“Hi Savannah,” I answer.
“Hey. Are you working out?”
“No. Why?”
She clears her throat with skepticism. “Come on, don’t hold out on me, Kitten,” she says, using my nickname. “You definitely did something. Trust me, I can use a good long walk after that little bingeing accident last night.”
“I seriously am not working out,” I insist. “Just stopped for gas. I’m driving to the farmer’s market now.”
“Really? What was that ping on your Fitbit? We’re synced up, remember? You had a huge heart rate jump just now.”
I can’t muffle groan that leaves my throat. This device is a double edge sword. Between the two of us, we’ve lost seventy pounds since we started wearing them a year ago. I’m thrilled that it’s helped me to tone up and get trim for the first time since before I hit puberty. I’m finally at what I believe is my ideal weight. But Savannah tends to use the sync feature that connects us less for accountability and inspiration, and more as a piece of stalking technology.
“It was nothing,” I mutter, although I know exactly what caused that blip in my vitals.
That guy.
Tall, dark, and dangerous who was filling up at the pump.
He got my heart pumping and my panties drenched just with one look. Smoldering good looks, thick dark hair, piercing sky-blue eyes, muscular build, ink all the way up his arms.
I’d totally do him.
I can think that, but it’s all in theory. Because I’ve never had the pleasure of doing anyone, on account of my unintended status.
Yes. I’m a virgin.
It’s not that I’m one of those girls who’ve sworn off men, and I’m not married to Jesus. Heck, I can’t even say that I’m saving it for the man I marry. I haven’t given it up because I spent all my high school years overweight, introverted, and weighed down with self-esteem issues. Add my overprotective family to the mix, and well, it’s a wonder I’ve been kissed at all.
But I’m almost twenty-two now. High school is behind me, as well as two years of secretarial college, which is the sum total of my career planning for the next few years, given that I sucked at pretty much every subject except keyboarding. Still, I’m gainfully employed as an administrative assistant at a local aircraft assembly plant, take better care of my health and fitness, have a nice ride, pay my bills, and overall, I’ve got my shit together.
Except for my utterly nonexistent sex life.
“Kitten?” Savannah calls my pet name in a question to get my attention. Only my parents and brother call me that.
“What?” I hiss.
“Are you gonna tell me what you were doing like five minutes ago, or what?”
“I wasn’t doing anything. Well, pumping gas, is all.”
“Hmmm.”
She remains quiet on the other end for a few moments, baiting me into a confession with her silence. I don’t take the bait.
“Are you coming to shop for fruits and veggies with me?” I ask, changing the subject. I already know she can’t. Savannah works as an emergency room nurse, and she always does the Saturday evening shift.
“I wish I could, but I need to get some rest before my shift starts,” she confirms.
“Right. I’ll pick up a few things for you. Should be at your place before you have to leave.”
“Sure. Thanks, hun.”
“No worries. Hey, we’ll talk then, all right? Gotta go.”
I just got off easy. Savannah must be preoccupied with something else. She never lets up this quickly. Not that I’m complaining. If I had caved and told her about the hot guy at the gas station, she’d go off the deep end. I’d be fighting off commentary about universal karma nonsense, that the guy must be predestined to pop my cherry or something.
The sad part is that I know her too well, so well that I don’t even need to speak to her to hear her voice in my head, going on and on with what she would say. All the supposition persists while I pick out the vegetables and fruits at the farmer’s market.
I’m on my way trip to drop off some of the produce at Savannah’s place when she sends me a text. She won’t be able to wait for me anymore because the emergency room nursing staff are shorthanded. I reply that I don’t mind. I really don’t, and it turns out I should thank her for causing me to take a different route to get home.
Because I end up seeing him.
The gas station hot guy.
Well, not him. His pickup truck.
It turns onto the street I’m driving on a few vehicles ahead of me, then signals a right turn after a few blocks. Damn right I followed him on that right turn, even though it takes me on a bit of a detour from where I live. I’ve never done anything like this before, and honestly, that’s what excites me. It’s almost as if there’s an external force compelling me to do this.
Primal magnetism.
Yes, that’s exactly how I’d describe this urge.
I blatantly rubberneck through my passenger side window as it makes a slow turn and rolls up into a driveway of a well-maintained two-story house somewhere between Savannah’s apartment and my place. Suddenly the same excitement I felt while filling my tank washes over me again. I’m half in disbelief that I can experience this wave of desire just from the knowledge that he may live around here and isn’t passing through. God, I hope he actually lives there and isn’t just visiting an ailing family member or a friend.
Or a girlfriend.
I should have said hello earlier, but fate or coincidence has given me a second chance.
Next time I see him, I will.
3
Jake
Where the fuck is Hunter?
I stretch out my legs and keep my eyes on the end of the street. I have the best view of the road sitting here, right at the top step of the second-floor apartment we’re renting from my big brother, John. Hunter didn’t say what time his shift at the diner ends today, but I’ve been waiting for hours. He needs to get his ass home so we can all talk. Checking my phone for the umpteenth time, I see that he hasn’t responded to a single one of my texts.
My mind races. There’s a shit ton of trouble Hunter can be getting himself into right now. Calm down, I remind myself. It isn’t his first rodeo out there, and he’s kept his nose clean since he’s been out, but I can’t help but wonder if and when the shit will hit the fan. We’re both out on parole. Neither of us can afford any kind of fuck-ups. He did a good job of keeping himself in check while we were in prison, which is what got him parole for good behavior. But now that we’re out, his absence makes me anxious that he might be risking that freedom. Temptation is lurking around every fucking corner, here in the outside world.
And Hunter keeps telling me I need to worry about myself.
He’s right too. In a way, we’re both ticking time bombs. Where Hunter is known for acting out when his buttons get pushed, I’m the one who convinced him to partake in the hair-brained scheme that ended up getting us both put behind bars.
The heavy rumbling of Hunter’s rusty old truck gets my attention as he whips around the corner and onto our street.
Finally.
His truck hits the end of the driveway with a bump and comes to a grinding stop. He jumps out of the driver seat, grabs the six-pack of beer from the truck bed, and tears one off from the plastic keeping them together. Hustling down the steps, I face Hunter as he pops open the can, and wait while he takes a long gulp.
“What?” he asks.
Shaking my head, I fold my arms and study him. His face isn’t fucked up from fighting, and there’s no sign on his face or body to suggest that he’s been raising hell. “Did you lose your phone or something?” I answer his question with another.
“No, but I know what you want. Same thing as what you wanted before I left for work this morning. And the answer is still no. I ain’t interested in anything shady.”
“I wasn’t tracking you down for myself, dickhead. This is something different. John wants to talk to us.”
> He starts walking toward the steps up to our place. “About what?”
“He didn’t say.”
“I’m tired right now. Maybe later.”
“He’s busy later, and tomorrow you’ll be back at the diner.”
“No, I won’t,” he says after another gulp of beer. “I lost that crappy job.”
“Well, I didn’t think you’d last this fucking long. Anyway, John and Jared are inside,” I inform him. The fact that my younger brother, Jared, is here too should make a difference. “Let’s find out what this is about and get it over with.”
“Fuck. All right,” he grumbles in his least interested tone of voice, and follows me across the yard and into the main house.
Hunter may not be interested in whatever John wants to discuss, but I am. It doesn’t even matter what it is. I owe him. I’ve been staying in this apartment over John’s garage for about four months since I got out. Hunter moved in once he got released last month. Living in a decent residential neighborhood has kept our parole officers off our backs. It helps that John has never been arrested in his life. If he hadn’t offered to let us stay here while we get back on our feet, who knows where we’d be.
No matter what he asks for, I’m here to help.
4
Hunter
I’m nearing the edge of my rope.
I shouldn’t be talking to anyone right now, let alone John. When I get in moods like this, what I need to do is keep my mouth shut and stay the fuck away from people. John has had a hand in making it possible for me to have lasted this long on the outside without tripping up. I don’t have any real family in this world who gives a damn about whether I live or die, so his decision to let me live here rent free is a fucking Godsend. It means that Jake and I will be able to get by between jobs for long stretches without getting too desperate.
Thanks to John, we have a chance.
So, I’ll hear him out, talk as little as possible, then drink alone in my room until I pass out. Tomorrow, I’ll start the job hunt again.
Stepping inside the front door, we follow the sound of Jake’s brothers’ voices down the light-colored hallway, and join them in the kitchen at the back of the house. John and Jared are seated across from each other at the round table.
John nods at us. “How’s it going?”
I have to smile when Jake sits down beside John. No matter how many times I see them all together, their resemblance is just as striking as the first time I met them. The three of them look like one man in front of a bi-fold mirror. Everyone comments on how alike they are. They all have light brown hair, hazel eyes, and the same athletic build, although John is stockier, probably due to his longstanding employment at the local lumber processing plant. Jake has been my best friend since grade school, and sometimes, if I’m looking out of the corner of my eye, I still get him confused with Jared.
“Same shit, different day,” I answer, taking a heavy seat in the chair beside Jake, who’s giving me a death stare for my answer. “I got fired.”
Jared doesn’t hide the smile crawling up the sides of his face as he turns to John. “Pay up,” he tells his big brother. “You owe me twenty.”
Groaning, John leans to one side and reaches into his pocket, retrieving his wallet.
I shake my head. “Y’all fuckers had a bet going, didn’t ya?”
John shrugs at me. “Sorry dude. Hey, I’m on your side. I was rooting for you to hang in there for a month.”
“Were you in on it too?” I ask Jake.
He’s not smiling. “Hell no,” he answers, and swears under his breath.
I’m the one who should be mad as hell, but I grind my teeth together and hold my silence. Getting worked up might rub off on Jake. I know exactly why he’s pissed. We’re both unemployed now, and he hates having to borrow money, especially as we’re already not paying rent.
Jared nods as he folds the twenty-dollar bill John just handed over to him. “I was right on the money. One week. No more, no less.”
“You little fucker,” I grumble, although I’m smiling a little now. The fact that they weren’t expecting me to last in this job means they won’t give me a hard time for being fucking unemployed again.
“How’d you end up losing that job?” Jared asks, but I’m sure it’s just for the entertainment factor.
I scratch the back of my neck and stare at a spot behind John’s head, letting my gaze pause on the butterfly and flowery patterns of the peach curtains covering the kitchen window. The design screams femininity. John doesn’t have a stable girlfriend, so I have to wonder who actually helped him decorate.
“They found out I have a record,” I admit after a while.
“You left it off the application?”
I just stare at him. Jared is a good kid, and book smart, but he doesn’t know shit about life, other than what he learned in business school at the University of Texas. He has no idea about the kind of life that leads to crime. Jared is the baby of their family. He’s sheltered as fuck. Always has been. If their parents were still alive, he and his Bachelor’s degree in business would most definitely be their golden child.
Jared sets his arms on the table and glances at John, giving him a nod. “Well, we’ve been talking, and I think we have an idea you and Jake might be interested in.”
“Which is?”
“Jared wants to start an auto maintenance and detailing business.”
Jake folds his arms and cocks his head, staring back and forth between his brothers. “When did this come up?” he asks, probably wondering how they managed to keep him out of the loop.
“Recently,” Jared enlightens us. “We just wanted to kick around the idea for a bit first…do some research and all that. Think about it. You’re both good with cars. I’ve got business sense.”
“In theory,” Jake tell him. “Not in practice.”
“Yeah yeah, well I’ve gotta start somewhere, don’t I? You should be glad I’m not itching for a corporate job in one of the big city consulting firms.”
I can tell from Jake’s face that he’s not buying it. “And why is that? Why not go for something safe?”
“Because, dumbass, you can’t make real money working for someone else. Anyway. We’re thinking basic vehicle maintenance and auto detailing, but with a bit of a twist. Picture John here. He works his ass off all week, with long days, right? And when the weekend comes, do you think he wants to get off his ass to do an oil change or clean his truck?”
Jared waits for one of us to answer.
“No,” I say so he can get to the point. “He won’t move from that La-Z-Boy recliner in the living room…well, except right now.”
“Exactly. Picture this. What if there was a service that picks up vehicles right from where you work Mondays through Fridays, cleans and maintains everything, then delivers it back to your day job before it’s time to clock out?”
“That would be pretty good, if they don’t charge you through the nose for all that extra time picking up and dropping off stuff. Plus, you realize that any kind of vehicle drop-off service will require two drivers, right? Like for a drop-off, one person would drive the customer’s car from the shop to wherever the customer wants it, and the other person has to bring the first driver back to the shop.”
Jared nods with excitement. “True, and yes I got that. Still, the charges would be pretty low if we’re offering a local service. Think of Amarillo. Most of the gainfully employed people in this city are clustered in the city center, and in two industrial areas in the northwest edge of town where John works. There are a few vacant commercial buildings up there that would be perfect for something like this. And with three of us, we just need one more driver to have enough labor. Or we can offer shuttle service instead, which would only require one driver to pick up and drop off customers when they bring their car in, instead of moving around their vehicles. That’s a bit simpler. Jake, you’re more of a people person. You can handle the customer pickups and drop-offs. Hunter, you like work
ing with your hands, so the onsite day to day maintenance and detailing tasks would be right up your alley. Jake and I can help out when the volume picks up, and I’d do the overall management and marketing.”
“Sounds like you have this all figured out,” Jake grumbles.
I can tell he’s upset that Jared and John didn’t consult him earlier. Fuck, he’s finding this out at the same time as me, and they’re brothers.
“We have,” Jared tell him. I mean, who else around here does that?”
Jake may be upset, but the idea is growing on me, except for a few details I don’t think Jake or John has thought of. “It’s a good idea,” I start. “But there’s just a few things you’ll need to work out.”
“Right.” John nods. “You mean money.”
“Sure. There’s that, but I’m talking about other fundamentals. Like, won’t Jake need to be bonded and have extra insurance for driving people’s vehicles to and from the shop? Won’t I need that too if I’m working on their cars? Can we even be bonded, considering that we’re ex-cons?”
“As the owner on paper, I’ll be bonded. And I can hire anyone I want…like you two ex-jailbirds. Sure, the premiums might be steep, but that’s all part of startup costs,” he says dismissively as though I’m too much of a hillbilly to know about shit like that. “Just listen. Between the three of us, we have the skills to start a business. We’ll get trained up and licensed. Everything legit. Think about some of the benefits. It means no looking for work, no more getting turned down because of your records, no more getting fired because you lied on your application, no more having to get by… and no need to ever do anything shady or criminal. The best part is if we do this right and it takes off, the sky’s the limit. I’m talking expansion to multiple locations, maybe even franchising, which is where the real money’s at.”
“Speaking of cash,” Jake jumps in. “How the fuck can you afford to start a business? Don’t you have a shit ton of student debt you need to pay back?”
Ex-Con Times Two Page 2