Rachel was giggling, her body shaking, the knot of hair on the back of her head threatening to unravel at any second. “I may have a tiny bitty piece of bad news,” she said after her laughter had quieted down.
“Hit me.” He was high on sugar; he could take it.
“The OGs might have heard about what a bucket list is, and they might start going through theirs.”
That was the mother of all bad news, not “tiny bitty” at all. “Who the fuck gave them that glorious idea?”
“Mike.” She grimaced, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ears. “It wasn’t intentional, though. I might have also mentioned it. But we were reprimanding them, not encouraging them,” she hurried to explain.
“So we’re basically both in shit,” he muttered. “And Mike too.” Who was in charge of putting out fires.
“Basically.”
“We should join forces. Truce?” he asked, offering her his hand.
She cocked her head and studied him, as if not sure whether to believe him. “Truce, but if shit hits the fan, I will be on their side.”
They just had to hope shit didn’t hit the fan, then.
“Yesss!” they heard someone yelling. The guys had their hands up and were all smiles. The engine had turned over.
Rachel clapped. “Bravo, gentlemen. Now let’s see if we can get it running.”
She jumped off the table, approached, and gave some instructions to the boys, who nodded and got right to it. Ash, head under the hood, hollered at her. He had a wrench and was fiddling with some tube. The coolant hose? Adrian wasn’t sure. Rachel was leaning in by Ash’s side, pointing at the motor, when suddenly some liquid sprayed on them. They both moved out of the way as fast as they could, sputtering.
“Plug the hose back in,” she ordered, averting her head. Ash managed to stop the leak, but not before getting nicely doused. “You didn’t swallow, right? Your eyes okay?” she asked, going to the paper towel dispenser and bringing enough for the both of them. Ash was shaking his head. “Good. This shit is toxic.”
She walked to the table and sat beside Adrian, drying her face. Yep, coolant. “This stench is going to stick around for a long time. No way to disguise it.”
Her hair had gotten wet; her wifebeater too. And she was smiling from ear to ear.
Her cell beeped. She snorted as she read the message. “And I have a date in two days. Yippee.”
Adrian looked at her from the corner of his eye. Her face, neck, and arms had smudges of grease; her nails were black underneath; and her hands were full of cuts and scratches, probably from working with engines and heavy tools. She smelled strongly of gasoline. Oh, and she might have been painting some cars, because she had splotches of metallic blue on her face and hands. The coolant shower was just one of many issues.
And yet she looked strangely compelling. Cute, in her own unkempt, goofy sort of way. The lips might have had something to do with all that too.
Shaking those thoughts away, he concentrated on her words. Had she said in two days? “Is your date in Boston?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I have to drive up in two days after my shift ends in the afternoon. When are you meeting this guy?”
She looked at her cell. “At seven.”
He leaned into her. “Did he send you a dick pic beforehand?”
She laughed. “I don’t go on dates with those guys.” Then she winked. “Never mind how favorable the pic is. Some of them are very impressive.”
“Photoshop,” he replied with a scoff.
“The OGs said that too.”
He closed his eyes, amused, unable to believe they were talking about photoshopping dicks. Or showing them to octogenarians to get a second opinion. “Anyway, I can drive you,” he offered, not really sure why. Carpooling was important for the planet, sure, but still.
She pondered for a second. “I think I’ll take you up on your offer. If I don’t drive, I’ll be able to drink. Dealing with these dates sober is damn hard.” She looked at the kids, then at the clock on the wall. “Guys, we have ten minutes before the pizzas I ordered get here. How are we doing?”
Apparently, they were doing rather well, because after some instructions, the punks got the car to start. They were filthy and sweaty and happier than Adrian had ever seen them. Rachel congratulated them with high fives, going on tiptoes to reach their hands.
Jade would never have touched those kids, not even with a ten-foot pole. Getting sprayed with coolant because of them, her hair and clothes and makeup ruined? No fucking way. She would have thrown a hissy fit and sued them for compensation, at the very least.
“Get yourselves clean,” Rachel ordered, pointing at the locker room. “We’ll be in the office.”
While the kids did as she told them, she walked to the sink and washed her hands and forearms, scrubbing vigorously with some industrial-looking hand cleaner, then with turpentine for the paint. “This job is murder on the skin,” she explained jokingly as she stripped down to sweatpants and a wifebeater and threw the coveralls into a bin with other clothes.
“How did you get into car repair?” It seemed like an odd option for a petite blond like her.
“My dad. I didn’t get to see him much after the divorce, but he’s the one responsible for the current state of my hands,” she said with a smile.
“Where’s your dad now?”
“He died when I was a teenager.”
“Sorry.”
Her smile was still sweet as she waved in dismissal. “Don’t sweat it. It was a long time ago. Anyhow, I realized I was kickass with cars, so I decided to make a living off my passion. I’m in my Zen zone when I’m working with engines, despite the drawbacks.”
At that moment, the pizza guy came with the food and a couple of big bottles of soda. She ran to the office and came back with her wallet, but by then, Adrian had taken care of the bill. “It was my treat,” she complained as they walked into the office with the bounty.
“Community service doesn’t include paying for supper, Grease Barbie.”
“True. Still. Next time is on me.”
“Sure.”
He’d never been inside her office, but he was stunned when she left the pizzas in a room full of busty centerfolds. He glanced around.
“This is the break room for the guys. My office is there at the end, the one with the Hello Kitty stuff.”
Right. Neither of those decors suited her in the least.
The boys loved the break room, though. As soon as they came in, they whistled at the posters on the walls.
“We should have the theory classes here,” Monti suggested.
“There are no theory classes,” she said, opening the pizza boxes. “Dig in. The sheriff’s treat.”
They seemed disappointed about the lack of theory classes for just a second. Until they sat around the table and began eating and talking about the car they’d gotten started and the mishaps they’d had on the way. Rachel was one of them, laughing and commenting too.
“You got any beers?” XL asked, looking around.
“Ha. Think again, buddy,” she admonished him, pouring some soda.
He grudgingly drank it.
It looked like Rachel had the punks wrapped around her pinkie and his presence wasn’t really needed. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Conflicted, maybe?