“Boy, I don’t know what brought on this tantrum,” he nods to the broom leaning against the wall, “but you have until noon to unfuck yourself and get it back together. Understand?”
Fuck you, old man. Screw this. Go to hell. I swallow it all back. If Merle kicks me out of here, what will I have? No fighting, no work outs, no cars? I’ll go fucking guano. “Yes, sir,” I grind out. “Sorry, sir.”
I walk over and grab the broom, stepping over the tools scattered all over the floor. Merle steps out of my way and heads into his office, muttering about me the whole way.
Before starting, I take one last look at the Mustang and wonder exactly what it is about this girl, her mere presence, that apparently brings out the worst in me. I know one thing for sure—if I’m going for self-preservation, the only thing I can do is stay the hell away from her.
I hang the last tool on the peg board just as the clock over the office door rolls to noon. Merle has spent the last hour checking out the Mustang. Jotting notes on a clipboard and shaking his head. It’s pretty obvious that whatever needs to be done to the car, it’s extensive. Unsurprisingly. I don’t know much about the girl, but she’s from the Briar Cliffs. She drives a car like this because she has to, not because she wants to.
“How bad is it?” I ask when he slams the hood.
He gives me a look that says my outburst has been forgiven, but not forgotten. “Aside from the body work, the transmission barely qualifies to be called one, and the engine needs a complete rebuild. But, excluding those, I can probably get it running for about a grand.” He walks toward the office, head shaking. “You ready to tell me what happened this morning?”
I shake my head. “I promise, it won’t happen again.”
A car pulls into the parking lot, and we both look out the open garage bay door. I recognize the car immediately as Georgia’s. What surprises me is who climbs out of the passenger seat.
The hazel-eyed girl.
Motherfucker.
I glower as I watch her raise a hand, shielding her eyes from the sun. “I’m going to go unpack those boxes in the storeroom that came in yesterday.”
Merle’s eyebrow raises. “You’re what?”
I don’t answer, just stalk into the back. The storeroom has a glass window with closed blinds. I stand in the dark and peer through the slat. The girl walks into the garage, eyes darting around, and from the tense set of her face, it’s obvious that she’s looking, bracing, for me. Her shoulders ease when I don’t turn up.
I take a moment to get a proper look at her. When I first saw her in the garage, I’d been interested. She’s got a nice, small, compact body, but her demeanor is so fucking big, you could almost miss it. Narrow waist, big eyes. Full lips, set in a scowl. Smooth-looking, porcelain skin, contrasted with her dark hair, blowing chaotically in a passing breeze, fluttering around her like an ink cloud. Her chin is always up, those hazel eyes staring down her nose at everything. She looks exactly like the kind of girl you’d expect to threaten to cut your balls off.
The good thing is that she doesn’t seem to want to see me again either. The bad news is that, if she’s riding around with Georgia, there’s no way she isn’t a student at Preston Prep. And like, how the hell did she even pull that off?
“Well?” I hear her ask, her arms wrapped around her middle like a shield. It’s an insecure gesture, but her face is full of severity. “Can you fix it?”
“Oh, I can fix anything,” Merle says, “but with a car like that, it’s going to cost. Finding parts isn’t easy, and it’s pretty clear there hasn’t been regular maintenance on it.” Merle starts listing off the vehicle’s problems, running down a pretty broad list. With each word her jaw tightens and that look of exhaustion in her eyes grows. “It won’t be road-ready for less than a thousand.”
“Shit,” she mutters, rubbing her forehead. “Fucking shit!”
“I knocked off a few of the bigger projects—the things that can hold off for a bit.” He looks at her sympathetically. “Do you have a dad I can talk to? A parent?”
One of her cheeks lifts with an incredulous lip-curl. “The car is my responsibility.” She plants a hand on each hip, thinking. “Look, I have some of the money. Well, most of it. But I’m going to need a little time to get the rest. Do you have a payment plan?”
I listen as Merle explains that he doesn’t work like that. This garage runs on cash or credit alone. It’s pretty clear, as I predicted, that she doesn’t have access to either. The defeat in her expression doesn’t match the tough exterior. The combat boots and torn jeans are a staple among the Briar Cliff girls for a reason. They’re not the soft, pampered type like Preston kids. They work because they have to. But this chick stands like she’s bracing for a hit, feet always planted in a wide stance.
It makes me uncomfortable. This girl has the look of someone who’s used to getting piled on, and despite our grab-bag of differences, that’s something I can relate to. I idly wonder if it’d make her feel better, knowing that karma’s already shanked me in the back.
From my hiding spot, I watch her tell Merle she’ll figure out by tomorrow how to get the car off the property. A moment later, her and Georgia peel out of the parking lot.
When I’m sure they’re gone, I slink back out of the supply room and approach the Mustang. It’s ugly and beat to hell, but in a weird way, that’s almost its best feature. This lady was a sweet-ass ride back in her day, but no doubt about it, she’s seen some real shit. This isn’t some fancy little show-car. This girl has lived. I unlatch the hood and lift it up, assessing the engine.
“Close the hood, Bass. I need to take it off the lift and put it out back. She says she’s coming back tomorrow, but we’ll see.” I let go of the hood and it slams shut, sending a shiver of rust to the ground. He echoes my thoughts, “It’s too bad. Was probably a real beauty back in the day.”
I nod in agreement and stare pensively at the car. Something twisted and complex squirms inside me at the thought of her rotting away in some junk yard.
“What if—” I start, then stop. I take a breath, both aching to commit and all at once wary of doing so. “What if I work on it. For free.”
He looks at me like I just offered to stick my dick into an electrical outlet. “Why the heck would you do that?”
Because I’m bored. Because Jasmine is out of flaws to silence this black, sick thing roiling inside of me. Because I can’t stand the thought of casting aside something so broken and sad. Because it has a brave little toaster smile. Because the girl who owns this car sort of resembles it.
I answer, “I’m renting the bay, so I’ll put it there. My car is in good shape. I could use a new project.”
Merle gives me a curious glance. “You got a crush on this girl or something?”
“No,” I say firmly, then give him a patented Wilcox grin. “You think she looks like my type?”
“I think a dumbass like you would be lucky for a girl like that to give you a second glance.” He throws up his hands. “You rent the bay, you can do whatever you want to with it.”