HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  “What difference does that make?”

  “It could make all the difference in the world,” I said. “If it’s an aftermarket stretched fender, the light might not fit.”

  He gripped the edge of the counter with both hands, flexed his biceps, and grinned. “Explain that to me. How it would make a difference.”

  I looked off to the side, and then met his gaze. “If the fender is stretched like most of them are, it follows the contour of the tire, and then, somewhere along the back of the fender, it flares outward. The back side of the taillight has the typical contour of the factory fender built into it. If you try to mount it near or on the flare, it won’t fit. The radius is going the wrong direction.”

  “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

  Why am I not surprised?

  I let out a sigh, grabbed a piece of paper, and drew a symbol that resembled a question mark and a backward ‘s’ combined. Then, I drew an arrow to center of the upper curve.

  “The taillight is supposed to mount here. And, it has that contour of that surface built into it. If you mount it here.” I drew an arrow to the lower leg of the symbol, where it curved inward. “It won’t fit. The contour is reversed.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “My fender looks like that.”

  “You’ll have to mount the light high on the fender.” I shrugged. “Might look dumb.”

  “I really want that look. Anything else will look dumber.”

  I looked at the monitor, and then at him. “$239.20 with all the hardware to mount it.”

  “Add it to the list. If it doesn’t fit, I’ll just bring it back.”

  “If it doesn’t fit, you can either build a bracket, or sell it on Craigslist,” I said. “No returns on special orders.”

  He raked his fingers through his hair. Again. “Add it to the list. Fuck, I’m going to have a hundred grand in the fucker if I’m not careful.”

  If he was building the bike himself, there was no way he’d have a hundred thousand dollars in it. Thirty would be more like it, and that was if he was a complete dip-shit.

  “Is that the last part?” I asked.

  “That’s it.”

  I started adding the cost of his parts. Without looking up, I decided to entertain him. “Hundred grand, huh?”

  “At least.”

  “Sounds like a nice one.”

  “Maybe I’ll give you a ride on it when I’m done.”

  I puked in my mouth a little bit. While I reached a total, I swallowed heavily and tried to disguise my disgust.

  I looked up. “Sorry, my boyfriend wouldn’t like that.”

  He interlocked his fingers behind his head and flexed his biceps. “I’m sure I’ll be back in here from time to time. If something changes, let me know.”

  “The total is $1,740.56.” I forced a smile. “And, I’ll be sure and do that.”

  He pulled his chain-mounted wallet from the back pocket of his Rock and Republic jeans, and after fumbling to unsnap the stiff leather, handed me a credit card. “Sounds good.”

  Heck yes!

  His spending spree would put me at my goal for the month, and it was only the 13th. For the rest of the month I would receive a percentage of my sales as a bonus.

  I rang up his purchase, disguising my excitement during the process. After he signed the receipt, I handed him his credit card. “Check back in three days, we should have it all.”

  He grabbed the piece of paper I’d drawn the sketch on and scribbled on it. “That’s my cell. Call me when they’re all in. Number might come in handy sometime anyway.”

  I picked up the paper and gave a nod. “I’ll give you a call when they come in.”

  Asshole.

  He shot me a smile, looked at Blane, and then turned toward the door.

  “That guy was a dick,” Blane whispered.

  “It was funny watching him play with his hair.”

  He nodded toward the door. “This dude looks like a hardcore motherfucker.”

  I looked up. P-Nut was coming toward the parts counter, unsnapping his vest as he walked.

  I fumbled to conceal my boobs, but seemed to only be making matters worse.

  Crap.

  “I gotta pee. Take him, will you?”

  “Sure.”

  P-Nut was halfway between the front door and the parts counter. I dipped out the back of the parts department and went to the restroom.

  I’d talked to him on countless occasions, and assisted – or at least observed – while he made dozens of repairs on his motorcycle. Having him see me with my boobs boiling out of my shirt, however, wasn’t something I really wanted to do.

  One thing would possibly lead to another. If it did, I’d be without the only male friend I’d ever had. Dreaming about being with him was one thing. Taking the chance, and then losing him altogether wasn’t a risk I was willing to take.

  I peed, washed my hands, and waited as long as I felt it would take for Blane to look up a part. Then, I waited a few minutes more. After washing my hands again, I checked myself in the mirror.

  My tits were everywhere.

  I loved my job, but the shirt I was wearing would embarrass a prostitute.

  Attempting to conceal 32D boobs in a size small shirt constructed with buttons that stopped at the bottom of my bra was nothing short of impossible.

  Frustrated, I pulled the bathroom door open, walked down the hallway, and cracked open the door that led to the parts counter. I peered toward where Blane stood.

  The counter was void of any customers.

  Thank God.

  I opened the door and walked to Blane’s side. “What did that guy want?”

  “Wanted to see you,” he said. “You were gone forever. What’d you do, drop a deuce?”

  I was flattered that Percy came in to see me, and disgusted by Blane’s remark.

  “Stop being gross,” I said.

  “What? Girls like you don’t take dumps?”

  “We do, we just don’t talk about it.”

  “He’ll be back in a minute. He’s talking to Harry.”

  My eyes shot to him. “He’s coming back?”

  “Said he’d be back in a minute.”

  Crap.

  There was little I could do. Him seeing me in my uniform shirt didn’t mean our relationship as friends was destined to deteriorate. I simply needed to accept any remarks he made as being nothing more than playful banter.

  I scanned the sales floor, and eventually saw him and Harry talking by one of the motorcycles on display.

  Seeing him in his driveway was one thing. Having him at my place of employment was clearly another.

  I looked at Blane and managed a nervous smile. “We’re friends.”

  His nose wrinkled. “You and that dude?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He looks mean as fuck.”

  “He is.”

  “And, you’re friends with him?”

  “Yeah.” I looked at Percy and then at Blane. “You know, we were talking the other day about product branding tattoos. He’s a big believer that anyone who has beer logos or other random crap tattooed on their bodies is a sellout.”

  It was a lie, and although I wasn’t a liar, I decided it was okay for me to tease a little bit. Blane’s attitude, offhand comments, and lingering stares into my shirt each time I bent over made it okay.

  “Seriously?”

  I nodded toward his ridiculous tattoo. “He didn’t see that when he came up here, did he?”

  It was a fifty-fifty shot, but I decided to take it.

  He swallowed hard. “I don’t think so.”

  “You’d know it if he did. One thing he’s not is bashful.” I glanced toward the sales floor. “Oh look, here he comes.”

  “I’m uhhm. I’ve got to…I need to go take a dump. I’ll be back in a minute,” he stammered.

  “Sounds good.”

  With his mouth twisted into a smirk, Percy sauntered toward me. I hoped Harry had said somet
hing funny, and that it wasn’t me or my dumb shirt that he was grinning about.

  I stood nervously, wishing there was something I could do about my appearance, but knowing fidgeting would only make matters worse.

  “How’s it going?”

  His eyes scanned the rack of parts above me. “Good.”

  I doubted there was anything on display that would interest him. Most of the packaged chrome accessories were things he either already had, or that he definitely wouldn’t use.

  An awkward silence followed.

  This is weird.

  “What can I…what did you need?”

  With his eyes still fixed on the random bits of chrome, he shook his head. “Just need the bolt that goes into the highway peg. Lock nut, too. Mine vibrated out. I want the one that’s got the H-D stamped in the end, not one of those Chinese ones.”

  I knew that his bike was an early 2000’s Heritage Softail, I didn’t need to ask. After just a moment, I found the bolt’s part number, checked against our stock, and found that we had the bolt in stock.

  “It comes as a set. Two bolts, and the nylon lock nuts. Is there anything else?”

  He lowered his gaze, fixed his eyes on mine, and then swallowed heavily. “Nope.”

  “Okay, let me grab it.”

  I was a lot of things, but naïve wasn’t one of them.

  Percy was nervous.

  Instead of being embarrassed, I found it cute. I was sure that he’d seen his fair share of topless women in his clubhouse, and in strip clubs – but somehow, me and my cleavage had made him uncomfortable.

  I grabbed the bolt from the back of the shop and quickly returned.

  I handed him the bolts. “Here you go.”

  “What do I owe you?”

  “Too much for a couple of bolts. $9.37.”

  He handed me a $10 bill. “This ought to do it.”

  “So, what’s on the agenda today?”

  “Riding to Chula Vista to look at a big set.”

  “Anything good?”

  “There’s a ’91 Chipper Jones Topps Tiffany rookie. Looked good in pics, we’ll see when I get there.”

  “I hope it’s in good shape.”

  “I hope I can get the set at a good price. We’ll see. The guy’s not dumb, but he needs money for a remodel. I’m going to hook him up with Smoke on the remodel, which might get me into the set a little cheaper. We’re headed that way as soon as I get my fucking peg mounted.”

  “You’d look funny with one foot on your highway peg, and the other dangling off to the side.”

  “Got that right. Well, I better hit the road.” He raised the bolt set. “Good lookin’ out, Smudge.”

  I grinned. “No problem. Good luck with the Chipper Jones.”

  He clenched his fist and extended his arm.

  I pressed my fist into his.

  He gave a sharp nod and turned toward the door. As he walked away, an odd sense of confidence washed over me. My cleavage was no longer my main concern. In fact, at that moment, I had no concerns.

  As I often did after spending time with Percy, I closed my eyes, drifted away, and at least for that fleeting moment, felt normal.

  Chapter One Hundred Sixty-Six

  P-Nut

  Dinner at Smokey’s house was always entertaining, but sometimes it was more so for others, and not so much for me. I took a drink of my beer, all the while glaring at Eddie over the top of the bottle.

  She was Smokey’s seventeen-year-old daughter. Based on her attitude and intellect, a blind man would guess her age at no less than thirty. I loved her as if she were my own daughter, but she was often a thorn in my side.

  “It’s a simple question.” She poked a piece of steak with her fork, paused, and raised both eyebrows. “One you should be able to answer easily, regardless of what your response might be. That is, unless you’re embarrassed.”

  I took another drink and shot her a glare.

  “We’re all family here, P-Nut,” she said. “I was just wondering.”

  I glanced at Smokey, shook my head, and then looked at Eddie. “At what point in time did you become so enthralled in my relationship status?”

  She lowered her fork to her plate and crossed her arms. “We’re answering questions with questions, are we?”

  It was a trademark move of mine. Telling a lie was out of the question, but stretching the truth to its limits – or diverting the line of questioning with a question – was something I did with regularity.

  I nodded toward her. “You just did.”

  “Stop acting like you’re in high school,” she said.

  “Stop acting like your’re thirty-five fucking years old.”

  She cocked an eyebrow and shot me the stink eye. “P-Nut!”

  Shit.

  I’d done the unthinkable. Cussing in her house wasn’t allowed. Neither was smoking. Or farting. Or acting like a biker in any respect. Discussions of sex, fighting, casual blowjobs, or the size of a waitress’ tits were things Smokey and I were forced to enjoy in her absence.

  She damned sure didn’t need to yell at me, but she did every time she got an opportunity. I knew I’d fucked up as soon as the f-bomb fell out of my mouth. Transforming into a respectable human being each time I crossed the threshold of Smokey’s door didn’t come easy, but it was something I’d been working on since Eddie was a pre-teen.

  “Do we cuss in this house?” she asked.

  I tilted my bottle of beer toward her. “My apologies. It slipped out.”

  “Answer my question.”

  “About cussing in the house, or the other one?”

  A sigh shot from her lungs. “The other one.”

  “Yes.”

  She glared at me. “Yes?”

  “You said are we answering questions with questions. My response is yes.”

  “My question was when are you going to settle down and get a girlfriend? Look around you. Crip? He’s got one. Pee Bee? He does, too. Cholo? Check. Dad? Check. Everyone’s growing up but you.”

  I didn’t respond, at least not immediately. Being pinned down to one woman wasn’t something I felt could ever work. At least not for me. I wouldn’t change for anyone, and finding someone who would accept me as I was would be impossible. Finding a woman who would satisfy me beyond the bedroom would be equally impossible.

  “Being single suits me just fine.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  I glanced at Smokey, his Ol’ Lady, Sandy, and then at Eddie. “Can I eat my steak?”

  “I just want you to be happy,” she said.

  “I am happy.”

  “You’re the only single one at this table.”

  “Single and happy.”

  “Happy for now.”

  “What the fu--” I caught myself midway through the word. “What does that mean?”

  “You’re happy until one day you look around and you’re the only fifty-year-old single guy in the club. Then, there won’t be anyone to choose from except for a bunch of divorced fifty-year-old women who have developed a hatred for all the things you are, and a yearning for all the things you’re not.”

  “I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing, thank you.”

  She shrugged. “Just going to get tougher the older you get.”

  “Jesus.” I looked at Smokey. There was no way he put her up to it. I looked at Sandy. “Did you put her up to this? You and your estrogen overload?”

  “Wasn’t me,” she said. “This is between you and her.”

  Eddie had an opinion about everything, and wasn’t afraid to voice it. Depending on the topic of conversation, being on the receiving end of her tongue could be torture.

  I pushed my plate to the side and looked at Eddie. “There’s a new girl at Davina’s. I’m taking her out. There. Happy now?”

  She spit out a laugh. “You’re taking her out?” She looked at Smokey, let out a sigh, and then shot me her signature stink eye glare. “I know what that means.”

  “You don’
t know shit.”

  “P-Nut!”

  “Shit’s not a cussword.”

  “If it can’t be said on the six o’clock news, it can’t be said here.”

  I had no idea if they could say shit on the news, I didn’t watch the news. Based on Eddie’s glare, my guess was that I was wrong.

  Again.

  “I wasn’t aware. I’ll add it to the list.”

  She rolled her eyes comically.

  “My meat’s getting cold,” I said. “Let me finish my meal, and if I’m in the mood, we can talk about the waitress when I’m done.”

  “I don’t want to talk about your next hookup, P-Nut. I was looking at the bigger picture.”

  “I don’t want to hear about your hookups, either,” I said. “Let’s change the subject.”

  Her eyes shot wide. “Richard and I aren’t hooking up. We’re hanging out.”

  “Hooking up. Hanging out.” I poked a piece of steak in my mouth and shook my head. “I can’t keep up with what all these phrases mean. If we could use cusswords, I wouldn’t be so confused. Something to consider. The introduction of cusswords. You know, now that you’re a little older.”

  “Hooking up is just. You know. You meet some skank at the bar and have sex. That’s a hook up.”

  Smokey cocked an eyebrow. “Ed…”

  Eddie’s head swiveled toward him. “Dad. Seriously? I’m just trying to explain something to your thick-skulled friend.”

  She looked at me. “Hanging out is just getting to know someone. It’s the first stage of a relationship.”

  “So, if I’m hanging out with someone, I’m not getting any. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “Yeah. I’m not interested in that. I’m not seventeen. I’m into hookups.”

  “That’s my point,” she said. “Hookups get you nowhere in life. It’s just sex.”

  “Maybe sex is all I’m after.”

  “I think this conversation has gone far enough,” Smokey said dryly.

  I raised my bottle of beer. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “Fine,” Eddie said. “I came close to making my point. Better than I do most times.”

  “You made your point,” I said.

  “But--”

  “Just because I don’t agree with you doesn’t mean you didn’t make your point, Ed. Let’s just agree that we disagree on this.”