
That was absolutely true.
“I passed by my granddad’s after I finished my shift,” Adrian grunted. “Big mistake.” A perfect end for a perfect day.
Mike went for politically correct. “There’s no family without its fair share of discussions.”
Discussions being the key word. In Adrian’s case, it was more like open war. And Mike’s dad wasn’t a resentful bastard or a patronizing ex-drunk.
“What was it this time?” Mike asked.
“Same old shit,” Adrian admitted. “He pushes my buttons like you wouldn’t believe.” He was very restrained and didn’t let anything or anybody rile him, except for the man who had raised him. When it came to his granddad, he was still sixteen and pissed at the old man’s abusive and authoritarian ways. Yes, the old man had stopped drinking, and yes, he’d been a model citizen for the last fifteen years after relocating to Alden. Still, in Adrian’s mind, nothing had changed.
He should never have moved to Alden after the old man had a stroke. A pity his conscience wouldn’t let him do otherwise.
They trained in silence until Max’s kickboxing class ended and Mike had to go to his self-defense class.
After a few minutes, Max hollered to Adrian, “Sorry, man, you’re drafted.” Max all but pushed him into the practice room. “They’re short on assailants in the self-defense class. Everyone from my class is there, but we’re still missing one. You’re it.”
“But—”
“No buts,” Max cut in. “Let me remind you that this isn’t the class for senior citizens. Many of the women from Bottoms Up are here. You might meet the love of your life while being pounded to the floor.”
That was true. Not that he was that interested in finding the love of his life, but getting pummeled could cool him off. And Bottoms Up, a strip club on the outskirts of Alden, was famous for its beauties. Being manhandled by an ivory, delicate goddess was ten times better than being pounded by a 250-pound man.
When they entered the practice room, it was already full of gorgeous women. They were all paired with morons sporting very pleased smiles. Then he looked at the only woman without a partner.
“Fuck my life,” he muttered.
It was Rachel. No delicate goddess for him.
She didn’t seem too happy either.
Her community service with the juvenile delinquents he was trying to rehabilitate wouldn’t start until tomorrow. Which meant she hadn’t met the punks yet.
Good, he might survive this.
“Are you sure you don’t want us to stay?” Rico asked, eyeing the three thugs who had come for their court-ordered car repair classes.
Rachel ushered him and Julian away. “Go. Everything is under control.”
The day had been damn long, and her crew deserved the rest. Besides, she was the one saddled with community service and the thugs, not her employees.
“Call if you need anything,” Julian added. “We’ll be here in a flash.” He gave the punks a stern look on his way out. They didn’t even flinch.
“Will do.”
They were just teenagers, between fifteen and seventeen years old. She could handle them. They called themselves Ash, Monti, and XL. Please. More like Ashton, Montgomery and… well, XL’s real name wasn’t in the files she’d been sent. Axel? They had tattoos peeking out of their sleeves and their T-shirt collars. Their hair was cut short, especially on the sides, where they sported some weird patterns done with the razor. Ash had a bandanna on his forehead, XL wore sunglasses, and Monti was chewing gum—or tobacco, she wasn’t sure. They were leaning on the hood of a car, their heads tilted, their arms crossed, giving attitude. Snickering. Man, they were just missing the gold chains; otherwise they’d look like they were going to film a rap video.