But instead of following, she yells at me.
“You’re an asshole, Hendrix Hills! A complete douchebag. How didn’t you think I’d fall for you?”
“I didn’t want that, Nikki. The last thing I wanted was for you to be hurt. But you flipped the script here, not me. I’ve been upfront since the start.”
“Well, fuck you, anyway, Hendrix! You know that? Fuck you. I’m outta here.”
And she rushes past me.
Hanging my head, I close the office door and go to the living room to grab a hoodie and my keys, intent on taking her home.
I can hear her on her cell as she stomps out of my bedroom, dressed and in full-on anger mode, her bag in hand.
“Thank you, yes. I’ll meet it outside.”
“I’ll take you home,” I tell her, once she’s ended the call.
“Don’t worry about it. I called a cab. I never want to see you again, Hendrix.”
She jabs her finger into my chest before slamming my front door behind her.
5
Hendrix
Pulling into the Brightspot Diner’s small parking lot, I’m nervous as fuck. My knuckles ache from gripping the steering wheel too tight on the drive here.
I don’t know why I agreed to meet at the small diner. It’s not like I can stomach food right now. Not even sex helped.
“Fuck.” I tap the steering wheel, letting out a deep breath. “Relax, man. It’s gonna work out. This Flynn guy wants to sell. No reason he won’t go for the offer,” I tell myself.
I pull the keys out of the ignition and prepare to meet the man who could be the stepping-stone I need to change my future for the better, to help me succeed in achieving my biggest goal.
Owning my own garage has been my goal since my dad died when I was eighteen. Fucking heart disease. One day he was working at the shop, the next day he keeled over the hood of a navy ’65 Cadillac Coupe De Ville from a massive heart attack.
I’d grown up under the hood—learned everything I know from him. I spent every day after school, my weekends and my summers soaking in my dad’s knowledge, learning the tricks of the trade. Owning my own place would be my way to make him proud beyond the grave. The only reason I don’t have my dad’s shop is because, at eighteen, there was no way I could have handled the responsibility, so my mum sold it and invested the money for my future. It took me a long time to see her decision as being in my best interest, but eventually I did. It had taken me a while to get my act together after my dad died. I spent some time rebelling with the wrong crowd, and with booze, drugs and women. Now, at twenty-nine, I figure it’s time I grow up and get serious about life, start laying down some roots (business ones, anyway, ’cause the whole marriage- and kid-thing isn’t my style). I feel like I’ve finally pulled my head out of my ass, and I’m ready to start being a man my dad would be proud of.
When I saw the listing for Flynn’s garage, I knew right away it was perfect, down to the location, size and price. It’s not too often I get sentimental and feel that “it was meant to be” crap, but this might just be one of those times. Now, to convince Mr. Flynn that he should sell his baby to me…
Pull it together. Relax and be yourself. I replay my mum’s words from our phone call earlier this morning as I thumb through my business proposal and an agreement to purchase one last time.
My mum, Kara, moved back to England when I was twenty-five. She and my dad had fallen in love when he was over in Bromsgrove visiting family when he was twenty-three, and they apparently were inseparable from the start. I guess when it came time for my dad to leave, they couldn’t stand to part, so he bought Mum a ticket and the rest is history.
When my dad passed, I encouraged my mum to move back to her family in the UK. I even offered to move with her, but she wouldn’t have it. But once I turned twenty-five, we sat down and discussed her moving back again. Despite being torn about leaving me here, she decided that she did really want to go back, at least for a few years. I was happy that she’d made the decision for herself and I knew it would be something that would make her happy again. I promised I’d be fine, and encouraged her decision by promising to Skype, text and talk whenever she needed if it would make her decision easier. That was four years ago. She’s since remarried, and is the happiest I’ve seen her in a long time. I visit her and my stepfather, Arran, in Bromsgrove at least once a year. She’s been my biggest supporter, especially with this venture.
“Let’s do this,” I say, exiting my silver ’69 Chevy Camaro, smoothing my black dress shirt and straightening my tie one last time. I feel like a damned monkey in this getup. I’m a mechanic, why the hell I decided to dress like I’m looking for a desk job is beyond me. “Fuck.” I rub my fingers through my short brown hair and pull open the door to the restaurant.
“Welcome to the Brightspot. Table for one, handsome?” a bubbly blonde asks, grabbing a menu and giving me a sexy smile. She’s cute. Her nametag reads “Katie”, and she’s got nice eyes and perky tits, too. I might just have to grab her number if all goes well here today. Nothing like a celebratory fuck.
“I’m meeting someone, babe,” I say, and a look of disappointment crosses her face before I add, “I think he might be here already?”
I scan the place, taking in the outdated décor of black-and-white checkered flooring, worn red leather swivel chairs by the long counter, and rows of leather booths lining the perimeter. The smell of greasy food is thick in the air, making my already queasy stomach revolt even more. “Table’s under ‘Flynn’. He messaged me, said he’s here already,” I say, holding up my phone where the message is.
“Oh, okay, perfect.” Katie’s eyes light up like everything’s right in her world again, having registered that I’m meeting a guy. “Follow me,” she says, turning her back to me, clutching the menu and sashaying her slim hips. “Mr. Flynn is waiting; I just sat him a few minutes ago.” I follow the petite blonde, checking out her ass as she moves to the back of the diner, where I spot a large man whom I assume is Flynn.
“Here ya go, hon. Enjoy your meal. Maybe I’ll see you soon,” she giggles flirtatiously. Yeah, I’m definitely thinking I’ll be seeing her later.
“Hey, there.” Flynn stands, extending his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Hills,” the tall grey-haired man who looks to be in his mid-sixties says through his beard. “I’m Flynn. Glad you could meet me here. I’m not one for office hoity-toity. We got business; we’ll hash it out ourselves. Better that way, and cheaper too. No sense paying a lawyer to listen to us as we sort our shit out. We know what we’re looking to get out of this.”
Laughing, I agree, and feel my nerves dissipate with his easygoing demeanour as I settle back into the seat across from him.
“Thank you,” I say to the server, who’s arrived offering coffee.
She smiles. “I’ll give youse a few minutes with your menus,” she says, walking away.
“Please, sir, call me Hendrix. ‘Mr. Hills’ was my father. It’s good to meet you.”
“Flynn’s good, too. Everyone but my family calls me that. No need for the ‘mister’ stuff with me, either,” he chuckles, his eyes taking in my appearance. I note the pull of his lips as he looks at my tie. “You’re a little dressed up. You sure you know what you’re getting yourself into, wantin’ to buy a dirty old garage? It ain’t no pretty-boy shop I got. We aren’t afraid of the big jobs, of gettin’ dirty.” He eyes me skeptically.
I bark out a laugh as my nerves immediately settle, allowing me to continue the meeting with ease and confidence.
“Thank fuck,” I blurt, reaching for my tie, loosening it and removing it from around my neck. I finish by rolling up the sleeves of my dress shirt, allowing my tatted-up arms to reveal themselves. “Yeah, I was going for a good first impression. My mum is big on ’em,” I laugh, taking in Flynn’s grease-stained hands, worn flannel shirt, and Dickies work pants.
“No need, son,” he says.
Hearing that term pulls at something inside me. Memories of m
y dad calling me “son” flood my mind, and I find myself grinning. I like Flynn, and hope we can make this work.
“Your resume, references and background with cars speak volumes. You could’ve shown up in a tux and I’d still have been impressed.”
“Well, thanks. That means a lot coming from you. You’re one of the best in the biz,” I say honestly, because it’s true. Flynn’s reputation is very well known here in Stoney Creek, Ontario. I could learn a lot from him.
“Alright, let’s iron out the details and see if we can make this shit happen,” Flynn gruffs, closing his menu, “Let me start by sayin’ I’m a tired old man and I’m looking forward to lightening up my workload. What’s ideal for me is to partner up with someone who will work alongside me, learn the business and everything we specialize in, then buy me out in a year’s time. I figure I got a good year left in me. It’ll give me time to settle in the new owner, help train them and ease the regulars into the idea of dealing with a new boss.”
“That sounds fair. I—”
He cuts me off. “I do, however, have a few stipulations that I will not concede on, so let’s order,” he says, nodding to the server, “then we’ll get down to the nitty-gritty. Let me say, though, I have a good feeling about this, son.”
“Me too, sir. Me too.”
“You boys ready to order?” the waitress asks while topping up our coffee.
“Sure thing, darlin’, I’ll have the special, over easy, with white toast and extra bacon, please,” Flynn orders, patting his belly. “I’m starvin’.”
I laugh. “I’ll have the bacon and eggs, sunny-side-up, and extra crispy please.” My appetite has suddenly come back now that I’ve relaxed.
An hour-and-a-half later, I’ve heard Flynn’s stipulations about keeping his staff, him staying on part-time, and a few other things that made not a lick of difference to me. There was nothing he said that had me changing my mind. And I’m fucking pumped that there were no red flags that came up for either of us to make me think this deal won’t happen.
I leave Flynn (and my number with Katie) and feel the best that I’ve felt in a long time. This is happening. Taking out my phone, I shoot a text to my buddy, Cannon.
Me: Voltage tonight?
Cannon: You know it. It went well?
Me: Feels like it did.
Cannon: Great. Drinks on you then fucker
Me: Aren’t they always, you cheap fuck? Later.
I tuck my phone away before folding myself back into my car and peeling out of the parking lot, Pink Floyd’s “Learning to Fly” blaring from the speakers.
Damn, I want this. A wave of excitement washes over me. Things are finally falling into place, and fuck, I’m ready for it.
6
Hendrix
“You taking her home?” Cannon—my best friend and the best automotive custom paint specialist I know—asks, nodding towards my lap.
Cannon Locke and I met on the first day of Grade 9 when some asshole shoved him into the girls’ bathroom, a stupid way of welcoming us Minor Niners to four years of hell. We met because I, of course, followed him right in since the Grade 12 quarterback Jason Blackburn tossed my ass through the door about one second after Cannon. The impact of our bodies colliding knocked us both on our asses in front of the hottest chick in school, Willow Frayer, who was standing at the mirror fixing her hair. She turned when she heard the commotion then completely lost her shit as she saw not one—but two—of us boys come barreling into the girl’s washroom. Fuck, she was pretty (even though she was screaming and flailing). To top it all off, both Cannon and I landed like two weak bags of shit right at her feet. That day, Cannon and I agreed to stick together and to start working out. We’ve been best friends ever since.
Smiling down, I nod an affirmative back to Cannon, watching Katie laugh with her friend as she subtly grinds on my cock with that tight ass of hers. She’s got me rock hard beneath my jeans. I’m not sure how much longer my zipper will be able to contain the boner I’ve got going on. The bastard is a needy fuck with Katie being all flirty and ready like she is. I knew before I left the diner that Katie was going to call; it only took fifteen minutes after I walked out of the joint before I had a text from her. I love me an eager beaver. We’d made plans for her and her girlfriend Brittany to meet us at Voltage, a local bar where Cannon and I hang out a few times a week.
With the bass from the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ “Dark Necessities” pounding through the speakers, I lean over so only Cannon can hear me.
“Thinking I just might. Figure I deserve a reward after today. She’s got great tits and her lips are a dick’s dream. They’ll look great with my cock between ’em when I fuck her face.”
He shakes his head. “With a mouth like that, how you get all these chicks is baffling to me.”
“What? Like you’re not gonna take Britt home and fuck her? It’s what we do. You should be thanking me that Katie’s friend is as hot as she is. Remember the chick you brought me the last time? I’d say you’re going to owe me after this one.”
“Yeah, but…you’re such a dog, man.”
“Nope. I’m honest, and I was honest with her on the phone. She knows the score, knows it’s just casual, that the last thing I’m looking for is a relationship. Especially not now, with the prospect of having the garage.”
“Whatever, man. One word: Nikki. They always say it’s fine, then they can’t handle it. I can’t wait for the day some chick comes along and owns your ass. Can’t deke a relationship and love forever, man.”
“Whoa! Easy with that voodoo shit. Keep that crap to yourself.” I shake and shudder as if I’m creeped out, and Cannon laughs.
“On that note, I’m gonna take Britt home now, but she wanted to make sure Katie was in good hands.”
“Oh, she’s in real good hands, brother. You know it.” I take a pull from my beer before offering a mischievous smirk.
“Jesus, these two are hot,” Cannon whistles, drawing my attention over to where Katie and Britt are up dancing to some Drake song.
“Shit, yeah, they are.” I’m rooted in place as I take in their little routine. They’re grinning and moving up and down each other as if they were going to get it on. Shit, what I wouldn’t give to be in the middle of that sandwich. They’re sexy as fuck.
“Yeah, I think we’re leavin’ now, too.” I stand, clasping Cannon on the shoulder as we make our way to the girls.
Sneaking my hands around her waist, I pull Katie’s ass back into my groin. “Time to go, sweetheart.”
My heart speeds up at the images of things to come with Katie, and I’m also getting this giddy feeling deep in my gut thinking back on today’s meeting. I’m fucking happy and I’m ready to celebrate. I push my face into her neck.
“I wanna see you dance with your pussy on my face.”
7
Trinity
I’m standing in the wings of the stage waiting for my cue, and I swear I’m going to be sick. Thankfully, I know I won’t. This is just a silly game my nerves like to play. It’s our own version of chicken, the face-off we have every time I’m about to give a speech. Besides, that would be highly embarrassing in front of all these people, and I’m sort of a pro now, right? As always, my mind runs through its array of doubts. What if they look at me and see me as sick? Contagious? Dirty? Or worse, what if all I see are faces full of pity staring back at me? Is my speech lame? Does it need more humour? Will they even listen…?
That’s the thing I hate the most. Pity.
Never, ever, pity me. I’m a survivor. I am living. And all I want is to be seen—I want people to see me, not just see what they will soon discover resides in my blood.
I am me. I am not HIV.
I get myself all riled up at the idea of how much I hate that as I listen to the principal talk to the senior classes at Westdale High School. Working to relax, I wipe my now-sweaty palms down the front of my skinny jeans while shifting nervously side to side in my orange Chucks.
&nbs
p; The gentle touch of Uncle Dexter’s hand immediately puts me at ease.
Uncle Dex. He’s been my biggest supporter, worrywart and advocate since the day I told him about my HIV diagnosis. He comes with me to every speaking engagement I do, even though I’m a grown woman who can handle this on her own. Despite my protests and assurances, he takes the day—or half of the day off (depending how far we need to drive)—leaving the other guys in charge. He says it’s good training for them for when he retires, a notion he’s been bringing up more and more, but I’ll believe it when I see it. Dex loves Ignition Inc. way too much.
“Kiddo, you’re gonna crush it. You always do. You know better than to worry, the kids always love you,” he says, breaking me away from my thoughts. “They eat up every word you say. Relax. It’s in the bag, a piece of cake.”
I nod. “I know. It’s just nerves.”
“Take a deep breath before you puke on those new shoes of yours,” he smiles.
“You’re right. I always do this to myself. It’s not like this is my first rodeo.”
“Exactly. You’re a professional. This is what you love doing. Now, go out there and just be you—the kick-ass girl everyone loves.”
“You’re right, Uncle Dex. This is what I love. I get inside my own head sometimes, you know? Because I want them to see me, not just some tainted girl they pity.”
“You get that shit outta your head right this instant, you hear me, darlin’? No-one sees that. They see a fighter, an educator, a rockstar.” He nudges me and I smile. He’s called me the “Rockstar of Speeches” ever since I decided to share my story once I finally came to terms with my own diagnosis, which makes it just over a year ago. The first time he, my aunt and cousins came to watch, he said he was in awe of my ability to connect with the audience. Dex said it was like watching his idol Robert Plant putting his fans in a trance, as soon as I started talking. I think he was completely exaggerating but who was I to knock my number one fan down? Besides, isn’t it every girl’s dream to be a rock goddess?
Tainted by Love Page 3