“Bossy, your grandmother.”
No shit. “Thanks for bringing Wilma home.”
“No need to thank me. It’s my job.” She doubted that very much but said nothing and smiled. Adrian looked at the lake. “Beautiful view.”
Rachel nodded. Wilma’s Victorian house was on an old part of town’s lakefront. It was like going back in time.
They sat there in silence for a while. It felt so weird to be together without yelling or apologizing. Unnerving.
Rachel cleared her throat. “I saw the picture. The stop sign suits you.”
He chuckled, his blue eyes crinkling. “Ha-ha. You knew, right?”
“You shouldn’t have arrested us.”
“Maybe it wasn’t one of my finest moves,” he acknowledged. “Sorry for saddling you with the street thugs.”
“Nah, it’s okay. They’re nothing I can’t handle.”
“I saw that. Where did you learn to fight?” he asked, sounding intrigued.
“After my parents divorced, my mom and I moved around a lot, but we always ended up in rather unsavory places. Learning to fight was a necessity.” She was a petite blond, an easy target. “Believe me, XL is small potatoes compared to the criminals I grew up with.”
Adrian took a swig of his beer. “Why do you take Mike’s classes? You don’t need them.”
“It’s a way of socializing.” Being stuck in a garage day in and day out didn’t offer many chances to make friends.
He studied her so intensely it made her a bit uncomfortable. She had had very few opportunities to observe the sheriff from up close without him yelling at her. He was handsome in a rugged sort of way, his tanned skin and dark hair contrasting with the light blue of his eyes. He had a scar above his left eye, across his eyebrow, and his nose had been broken and reset several times by the looks of it. She’d heard he’d been a detective in Boston. In South Boston. She knew the neighborhood well.
“He’s a good kid, XL,” he said.
“Sure. A choirboy,” she replied before she could engage her bullshit filter.
Adrian smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “He’s just playing at being tough. I really hope we can get through to him. To the three of them. Soon they’ll be eighteen, and things will get much worse for them if they get arrested. Especially XL.”
Ash and Monti were going to be a piece of cake. XL, not so much. “How did you meet them?”
“I’ve been busting them on and off for years, since I was with the Boston police. They come from shitty backgrounds, especially XL. You know why his name is XL?”
She let out a dry laugh. “He implied it refers to the size of his dick.”
“Right,” Adrian scoffed. “Of course he would. They found him when he was a baby in the plus-size section of a clothing store, in a pile of XL shirts. He’s been very unlucky with foster parents. Many times.”
“He doesn’t seem to be an angel either.”
“That too.” Adrian’s face was dark now. Angry and sad and burdened. “I’m not sure why he made such an impression on me, but he did. We share the same birthday, so maybe that was it.”
“Or maybe you see yourself in him. Did you have a problem with authority figures while growing up too, Sheriff?”
The corner of his mouth lifted up, but he didn’t answer. It looked like the sheriff wasn’t big on talking about himself.
“For what it’s worth, he’s very talented with cars,” she added. “And fucking ingenious. Grease Barbie? I’ve been called many things but never something so original. You have to give him that.”
Adrian chuckled, his face brightening. “I thought you wouldn’t appreciate it.”
She smiled, pleased she could make him relax. “Are you kidding? I’m considering getting my coveralls printed with that on the back. Or changing the name of the garage to Grease Barbie and painting the walls pink. You know: Life in plastic is fantastic,” she sang.
He chuckled some more, looking unburdened. “From now on I’ll attend your classes, just in case.”
“Are you afraid for my safety?” Because he didn’t have to be.
He scoffed. “Please. I’m afraid for the kids’ safety, Grease Barbie.”
Coming from him, that nickname sounded weirdly nice. She shook her head and hurried to leave the half-finished bottle of beer on the floor. Time to stop drinking. She’d started hallucinating and thinking moronities.
“Seriously, thank you for not calling the judge and turning him in,” he continued, his voice soft. His gaze too.
It was the first time he’d ever said thanks to her or smiled at her. He didn’t seem like such an ass after all. Crap. More moronic thoughts.
She cleared her throat. “We’ll be fine.” Guys like XL only respected strength. There would be no more incidents; she was sure of it.
Her cell beeped, and she checked the screen. “Fuck,” she muttered. It was a message from the dating app—from a prospect, as she called them.
“Everything all right?” His sheriff voice was back.
And there it went again, her mouth blurting before she could stop it. “The OGs signed me up to what they thought was a super-duper dating service. Their number-one pastime is to play matchmakers. Well, second only to concocting trouble. They claim they’re responsible for Mike and Kyra getting together, so I’m next.” She couldn’t wait for Connor to come back.
Another beep. The prospect. “Anyhow, the dating service came with an app that notifies me of messages from… candidates?” That sounded better.
He seemed amused. “And how is it going? Any luck?”
She snorted and grabbed the beer from the floor. She was going to need more booze if they were going to talk about her dating life. “You wouldn’t believe the number of dick pics I get on a daily basis.”
Adrian spat out the beer he had in his mouth. “What?”
“The OGs thought this dating service was respectable, but it’s not much more than a hookup app for divorcees and desperate horny guys.”
“Didn’t you tell Wilma?”
“Of course. I even showed her one of the dick pics.”
He looked halfway between horrified and fascinated. “And?”
“She showed it to Rebecca and Greta. The three of them shook their heads and sent a message to the guy that read, ‘You poor, poor man. Chin up. There’s no shame in having a micropenis.’”
Adrian was shaking with laughter.
“You wouldn’t believe the weirdos I’ve met.” They got blindsided by the long blond hair and a decent enough face—until they had her up close and realized her nails were perpetually black with grease, and no perfume in the world could cover the smell of gasoline. Her hands were rougher than those of a truck driver, and her body wasn’t what anyone would consider feminine, with her rather small boobs, her lack of sexy curves, and the extra fifteen pounds. She wasn’t a dainty princess, and she never would be. “Last time the guy was a condescending prick who spent all of supper talking about himself. I was trying to be polite and not walk out on him. Then the asshole went to the bathroom after we ordered dessert, and I’m still waiting for him to return.” Adrian chuckled, shaking his head. “Of course, I had to pay the bill. Can you believe it? No way am I meeting anyone else for dinner. Too risky and too time-consuming. Drinks are more than enough, thank you very much.” And the jerk had had the gall to leave a rating in the dating app, saying, The package was conducive to misunderstandings, and, at close inspection, left much to be desired.