Say When

by Tara West

  “Hey, what are you doing here?” Karri asks the greaseball with perhaps too much forced shock.

  He scrunches his brow and rubs his shaggy beard, looking momentarily disoriented. “What do you mean?” he slurs as spittle flies off his tongue and smears Karri’s half-open window. I can tell he’s probably already had a six pack by himself. “You sent me a text.”

  Greaseball number two sidles up to the window. “Anyone hungry?” he asks. He’s got a shaved head and I suspect his tattoos outnumber his IQ two to one. He’s carrying a pizza box, tipping it on one side as he leans into his friend. I can hear the contents of the box slosh around, and I realize there’s probably only a few slices left.

  Karri smiles real wide as she leans over and nudges me. “Robbie and Ben, this is my friend Christina.”

  They both smile, and I’m pretty sure I can see strings of drool hanging from their bottom lips.

  “Karri,” I growl under my breath. “This is so not cool.”

  “Just a minute, guys,” Karri says to them as she rolls up her window.

  Their faces fall as they glare at us, making them look like a couple of rabid wolves getting ready to make a kill.

  “Would you just relax?” She groans. “Robbie has got a freaking huge schlong.” Her eyes widen as she holds both hands far apart, and I’m reminded of those fishermen who used to come into my dad’s dealership and exaggerate their records.

  “Omigod! How do you know this?” Stupid me, asking that question when I already know Karri’s probably fucked them both already. I’m suddenly thinking texting Karri to save me from Jackson wasn’t such a good idea. I watch the two beasts steam up the window as they pant like bulls getting ready to charge, and I think maybe I’d prefer Jackson and his farty Chinese food breath to these guys.

  Karri waggles her eyebrows, licking her lips. “Tell you what, since it’s your birthday, I’ll let you have Robbie.”

  I shake my head, crossing my arms. I don’t feel like celebrating anymore and am ready to ask her to take me home. “You’ve slept with him and now you want me to have sex with him?”

  “It was just casual sex.” She shrugs. “It’s your special night. You deserve a guy who doesn’t have the anatomy of a Ken doll.”

  I’m so angry, I’m seeing red. “You know what, Karri, just take me home.”

  “Hell no, I’m not taking you home!” she screeches and then gives me the once over.

  “Fine, I’ll call a sorority sister.” I slip my phone from my purse.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Karri snatches my phone. “I saw you give Jackson the ring. You’re single now. Live a little.”

  My nerves are rattled and I hug my chest tight just to still my shaking hands. I want to close my eyes and count to ten in an attempt to calm down, but I’m afraid to let my guard down for one second with those two horny hounds panting on the other side of the car door.

  “Screwing drunk, greasy guys isn’t my idea of living.”

  I narrow my eyes and get a good long look at the girl I’ve been calling my best friend for the past fourteen years. I see the dark circles under her eyes, her once vibrant complexion beneath a smattering of red freckles now pale and worn. The longer I stare at her, the more her upper lip twitches. If I confront her, she’ll try to blame her current condition on baby Ty, but I know better. Karri is back on drugs. Why the hell am I still her friend?

  “Fine. We’ll go dancing,” she says, pouting. She nods to the creeps still hovering outside. “They are not going to be happy with me.”

  “I’m sure you’ll make it up to them later,” I say while rolling my eyes.

  She rolls down her window and tells them we have to go. They’re swearing and punching the air. I squeeze my fists tight as a tendril of fear coils around my neck and snakes down my spine. Karri does the smart thing for once and puts the car in drive, despite nearly running over greasy guys’ feet. They’re still swearing when we pull out of the parking lot. She mumbles something about needing to change her baby puke shirt, but, thankfully, she doesn’t turn the car around.

  Even though I end up getting my way this time, I realize Karri is the wrong friend for me. I’ve been foolish to cling to the memories we shared as kids, when we are clearly two different people now. I’ve been putting up with so much crap from so many people for so long. Maybe I shouldn’t stop with Jackson. Maybe it’s time to eliminate more people from my life.

  Chapter Three

  “Karri, something’s wrong with your car.” I peer over her dashboard, squinting against the light from the beams of oncoming traffic. Vapors rise from her hood, first a light grey, then white. This is so not good.

  Karri leans forward, makes a face and then shrugs. “It’s humid outside.”

  Could she really be that stupid? “No, it’s smoking.” I point to a nearby gas station. “Pull over.”

  As she’s pulling in, I sink in my seat and curse myself for listening to my mom and wearing a skimpy-skirt and fuck-me-pumps. This is not the best side of town to be dressed like a whore. I’m fairly certain most girls dressed like me are charging by the hour.

  We park next to an empty pump beneath the glare of the overhead lights. The smoke gets thicker and it’s starting to smell up the cab. I don’t know a whole hell of a lot about cars, but I fear her engine’s blown.

  She grasps her cropped hair by the roots as her mouth hangs open. “Shit. What happened?”

  I lean over and peer at her dash. Two alarm bells go off in my head. First, her oil level gage is on empty, and second, her check engine light is glowing red. Crap. “When was the last time you got an oil change?”

  “Um, never.” She rolls her eyes. “I can’t afford a mechanic.”

  I’m sure she’s had the money to get her car serviced, but spent it on drugs or beer instead. I glare at her, shaking my head. “You’ve had this car like two years.”

  She waves me off with a flick of the wrist. “Robbie looked at my car last week and said it was fine.”

  Karri probably exchanged a blow job for second rate car service. I realize that not only is my friend a slut, she’s a stupid slut. This doesn’t sit right with me, and I think again that maybe I should reconsider this whole friendship.

  “You’ve probably blown the engine,” I grumble as I slip my phone from my little purse. “I’m calling a tow truck.”

  “No, you’re not,” she says, snatching my phone before I can dial. “I can’t afford it.” She sets my phone aside and pulls her cell out of her pocket, punching a name from the top of her history. “I’m calling Robbie.”

  Oh, how nice. Karri has her druggie friend on speed dial.

  I turn up my chin before snatching back my phone. “I’m not riding with him. I’ll have Grace pick me up.”

  Karri makes a face as she holds the cell to her ear. “That stupid sorority bitch?”

  “She’s always nice to you,” I say, irritated by Karri’s jealousy. “She bought Ty a high chair.”

  “I don’t need her charity.” Karri turns and mumbles something into the phone. I’m assuming greasy guy has answered her call for help.

  I fire off a text to Grace and she answers me right away. Luckily, she’s down the block at Dylan’s Rodeo Dancehall. She says she’ll be by to pick me up in ten minutes. Good thing because the toxic smell in the car is getting worse. Bad neighborhood or not, I can’t sit in the Sentra another second longer.

  I get out and inhale deeply. Luckily, the misting rain has stopped, even though the warm air is thick with moisture. I walk toward the entrance to the station. Neon lights flash through the window, advertising cigarettes and soda. I scan the pumping stations and the darkened parking lot and repress the urge to shiver as a few men standing around the store gawk at me. One guy has the nerve to whistle. Knowing he’ll head toward me if I make eye contact, I look away and quicken my pace.

  My gaze tunnels on the door to the store. I’m almost inside where I can wait for my ride, in what I hope to be a somewhat
safe environment. I’m moving so quickly now, I practically barrel into the guy coming out the door.

  I gasp and step aside, nearly colliding with his broad chest. “Excuse me.”

  I don’t know what force of nature compels me to break my “no eye contact” rule. Maybe it is his heady musk, or the warmth radiating off his frame, but when I look into his eyes, I swear I nearly wet my pants. The guy is gorgeous. Warm chocolate eyes, thick lashes, flawless tanned skin, marred only by the slightest bit of stubble on his square jaw. Black hair cut short frames his angular face. And that mouth, so full and sensual, my traitorous lips part as if compelled to kiss him.

  When he looks down at me and smiles, I know I’m done for. My knees weaken and the heat rushes through me and spreads like wildfire. Damn me for acting the love-struck fool and smiling back.

  His sensual lips part and I think, Oh, gawd, this is it. You’re about to totally violate your anti-slut protocol and make out with this random stranger. I don’t even have the strength to tell myself I’m acting like an idiot.

  He leans toward me, and before he gets the chance to kiss me, he points to something just beyond my shoulder. “Do you girls need help?”

  His deep, rich voice startles me, but not as much as the fact that I was about to kiss a total stranger—a stranger who’s obviously not interested in kissing me back.

  I turn toward Karri. She’s slumped against the driver’s side door and sobbing into her hands. Well, don’t I feel like the total bitch?

  My sexy Latin stud brushes past me, the click of his cowboy boots ringing across the pavement as he walks toward Karri. He’s a soldier. I can tell by his rigid, uniform stride, although his cropped hair should have given it away. Karri’s brother is in the Marines, and he’s got a similar stiffness in his gait. I follow this guy, even though my legs are almost useless, weakened by my stupid crazy hormones.

  “Uh, oh,” he says as he circles the car.

  It’s still smoking, and I worry maybe Karri should back away, even though I’m pretty sure cars only blow up in the movies.

  Karri looks at him through wide, watery eyes, and something flashes in her gaze. Oh, yeah, her slut sonar must be on high alert. I can’t say I blame her. His physique is just as impressive from the rear. His jeans mold to that ass perfectly, and even through his striped linen shirt, I can see the outline of a man in prime condition.

  Karri wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “My stupid car broke down.” She pouts and bats her lashes while thrusting out her generous cleavage.

  “It’s not the car that’s stupid,” I say before I have the chance to stop myself. I slap my hand over my mouth. What the heck is wrong with me? But as I watch my friend slant me a dirty look and then turn a big smile on the stud, I know exactly what’s wrong. I’m being territorial over a guy, which is weird, because I’ve never been that way before, not even over Jackson. And for some odd reason, money grubbing hos are always throwing themselves at him.

  “Mind if I take a look?” Stud muffin asks, but he’s already inside the car popping the lever. Smoke pours from the engine when he lifts the hood.

  I take several steps back because the fumes are unbearable. Karri screeches and stomps a foot. He surveys the damage, and when he frowns, the tendons in his neck flex beneath his stiff shirt collar. Damn. I imagine the muscles beneath that shirt are even tighter. Double damn.

  I cross one leg over the other, balancing awkwardly as I try to quell my raging hormones—that is how hot and bothered I am over a guy. I have the sudden wild notion that fucking some random stranger on my birthday might not be such a bad idea.

  Passers-by stop and gawk at Karri’s smoking wreck. I steal a sideways glance at a few of the men who filter into the gas station parking lot. I then regret my decision, as it seems some of them are staring at me and not the car. Judging by their unkempt clothes and hair, they are either transients, drug-dealers, or both. I curse myself for not stuffing my little can of mace in my purse. If I had known I was going to walk out on Jackson and end up in the slums, I would have. I guess I figured Jackson’s breath was deterrent enough for any would-be muggers.

  Some of the smoke clears and the stud has rolled up his sleeves. He’s got this look on his face like a doctor prepping for open-heart surgery. His eyes are dark and intense, his spine and shoulders stiff, which is a stark contrast to me, considering my whole body feels like a bowl of jelly. I wonder if he’s got a girlfriend, which is stupid, because I just got out of a serious relationship an hour ago. I’m pretty sure there’s supposed to be some sort of cooling off period before I jump the bones of the nearest sexy cowboy.

  “What’s your name?” Karri asks, sidling up to him. Her eyes are roaming the length of his hard body, and I can tell she’s clearly not interested in the outcome of her car.

  “Andrés, miss,” he says as he nods and holds out a hand. He pulls his hand back when he notices it’s covered in grease. “Sorry,” he murmurs before grabbing a few paper towels from the dispenser above the gas pump.

  While Andrés is busy cleaning his hands, Karri turns to me with a wink before she yanks down her tank top so her boobs are practically spilling onto the asphalt.

  This pisses me off. Strength returns to my wobbly legs as I stiffen my shoulders and march up to her. I shoot her a look that I know would melt steel, a look that says, I saw him first! To my surprise, she actually pulls her tank top back up, flashing a sheepish grin.

  “I guess since it’s your birthday,” she mumbles.

  “Hey, Andrés,” she calls to the stud in a sing song voice. “You know anything about cars?”

  He smirks as he wads up the paper towel and throws it in a nearby trashcan. “I’m a mechanic.”

  And just like that, a balloon pops in my chest and my raging hormones fizzle. A mechanic? What would my mother do if I told her I dumped Jackson for a mechanic? She’d probably disown me, that’s what.

  I guess it doesn’t matter, I tell myself, since Andrés isn’t showing any interest in me, anyway. He’s scowling at Karri’s steaming hunk of metal. When he looks back at Karri, I see the pity in his gaze. I think of a surgeon who is about to tell a family he failed to save their loved one.

  “What is it?” she asks. Her shoulders slump and she’s no longer smiling.

  “It’s your engine,” he says in a grim voice.

  “Oh, shit!” Her hands fly to her mouth and her eyes widen. “Is that bad?”

  I want to slap my forehead, but I hold still. I don’t need to state the obvious that Karri is an idiot when she does a good enough job of it on her own.

  He looks at her for a second like maybe she’s joking, but when Karri gives no sign to indicate she isn’t a total moron, he grimaces. “Yeah.” Then he motions toward the darkened street behind us. “I work at a shop down the road. If you want, I can call a tow truck and look at it there.”

  “No, thanks.” Karri vehemently shakes her head. “I can’t afford a mechanic.”

  “Karri,” I say, “Robbie is not going to fix this.”

  She scowls and waves me off. “Just go wait for your friend. And have a happy birthday, Christina.” I can tell by the tone of her voice, what she really means is, “eat shit and die, bitch.”

  I march back toward the convenience store. I don’t need Karri’s attitude. I get enough from Jackson and my mother. Dammit, it’s my twenty-first freaking birthday! Tonight is supposed to be one of the most fun and memorable nights of my life. But it’s not fun. It’s not memorable. It blows big time. I’m zero for two right now. Maybe I should ask Grace to take me home and call it a night. I don’t think I can handle any more drama.

  * * *

  Andrés tries hard not to stare at the oddball girl named Karri as she yells at her boyfriend through her cell phone. Based on bits of their conversation, she hasn’t changed the oil in the car in over two years, and the boyfriend has failed to take care of it as well.

  He eyes Karri while he waits by the gas pump. She has several b
ruises down her arms, a huge stain on her skimpy tank top, wild pink spiked hair, and an even wilder look in her eyes. Her voice has a slight rasp to it, and she walks with jerky movements. Andrés has a hunch that the reason she couldn’t afford a mechanic was because whatever money she had was most likely used to buy drugs.

  He thought of the user’s petite friend, Christina, who’d stormed into the gas station to wait for her ride. Andrés wonders what brought two completely opposite girls together. Christina doesn’t strike him as a druggie, at least he hopes not. He’s been wrong about girls before, but Christina seems different than the others. For one thing, she’s been wounded, and though she tries to hide her pain, he can read the traces of fear and doubt in those pretty green eyes and beneath the mask of her frozen smile. Andrés has spent enough time with wounded vets, both physically and mentally, to spot the signs of emotional trauma. Though she carries herself with her chin held high, she trembles when she speaks, and she can’t seem to maintain eye contact. Andrés is pretty sure Christina has been a victim of abuse.

  Just the thought of anyone hurting her fills him with rage. Andrés shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. She’s just another girl. You’ve been gone too long and you just need to get laid.

  But Andrés knows he’s lying to himself. There’s something different about Christina, and though that little voice in his head warns him he isn’t ready for anything more than a one night stand, his feet propel him toward the convenience store. He is determined to find out more about her.

  * * *

  I storm inside the store, nearly tripping over the threshold in these stupid heels. The clerk sits behind the counter on a low stool. His stomach bubbles over his belt like it’s made out of pudding, folding over on itself several times, until reaching his man-boobs, which I’m pretty sure are two cup sizes bigger than mine. He glances over the top of his comic book just long enough to scowl at me.