“Not a lot but my dad taught me some stuff, so I know a little more than the basics. Doesn’t really help me much if I can’t actually fix the problem myself,” she added in a disgusted voice. I made sure to hide my grin, keeping my back to her.
“But if you and everyone else could fix their issues themselves, people like me would go out of business.”
She hummed in acknowledgement. “I guess that’s true. You seem pretty good at what you do if your car is anything to go by.”
Oh, I’m good at a lot of things I do, sweetheart. “Well, I’ve still got a profitable business, so I suppose I’m good enough.”
I tinkered around with some parts, but I wasn’t seeing anything major either, which meant I was going to have to take a closer look at the engine and that was never a good sign.
“You had any other problems with it lately?” I went around and tried to turn the engine over with the ignition but nothing happened.
She followed, shaking her head. “No. I had to replace the alternator a few months back, but it hasn’t had any issues since then.”
It really was a good car. Needed a paint job and some interior work but overall, it had most of the original parts, including the engine. I had even more respect for her for not only taking care of it but for choosing to drive it in the first place.
“Do you know if there’s ever been any work done to the engine? Before or since you bought it?”
She shook her head again, the worry on her face deepening. “It was my dad’s and he bought it new, straight off the lot. The engine has only ever been touched by him over the years.”
We walked back around to the hood and once again, my eyes drifted downward. She wore those heels really well. The way they made her ass look when she moved…damn. I wasn’t lying when I called them fuck-me heels. And I wasn’t typically a heel-lover kind of guy. Not that I would ever be opposed to a woman wearing them—hell no—but it wasn’t as if a woman had to look ultra-feminine for me to find her attractive. As long as she was comfortable in her own skin and she wore whatever she did with confidence, I didn’t much care about her fashion choices.
“I can’t know anything for sure until I get it back to the shop and really open her up,” I told her, forcing myself to look away from those curves. “But I’m thinking it could be the engine. There haven’t been any modifications to it and if it’s only seen minimal maintenance, I’m thinking a worn or busted camshaft could be likely.”
She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, allowing me to appreciate the long, delicate angles of her neck without feeling like a complete creeper. Delicate wasn’t really a word I would have applied to a woman like Sage on first glance. Those tattoos were a testament that she was tough, had a backbone, and could probably handle whatever shit life threw at her. But upon closer inspection, I saw the small bones of her figure, the softness underneath her features. Sage Tucker was all woman, no question. But she struck me as the type of person who didn’t want people to see her as just a woman. Which made me feel even worse for the woman in distress comment, despite the fact that I’d meant it as a joke. You’re an asshole.
Her frustrated sigh brought me back to reality. Right. Bad news. Busted camshaft. Yeah, we both knew what that meant.
Either a complete engine replacement or the entire thing would have to be re-built. Either option was expensive, considering the labor that would go into a re-build.
“That figures,” she muttered, running her hand through her hair.
I couldn’t really explain why, but I hated seeing her so frustrated. It bothered me on a deeper level than it otherwise should have.
“Here’s what I’ll do,” I said, drawing her eyes up to mine. “I’ll get it towed back to my shop and make sure that’s what we’re dealing with. If it is, we can talk about your options. I have some decent engines back at the shop that would work for this. Or if you prefer to keep the original engine, I should be able to re-build it myself.”
She quirked an eyebrow, looking pleasantly surprised. “You re-build engines too?”
I winked, smirking. “Piece of cake.”
When that appeared to relax her a little, I gave myself a mental pat on the back. She blew out a deep breath and gave a small nod. “Okay. That’ll have to work since it’s really my only choice at this point.”
The drive back to the shop was really no different than the drive to her car. My eyes kept drifting to her crossed legs, or to the way she kept pulling her hair over one shoulder, or to the way she tapped her fingers on her thigh to the beat of the music on the radio.
“You like Metallica?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah,” she replied enthusiastically. Yet another attractive thing about her: her taste in music. “I’ve always wanted to go to one of their concerts, but I’ve never had the chance. I bet it would be crazy. I hear they’re awesome live.”
“They are.”
Her head snapped around to me, her eyes wide. “You’ve seen them?”
I smiled, nodding. “My brothers and I snuck into one of their concerts when I was in high school. It was an outdoor venue and we managed to sneak in from a back entrance when a big fight broke out.” I laughed at the memory. “About pissed ourselves when a guy stopped us because we thought we were caught. But he was just asking if we had a lighter. Then, he gave us each a hit off his joint.”
She chuckled, her eyes dancing as she sat staring at the dash, like her mind was conjuring one of her own memories. “High at a Metallica concert that you got into for free. I’m officially jealous.”
I sighed wistfully. “Everyone remembers their first time.”
She laughed hard at that, which helped distract me from the next direction my thoughts were taking. That concert may have been my first ever experience with drugs, but they sure as hell hadn’t been my last. I couldn’t say that in every case what they told you in school was accurate. But with my situation anyway, weed certainly had been a gateway drug to other, more serious stuff. Bad shit that had started to put me in a bad way before I was thankfully able to get my head out of my ass and get help.
“My first tattoo.”
I looked over at her, my mind fighting to come back to the present. “What?”
“The first time I smoked pot was when I got my first tattoo,” she explained. “I was nervous about the pain so my brother gave me a hit to calm me down. I ended up taking a huge one and about fell asleep in the chair.” She chuckled lightly, the sound sending signals straight to my dick. I adjusted myself in the seat, hoping the stiffening bulge wasn’t obvious through my coveralls. “‘Sleepy stoned’ my brother used to say. That’s how it always affected me.”
“You and your brother close?” I asked, growing more interested in Sage Tucker with every word she spoke.
“Very,” she said. “He’s that one person who’s always been there, you know? I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
I know the feeling. “That’s the same with my brothers. We’ve all been through a lot. I know I wouldn’t be where I’m at now if it weren’t for them.”
Hell, I might not have even been alive without them, but I didn’t say that. Too heavy for a first meeting.
I have no idea what prompted me to say it, but her answer to the next question seemed vitally important. “You still smoke?”
She glanced over at me, hearing the serious tone of my voice, and tilted her head slightly. “No. I never did it that much to begin with. I drink a little but anything beyond that isn’t exactly permitted in my line of work, even if I wanted to.” She was silent for a beat and then she asked, “You still do it?”
I pulled out my pack of cigarettes. “This kind of smoking is my only vice now.”
I knew the statement implied that there had at one time been more than one vice, but I could tell she knew not to ask. We’d just met. It’s not like we needed to reveal our darkest secrets. After all, I sure as hell had never felt inclined to do that with any other woman. And hearing that she wasn’t into
any of that shit was a huge relief to me. My dick and I found Sage interesting and those feelings seemed to be mutual. If I wanted to even consider seeing her on a more casual basis at any time in the future, I knew that she could not have had more issues with addiction than me. I wouldn’t be able to handle it, no matter how much I liked her.
Dating a woman who liked to have a drink every now and then was one thing. I hadn’t tasted alcohol in five years, but I could deal with that a lot more than I could if I were to have a tiny bag of coke sitting in front of me. Not something I was proud of but that was my reality. I wasn’t ashamed of it—my past—because it made me who I was. But I also didn’t want Sage to learn of all my weaknesses right off the bat.
Truth be told, I never liked anyone seeing my weaknesses, let alone a sexy woman who would, coincidentally, look fucking amazing spread out on top of my black sheets.
I pulled back into the shop parking lot and brought her back into my office to give her my business card. “I’ll call you as soon as I know what the situation is and see what you want to do.”
She nodded and put the card in her purse, pulling out one of her own in return. “Call my cell number on the bottom anytime. And just add the tow fee to my overall bill, I guess. I really appreciate your help. This saved me a lot of time.”
I waved her off, attempting to memorize every inch of her face before she left me. “It’s no problem at all. Do you need a ride somewhere?”
I could tell she tried to hide the fact that her gaze had zoned in on my chest at the question, but I totally caught it. She was checking me out again. The way she was looking at me and the way she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off me earlier when we first introduced ourselves had real promise. I stood just a bit taller, both in satisfaction and in encouragement. I wanted her to look all she wanted. Just as I was about to flex my pecs at her again so I could see that adorable blush rise up her neck, she looked away.
“No. I’ll just call a rental company and they can deliver a car to me. You’ve already done enough.”
I really wasn’t ready for her to leave, but I extended my hand to her, anyway. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Sage Tucker. I’ll get in touch with you in the next few days. Call me if you have any questions in the meantime.”
Or if you suddenly get hungry for some world-class orgasms. I would deliver those to her. She wouldn’t have to ask me twice.
Her hand was much smaller than mine but she had a good, firm grip. Definitely not a woman who would let a man mow her over. “It was nice to meet you too, Mason.” My name on her lips sounded too damn good.
While I called a tow truck to fetch her car, she called the rental company. To my dismay, they were pulling into the lot with the rental not long after I hung up my phone call.
“Looks like that’s my ride,” she said, walking toward the vehicle. I wasn’t entirely sure why I followed but I did.
She met the delivery person and turned back to me before she got into the driver’s seat. “You take care of Roxanne and I’ll be eternally grateful to you.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Roxanne?”
She smiled, her white teeth practically sparkling in the sun’s rays. “I thought about naming her Metallica once, but Roxanne seemed more fitting.”
Oh, yeah. This woman had the right stuff. She could have told me that she’d eaten dirt as a child and I still would have found her drop dead beautiful.
“I like it,” I told her with my own humongous smile. “Have a good one, Sage.”
She winked, the one small movement nailing me right in the chest. She got in the car and left as I stood there like the pussy I was, watching her drive away. It was only after she was completely out of sight that I realized what I’d done and reluctantly turned around to face the rest of my shop, knowing that they’d seen the whole pathetic show.
Jimmy, one of the guys I’d kept around the longest—but maybe not for much longer—whistled slowly. “Damn, Cruz. You going to hand her over your pink slip next? Since apparently you already lost your dick to her.”
All the guys snickered and I gritted my teeth, deserving their mockery. I ignored Jimmy and addressed one of my other veteran guys. “Porter, drive down to her car and make sure the tow guys don’t scratch it up.” I told him where it was and tried to re-focus on my actual job.
“Since when do we offer a tow service, boss?” Porter asked with a smirk.
“Since right fucking now,” I growled. He tried to mask his laugh with a cough, but the rest of them didn’t even attempt to hide their amusement. Bunch of assholes.
“Well, I’d say you have some competition,” Jimmy said to me, glancing across the shop. “Cooke over there creamed in his pants when he saw her. I think he’s in love. So sweet.”
I spared Cooke a glance to see his eyes fill with panic. “No, I’m not. I mean, I didn’t.” The 21-year-old was brilliant when it came to engines but clearly pretty shy when it came to girls. Plus, he was just too nice for his own good. “I just talked to her,” he rambled, rigorously shaking his head at me. “She was just—”
“Hot,” Jimmy interrupted. My eyes flew back to him. He met mine, the look in them telling me he expected a reaction from me. “She was hot. Filled out that skirt very nicely. And fuck, those tattoos? Mmm. Woman probably likes it a little rough, don’t you think? Guaranteed she has a kinky side that I would love to—”
“Finish that sentence and I’ll shove that wrench up your ass,” I snapped, losing my patience. “How’s that for kinky?”
If he wanted a reaction out me, then I’d sure as hell give him one. For some irrational reason, I didn’t want a single one of those dipshits talking about Sage like that.
He grinned like a smartass, looking pleased with himself. “Copy that, boss man. The purple-haired vixen is yours.”
I stomped off to my office without adding more fuel to the fire. Despite how much I threw myself into work the rest of the day, I couldn’t help thinking about what Jimmy said. I hadn’t seen a ring on her finger, but for all I knew, the woman could have a serious, live-in boyfriend or something. I wasn’t sure how I felt about “the purple-haired vixen” being mine, like he’d implied.
But I certainly didn’t like the idea of her being anyone else’s either.
Uh-oh.
Chapter Three
Sage
I looked around the unkempt living room I was standing in, attempting to hide my extreme disdain for the situation, though I’m sure my disapproval was evident on my face. The house seemed to look more ramshackle with every visit I made to the Dole’s property.
“It’s just been a crazy week at work for both of us,” Tina Dole told me as she frantically tried to pick up the untidy space. Her eyes were darting all over the place, obviously in nerves. “The restaurant has had me working more doubles and Eddie’s been doing some overtime. It’ll slow down, though.”
I noted the dirty plates on the coffee table and the ash tray sitting beside Ed’s recliner that was overflowing with cigarettes butts. “I understand being busy, Mrs. Dole, but maybe you should create a chore schedule for the kids to help you out. They’re all old enough to do their share of cleaning, and it will teach some responsibility and accountability.”
Her eyes widened but she tried to hide it with a polite smile. “I’ll consider that. Really, though. It’s just this one week that’s so crazy. I normally never have a problem keeping up. Next week it will go back to normal.”
Doubtful. I knew a liar when I heard one, but I also recognized a scared women when I saw one. Tina Dole was both. I knew the first because the mess I was seeing had been accumulating for longer than just a week, that was clear. And I knew the second because I used to have her same wide-eyed, frightened look permanently etched onto my own face.
I didn’t respond to Tina’s promises because I wasn’t the type to offer false assurances. “Is Katie upstairs?” I asked.
She nodded. “I believe she’s in her room.”
I crested t
he top of the rickety stairs and encountered a dark hallway. The house had such a dreary, depressing vibe to it, offering no forms of comfort. Minimal natural light, hardly any personal touches to any of the rooms. It just wasn’t a home, which was what I wanted for all of my kids. Technically, they were my “clients,” but I hated calling them that. It was such a cold word. They were human beings after all.
But that was exactly what the agencies and institutions wanted you to forget. Using terms like clients and placement were meant to distance the social worker from the child so as to avoid emotional attachment, which they claimed only made one’s job harder to do and muddied the waters of professionalism. To the kids, we were meant to use friendly language like family and home and phrases like “you’ll be happy here.”
The older kids knew how much that stank of bullshit. The system never gave them enough credit. They were psychologically hurting, not stupid.
I knocked on Katie’s door but silence greeted me. “Katie? It’s me, Sage.” I gave it another few seconds and then slowly opened the door. “I’m coming in, okay?”
The twelve-year-old was sitting on a pile of pillows in the corner of her room that got the most sunlight, a ratty paperback clutched tightly in her hands. The sight made my chest clench. That was one of the books I’d given her, along with a whole stack, the day she moved in with the Doles.
“Hey, Katie. How’s it going?”
She didn’t look up from the pages. “Fine.”
“Want to talk to me for a minute?”
She shrugged, her shoulder-length auburn hair falling over her shoulders. “Sure. Go ahead.”
I sat down on the floor in front of her but kept enough distance between us. A lot of the kids I worked with were very particular about their space, some not even liking to be touched by others at all. “How do you like living here? Do you like the Doles?”
Her lips pursed before she smoothed them out. That was some sort of reaction, though I couldn’t tell for sure what it meant. “They’re alright.”
The Art of Sage (Cruz Brothers #2) Page 3