I take her arms in my hands and nudge her away to look her in the eye. “You don’t want to do this. Crazy and wild adventures might be your thing, but I’m not an adventure you want to try out. You’ll just get yourself hurt. I’m a damn nosediving plane, just trying to stay steady and praying I don’t pancake when I hit rock bottom. And fucking the new chick across the street damn sure isn’t gonna make my life any easier.”
I step back, still trying to shake off the effect she’s had on me. My body is crying out, no part of it louder than my cock, which is screaming at me to turn the fuck around and go back. It’s forgotten what a real woman feels like.
I ignore it, using the last little scrap of decency left in me to keep my feet pointing in the right direction. Walking out the door, I hear her behind me. “Bye . . . Evan.”
McKayla
“And so anyway, John was like, I saw this on Netflix when I was thinking the whole time, ‘uh-huh. You’ve just been watching porn again.’ So I turned to him and said if you think I’m gonna put my mouth anywhere near—”
I tune out the chatter, trying desperately not to focus as another one of my customers seems to want to treat a haircut like a chance to engage in some free sex counseling or something. Maybe it’s our image. The cheesecake shot of me on the motorcycle probably doesn’t help, even if it is fucking awesome. But with Brad and me being a little more . . . out there than the average person around here, paired with our natural flirtatious natures, people think we’re sex experts or something.
I wish. Right now, the only thing going through my mind is fuck me running. Or standing, or lying down, or sitting. Or basically any damn way that doesn’t involve the police. Since kissing Evan a few days ago, riding that man to oblivion is all I can think about. Come to think of it, maybe I am a little more sexpert than most because my mind is coming up with some pretty inspired ideas right now. Straddling him as we race down a deserted road probably isn’t the best idea though.
I’ve gotten through the days, seeing customers virtually back-to-back all day. I really haven’t had time to count my lucky stars, but Brad was right last week. We might need to look at hiring another pair of hands around here. Front desk, clean up, even another stylist. I remind myself of that again as Mrs. Alameda in front of me keeps going on about her husband.
While the hustle has helped keep me from going nuts, more than once, Brad has caught me daydreaming as I stare out the window across the street. I haven’t told him why yet, but he’s smart. He knows. He just hasn’t said anything yet, but he knows I like men like Evan. And motorcycles. And bad boys on motorcycles.
Speaking of, I glance up to stare out the window and across the street, straight into his garage. It didn’t take me long to figure out that by putting my clients in the first chair on the left side, I could keep track of the big doors on the shop. And it only took me about five minutes after they opened Monday morning to realize we have a clear shot to see inside as they work on cars. Can I get an amen for beautiful weather?
I finish up with Mrs. Alameda and swipe her card before standing behind the counter and looking out across the street during the ten minutes I’ve got open in my schedule, taking advantage of the free shot I’m getting. And I’ll admit that maybe, just maybe, I’m watching like the pervert I accused Evan of being. But right now, he’s working on a truck, his muscular arms flexing as he turns some sort of wrench while taking the rear tires off. I don’t care if it makes me a pervert or not. My eyes are locked onto him, memorizing every detail.
I hear Brad tsk behind me. “Girl, are you at it again?”
I smile, turning just my head to answer. “Hell to the yes, I am. Hey, I see there’s another guy over there working on a car. Who do you think he is?”
Brad sighs, looking to the heavens as he comes over from his station, probably praying for strength to not wring my neck. He looks out the window for a moment, then shrugs. “Considering your boy told me he owns the shop with his brother, and that guy is a younger, sweeter looking version of your asshole boy toy obsession, I’d lay bets that he’s the brother. I’m brilliant at deduction like that. Just call me Shercock fucking Holmes.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You know I read somewhere that Holmes and Watson probably did the dirty in Arthur Conan Doyle’s private notebooks?”
“It ain’t dirty. Well, not too dirty, unless that’s your kink,” Brad says with a smirk. “So, about your boyfriend—”
I glower at Brad, elbowing him in the side. “He’s not my boyfriend. But he’s damn sure gonna take me for a ride. On that bike or otherwise.”
A timer chimes softly, and I walk back toward my second favorite chair, where I can still get a view of Evan at work, but not as good a view. I’ve got another client in it, chilling out with her earbuds in while a heat activated conditioner soaks into her blonde locks. I pat her shoulder, and she opens an eye, popping out an earbud. “Hey, Rose, your conditioning treatment is done. Ready to wash up?”
Rose sighs, taking out the other earbud, looking disappointed. “Already time? Damn, my audiobook was just getting to the good stuff.”
“Good stuff like good stuff? Well, don’t let me stop you. Just let it play out loud while I rinse your hair and maybe we’ll all enjoy the good stuff for a minute. Lord knows, I’m not getting any otherwise.”
Rose, who’s a little older than me and totally the good girl with a deep-seated naughty streak that will rock some guy’s world some day, laughs, popping the earbud jack out of her tablet to let the audiobook play. “. . . throwing her onto the bed, the pirate captain growls as he rips her bodice clean up the front, leaving her breasts heaving into the chilled air. Diving in, he suckles her nipple, her wanton body writhing in need for the long, hard sword she felt pressing against her through his tight breeches. ‘Please, Captain . . . please . . .’ she begs. ‘Give it to me.’
‘Aye,’ the captain says, leering at her. ‘I’ll make you shiver on me timber.’”
I bust out in raucous laughter, unable to take any more. “What the hell are you listening to, Rose? Some pirate porn shit? It’s literally a bodice ripper!”
She’s laughing now too, and Brad just stares at us like we’re from an alien species before he gripes. “Is that really what women read? Long, hard sword. Shiver on me timber. Seriously? It’s not that difficult.”
“Oh?” Rose asks, grinning at Brad. “And what does it take then, oh expert on all things concerning male seduction?”
Brad shrugs. “Girls, take it from me. Just tell the man you want his cock, and he’ll be ready to go nine times out of ten. Hell, they’ll be breaking down your door.”
“Yeah, well, gotta worry about our reputations,” Rose counters, making Brad shrug, unconcerned. “What?”
“You know what a reputation is? It’s what you use to console yourself when you’re using a vibrator instead of the real thing.” He presses his lips together as he snaps his fingers and hums his agreement with his own statement. “And on that sage advice, I’m outtie for lunch. You bitches want me to grab you anything from the diner?”
He points at each of us, waiting for us to shake our head before swooshing out the door. Brad’s relaxed more, being his fabulous self more in public, and I’m glad. For now, though, Rose and I look at each other and dissolve into giggles again. I wipe a tear from my eye, “So . . . pirate porn, huh? Wouldn’t have pegged you as the type. Get it . . . pegged?”
She groans and rolls her eyes at my bad pun but sobers up. “Yeah, well, I’ve been so busy with the boutique, starting it on my own and working the B shift—I’ll be there when it opens, and I’ll be there when it closes—that I haven’t really had time to date or have a personal life at all.”
“Hire some help,” I comment, but Rose shakes her head. “Why not?”
“The boutique isn’t quite as popular as this place. And while I’m not worried about living the high life, I’d like to be able to afford to eat more than ramen noodles and box mac ‘n’ cheese.”
“Good point,” I joke. “All that MSG and shit’ll kill you.”
Rose sighs, looking a little forlorn. “I’m probably gonna end up the cat lady who yells at customers to close the door when they try to come in and shop so my horde of cats doesn’t escape.”
I start with the obvious, wanting to cheer her up. She’s the closest thing I’ve made to a new friend in this town, and I hate seeing her looking this way. “If you have so many cats that they’re gonna escape, your store is gonna close in a hot flash of a minute, Spinster Rose. So there, then you’ll have time to date. Problem solved.” I give her a pointed look. “Or, you know, you could date now and bypass the cat scratch fever and Fancy Feast.”
Rose nods her agreement. “I know. It’s just hard, even in a town this size and with tourists coming through. I thought I’d be a successful entrepreneur with a husband and a kid or two by now. But that’s just not in the cards, so my boutique is my baby, and I’m so hard up that I listen to pirate porn instead of dating a decent guy with an actual cock. And no, I won’t let you look at my browser history.”
I chuckle and start rinsing out her conditioner. “It’s okay, honey. Maybe your ship will come in. Hell, maybe he’ll be the one who likes pegging.”
“Huh?”
I shake my head, remembering that I’m not in Hollywood anymore and things aren’t quite as adventurous. “Never mind. Just one word of caution, Rose. If that boat’s named Titanic, don’t get on the damn thing.”
She giggles at me, finally relaxing some again. “How about you? New in town—anybody caught your attention?”
I sigh dreamily and resist the urge to look through the front window again. “Maybe. Do you know Evan Hardwick, across the street at the garage?”
She recoils in horror, jerking so hard she nearly bonks her head on the porcelain edge of the rinse sink, but I manage to catch her with quick hands. “The asshole who barely speaks, just grunts at people and revs his death machine motorcycle up and down the street at all hours of the night? That Evan Hardwick?”
I nod, feeling a light blush creep up my neck. “That’s the one. What can I say? I’ve got good taste in men. You gotta admit, it’s a hopeful last name.” I purse my lips as I turn her head and get more of the conditioner. “And it’s not a death machine. It’s a pretty sweet bike.”
Rose sighs. “Have you actually talked to him? I think the boutique was open for almost a year before he said one word to me, and that was only because I took my car in for service and TJ wasn’t working that day. I told him what I needed and he grunted, said ‘three o’clock’ and walked off. Customer service at its finest.”
I shrug. She’s dead on even to the way she drops her voice to make it rumble a little. “Sounds about right. First thing he ever said to me was at volume ten as he charged me like a damn bull . . .” I lower my voice into an imitation of Evan, growling. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Rose’s eyes widen and her jaw drops, and she sits up, gaping at me while I work on drying her hair. “And then what?”
I smile, working the towel through her hair before squeezing it out. I spin her chair around and pick up my scissors, knowing Rose doesn’t need much, but I do want to even her out in the back. “Well, after that great introduction, we had a big screaming match in the middle of Main Street. And a week later, I kissed the shit out of him before he ran. But he won’t be scared for long. He’ll be back.”
“How do you know?”
I grin, catching Rose’s eyes in the mirror. “Because now I’m a fear he has to conquer.” I kiss the air, smacking my lips, certain I know how this is going to play out. “And he might find that in conquering me . . . well, I like to conquer myself.”
Rose chuckles. “Is that so?”
“Shiver me timbers.”
Evan
Lunchtime in the shop is always a bit awkward as TJ and I try to make conversation like I’m not a bastard thorn in his side. We don’t even eat the same things. He’s all about the burgers and enjoying his food while I seem to take bitter comfort in eating shit that would make more sense as field rations.
So here we sit, day after day unless he escapes to the diner, making small talk about the various cars we’re working on or flipping through the car magazines scattered across the table. I don’t even think we’re keeping track of what we’re saying. I know at least twice a week, one of us will go to the other about something we just talked about at lunch and it devolves into a shouting match because we’ve already discussed it, but we keep doing it. I guess it’s what brothers do. Or at least it’s what we do . . . now
I’m damn grateful he’s willing to even work with me, but that doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable to chit-chat with a guy who knew me before I was fucked in the head with an alphabet diagnosis of PTSD that basically just warns folks that I’m always a breath away from losing it.
I can see it in TJ’s face too sometimes. He remembers when we’d spend hours tinkering with our dad’s car or with the bikes and cars our friends brought us. Hell, our wrench skills are how we paid for the most epic Spring Break trip ever, a four-day trip to Lake Havasu in Arizona. I don’t think TJ and I slept in the same bed twice those whole four days, and I know for damn sure that I never woke up with the same bedmate I did the night before. Thank God for condoms and Lady Luck favoring the young and foolish.
Maybe that’s what TJ is looking for, the big brother who was fun-loving and maybe a bit crazy but was the rock who helped him out when our parents died soon afterward. TJ was ready to give up his dream for this shop and just get a regular job when I, on leave before my first deployment, pulled him aside and told him that in no way, shape, or form was I going to let him do that. Instead, I made him sign up at tech college so he’d have the business skills to go with being a grease monkey, and then I sent him a big chunk of my paycheck each month to make sure he was taken care of.
He doesn’t know where that guy’s gone, or why. Sometimes, I wonder too. Lots of guys from my unit are doing well, settled stateside with wives and kids, and I always wonder if they’re stronger than me for being able to handle the shit we saw overseas better than I can. Or maybe they’re less affected because there’s something wrong with them and I’m the normal one.
I don’t know. I just know that there’s always a little kernel of something black at my core, and it swirls, rising and falling outside my control sometimes, no matter how many stupid fucking breathing exercises I try from the VA doc. Maybe it’s just what the one guy told me—there are people who are made for war and people who aren’t. Sometimes, the people who aren’t are forced into war, and it changes them or it breaks them.
I feel eyes on me and look up from the new bike magazine spread out in front of my microwaved tray of Salisbury steak, grainy mashed potatoes, and dark greenish shit that’s supposed to be either spinach or beans, I’m not sure which. I look up to see TJ giving me a look. My mouth’s full, so I just grunt. “What?”
He leans over from his lunch of a club sandwich on whole wheat to slap me on the shoulder. Guess he’s trying to clean up for some reason he’s not telling me. “How you doin’, brother?”
I give him a what the fuck look. Normally, if TJ has something he wants to ask me or to offer me, he just comes out and says it. This is something new, and new tends to make me put my guard up. New hurts or at least has the potential to hurt more than the old. “Same as always, just eating my damn lunch.”
I don’t ask what he’s up to. Like I said, I really don’t want to know. But he is in full-on fairy flew up his ass mode, so he keeps going. “Well, I’m doing well. Very well, in fact. Thanks for asking.” He gives me a shit-eating grin, and I growl lightly. Great, fairy dust and unicorn rainbows. Someone get him a My Little Pony. “Ask me why.”
I set my spoon down, wiping my greasy fingers on my jeans, and rock the chair back on two legs as I look at him, trying to see if there’s something different I’m missing. Not seeing anything, I decide the easiest way to g
et through this is to just let him talk. “All right, fucker, why are you doing so damn well today?”
I see the excitement behind his eyes and I flash back again to when we were boys, both whole and happy and full of life. He still looks the same, a wholesome innocence grown into a man who is solid, a brother in every sense of the word. For him, danger is the spice of life, like chili salsa on top of your tacos. You decide how much you get.
I, on the other hand, lost that shine a long time ago. I know that sometimes, the world will pry your jaws open, jam a funnel in between your lips, and pour fiery hot habanero salsa down your throat and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it. I don’t want to piss on his parade, though, and let him enjoy his innocence.
He claps his hands once, nice and loud, the grin on his face spreading. “I met the one, man. Remember that car I delivered up to the resort for that tourist? Well, I’m sitting in the lobby waiting for him to come down for his keys and pay the bill when a vision walks in front of me. Her name’s Alice and she works at the resort.”
“Why haven’t you seen her before?”
“She’s not a local,” TJ explains. “She just wrapped up a degree in hotel and hospitality management and moved up here. The resort’s nice enough to let her stay there. She said she’s got an apartment.”
“She said, huh? So she actually talked to your ugly ass?” I ask, feeling a hint of amusement. “Does she happen to be blind?”
“Fuck you, man.” TJ laughs. “We got to talking, I waited for her break time, we got coffee, and I asked her out. She said yes, and we’re going to dinner this weekend. That’s it, I’m done for, Bro.”
He flops back in his chair, a fascinated, dreamy look on his face as he stares at the ceiling. Yep, I can see the kittens, unicorns, and rainbows falling out of his ears.
I laugh a little, full of sarcasm. I’m not trying to be an asshole here, but still, I think TJ needs a reality check. “Lemme get this straight. You met this chick, had coffee for a few minutes, and you’re already planning the wedding? Yeah, sounds serious.” I snort through my nose, picking up my spoon again. “And everyone says I’m the crazy one.”
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