Trick

by Laramie Briscoe

  The fight’s gone out of her, and with the loss of her anger, mine’s gone, too. “I have no doubt you’d YouTube that shit, make it your bitch, and be on your merry way in under two hours.”

  The surprised look on her face is enough for me and when a giggle pushes past her throat, I feel a reaction in my body I haven’t felt in too long. When Riley’s mom laughs, it’s the sexiest, throatiest sound I’ve ever heard in my life. “Thanks for having so much faith in me.”

  “Somebody’s got to.”

  She takes a deep breath and before she can say anything else, I hold my hand out. “Keys please. Do you have a spare?”

  “I don’t know,” she shrugs her shoulders, biting her lip. “I’ve never had to know before.”

  I take my jacket off, putting it in the back with Riley. “Keep that safe for me,” I wink at her, as I put it over her legs. The temps are dropping and it doesn’t look like these two were prepared for it. I stand to my full height and shut the door before turning to the trunk.

  “First lesson is know what you have in your car at all times. You need some sort of emergency kit, especially with you two going over the bridge like you do. Thank God this isn’t the winter, but it’s fast approaching,” she’s nodding, and I hope I’m not overstepping my bounds.

  She helps me clear away all the bags in the trunk.

  “Did you buy out the whole craft store?”

  “It’s for my online business,” she explains as she puts them in the backseat, next to Riley. “Don’t peek,” she tells her daughter. “These aren’t for you to play with.”

  “You’ll have to tell me about that sometime. Maybe as small business owners, we could help each other out.”

  “I thought you were a mechanic,” she questions. The tone isn’t accusing but there’s a level of distrust anyone would be able to hear.

  “I own the shop,” I lift up the flap in the trunk leading to the wheel well where most spares are and grin. “You have a donut at least.”

  “Thank God,” she breathes.

  “We’ll save that lesson for tomorrow. C’mon by the shop and I’ll put a new tire on for you.”

  “You don’t have to,” she argues, shaking her head.

  “No, I want to teach you how to do it just in case something like this happens again. Every single woman needs to know the basics, and if someone else didn’t teach you, then I’m going to.”

  She’s biting her lip and shuffling her feet. It’s obvious what I’ve said makes her uncomfortable. But if there’s one thing I do know about women who are mama bears, it’s that you can combat their stubbornness by bringing their kids into the equation. It’s probably the only thing I’ve learned about women, besides how to please them.

  “Don’t you want to see what kind of a shop I run? I mean, I’m influencing your daughter. I’ll be spending a lot of time with her,” I remind her, fighting a smile at the way she makes me work for everything.

  “Okay,” she relents. “I work a short shift tomorrow and I have a three-hour window before I have to go pick her up from school. Will that be long enough to teach me the basics?”

  “We’ll make it work,” I go to work getting the donut put on.

  Within the hour, I’m helping her put all her stuff back in the trunk.

  “Thank you.” She’s standing beside of me, her arms tightly around her chest, her teeth lightly chattering. Even shivering her tone is appreciative.

  It’s not hard for her to say the words, and I appreciate that. Sometimes giving someone thanks is the hardest part, but Hadley seems to have that under control. Maybe it’s the help she’s not used to. It’s gotten dark, and I feel a responsibility maybe I shouldn’t feel.

  “Look, no bullshit,” I tell her quietly. “Get in the car and I’ll follow you two home. I want to make sure you get there okay. This isn’t exactly the best part of town.”

  Now that the sun’s gone down, there are people on street corners, sounds of mischief make their way to us. As I say the words, I flinch when I hear glass break not far from us. I don’t feel comfortable sending these two out into the night unprotected.

  “I’m going to stop and grab some food, wake her up, and make sure she eats something. If you don’t mind getting behind us in the drive thru and letting me pay for your meal, I’d love it if you’d be our escort,” she grins.

  “Sure thing,” I reach into the back seat and grab my jacket from around Riley’s legs. She’s conked out, sleeping the sleep of the innocent. “I’ll follow you,” I jog back to my bike and hop on.

  Never, in the forty-five minutes it takes us to get to her apartment building, do I let those taillights out of my sight. She waves as she grabs Riley out of her car seat and stands with her in the parking lot.

  “Need help with all that stuff in there?” I point to the trunk, remembering all the bags she had.

  “Thanks, but I’ll grab it tomorrow. Enjoy your burger,” she grins. “And thanks for helping us tonight.”

  “No problem,” I watch until she’s upstairs and safely in her apartment before I turn my bike around and head towards the shop.

  Never has an evening consisting of changing a tire and a bag of cold fast food made me feel the sense of peace I have right now. Like everything else, I know it probably won’t last.

  7

  Hadley

  My nerves are shot, completely and totally raw and jagged. I haven’t been this nervous in years, probably not since the day I walked down the aisle and joined my life with another person. And we all know how that turned out. My GPS flashes the five-minute warning at me. I’m really close to Trick’s shop.

  I haven’t been paying much attention since I turned onto the maze of downtown streets, but quickly I realize I’m in a much more blue-collar neighborhood. Things are well taken care of but there’s still a tarnish of age and use on them that comes with doing manual labor.

  Glancing down at the GPS, I check the number and commit it to memory. Buildings are so close together here it’s going to be easy for me to pass it if I’m not paying attention. I’m not entirely sure if I could get back here by myself again, and pulling over to start the GPS again is a no-go for me. Slowing to a crawl, I gaze into my rearview mirror, glad no one’s behind me and look for building 526.

  When I find it, I’m pleasantly surprised to see it looks well maintained. Seems like so far he takes pride in two things: his bike and his shop. There isn’t much room for me to park, but I manage to parallel park decently enough that I don’t embarrass myself.

  I check the time before turning the car off. I’m a little early, but I’d always rather be early than late. Slipping my purse strap over my shoulder, I get out and do my best to walk like I have some confidence about myself. As I approach, Patrick walks out, wiping his hands on a rag.

  “Hey,” the smile he gives me does weird things to my stomach. That feeling you get when you go down the first hill of a roller coaster? Yeah, that’s set up shop in the bottom regions of my belly.

  “Hi,” I answer shyly. “I wasn’t sure where you wanted me to park, so I got as close as I could.” Rambling when I’m nervous is a bad habit, one I’ve tried to break, but never been able to.

  “It’s okay, I can pull the car into the bay for you.”

  He’s holding his hand out, and for a split second the thought crosses my mind to grab it and hold on for dear life. Shaking my head to clear that stupid thought, I reach into my bag and fish out my keys, handing them over. “I really appreciate this.”

  “It’s not a problem. I’d rather you know what you’re doing than be stuck out on the road waiting for someone to help you. What if it hadn’t been me who pulled in behind you last night?”

  The thought had crossed my mind over and over as I laid awake in bed last night. Once my body had warmed and the shock had worn off, I’d realized how lucky we were Patrick had stopped. He didn’t have to, and the fact he did, said a lot about his character.

  “Trust me, I’ve thought about it.
”

  His gaze bores into mine, hazel eyes that are green tinged, looking deeply, full lips pursed to say something, but then he shuts off and withdraws. He doesn’t pressure me or ask any questions, just closes his fist around the keys. “Go ahead and head on in, I’ll be there in a sec.”

  Thankful for the opportunity to get away from his gaze that probably saw way too much, I quickly walk into the shop. The smell of motor oil and gas hits me almost immediately, and I sneeze, not used to the magnitude with which they permeate my senses. Glancing around, I realize the inside looks just as good as the outside. He is a man who takes great pride in what he does for a living. Before I can take in any more, I see my car coming towards me and laugh at the picture he makes behind the wheel.

  “It’s like a fucking sardine can,” he grumbles as he gets out, tossing me the keys.

  “Perfect for me,” I argue, a good natured smiled on my face.

  “Yeah, but you’re like almost a foot shorter than me.”

  I hate when people make fun of my height. “I’m five-three,” I sniff, tilting my chin up at him.

  “Six-two, so don’t get your panties in a wad. I was almost right.”

  The banter is unusual. I never had it with my ex-husband, and honestly I’m not sure how to respond, so I don’t. When I don’t speak again, he gives me an inquisitive look.

  “Did I piss you off?”

  He’s blunt, asks what he wants to know the answers to. I’m so not used to it.

  “No, I’m just not sure how to take you,” I admit, running a hand through my hair. When my fingers snag on a tangle, I make a great show of trying to smooth it out. “I’m way out of practice when it comes to men.”

  “I’m out of practice when it comes to women, so we’re even.”

  There’s a thought that runs through my head, and I decide to say it, because it’s so unlike me. “I have a feeling you have no issues when it comes to women, so thanks for trying to make me feel better.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. I’m out of practice when it comes to women like you – not even sure I’ve ever had one like you.”

  I open my mouth, shut it, and decide maybe it’s time not to ask any more questions.

  Trick

  Her face is bright red as she turns away from me, acting absolutely infatuated with the wrenches hanging on my wall. She has no fucking idea what they do, but it’s so damn cute as she walks over and starts looking at the different sizes, I have to chuckle. This one is more skittish than a newborn foal, and I need to remember that.

  “So, do you wanna learn the basics?” I clear my throat, damned if I’m not hoarse. Verbal sparring has never affected me this way, but I do love to see her dark eyes light up.

  “Yup, teach me all your ways,” she turns around, takes her purse off, and puts it on the workbench I have set up. I want to teach her every way I have, but I remind myself she isn’t that kind of woman and this sure as hell isn’t that kind of situation.

  “All right, there’s three things you absolutely need to know,” I count off on my fingers. “How to check your oil and top it off, how to check your coolant and top it off, and how to change a tire.”

  “Got it,” she nods.

  “But first, we’ve got to do something about your clothes,” I frown.

  “What’s wrong with them? I don’t have anything else to change into.”

  Visions of her in nothing but her bra and panties in my shop are dancing through my head. Yeah, I immediately go there. I’m a fucking asshole. “You can’t wear that.” The top is lacey, and the pants, while black, look like they’re dressy, and I don’t want her to ruin them. Something tells me, money isn’t easy for her to come by.

  “What am I supposed to wear then?”

  “I have a pair of coveralls in my office that should fit you. They’re older and they’ve shrunk so they shouldn’t be too bad. Be back in just a sec.”

  My office is my dirty little secret because it’s a pigsty. I never let anyone go in here. It’s a wonder I keep the lights on since I can’t tell you the last time I actually saw a bill. Grabbing the extra pair of coveralls I keep there, I jog back out into the main room of the shop.

  “Here, put these on,” I hold them up to her. They’re too big but at least they’ll protect her clothes. The last thing I need is to feel guilty because I ruined work clothing for her.

  She gives me a scared look but unzips them and puts them on one leg at a time. When she’s done, she zips up and glances at me. “I feel like that little kid from A Christmas Story,” she wrinkles her nose.

  “You kinda do look like him,” I grin, because damned if she doesn’t make things fun. I’m not used to talking this much in a day, forget less than thirty minutes since she showed up. I forgot how much I missed it – the companionship and the feeling of having someone else around in your personal space. For so long I haven’t wanted it, but it looks like today Trick Tennyson is getting a lesson on loneliness. Something I never felt before a tiny, blonde-haired mom came barreling into my shop.

  “Like this?” she asks as she runs the oil stick through the rag like I showed her earlier.

  It’s become glaringly obvious I’ve been too long without either the companionship of my hand or the feel of a real live woman. I swear I can I feel the sliding motion of her pulling the stick through, and the grip of her hand, all the way down to my dick. When did car maintenance become a turn on?

  I move closer to make sure she’s gotten everything off the indicator and inadvertently press into her back. Her quick intake of breath tells me she feels my reaction. I’m not sorry, she’s a beautiful woman and I’m a hot-blooded man, but I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable. I clear my throat and push back from her. “Just like that.”

  She doesn’t stiffen as I move away, but her cheeks are flushed when she turns around to face me. “Thanks for helping me today,” her voice is soft. “I wish there was something I could do to repay you.”

  My body has a few ideas of its own, but I’ve never been that kind of guy. “You having at least a little bit of knowledge is good enough for me. I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.”

  Let’s just talk about the elephant in the room.

  “You didn’t,” she admits, her eyes darker than I’ve seen them. “I’ve not gotten that kind of reaction out of a man in a long time. Honestly, I’m flattered. We both know it can’t go anywhere, so I’ll take it for the compliment it is,” her lips tilt as she walks over to her purse and checks her phone.

  We’ve changed her tire, done the coolant thing, and obviously she knows how to check her oil now. There’s not much else for me to teach her.

  “I have to pick Riley up in about forty-five minutes, so I should be heading out.”

  My mind doesn’t register she’s taking her coveralls off as she walks towards my office. “I’ll just stick these in here.”

  “No!” I yell, but she’s already got the door open and the light on.

  “Oh. My. God.” She stands with her hand covering her mouth. “What is this?”

  I’m behind her, trying to see it from her eyes. There’s a mountain of paperwork on the desk, one of the filing cabinets has a door halfway open with paper sticking out, there’s shit on the fax machine that very well may have been there during Obama’s first term, and I’m pretty sure there’s a half-eaten sandwich on one of the shelving units that’s growing penicillin. This is damn embarrassing.

  She turns to face me, and I step back, scrunching my face up and rubbing my neck. “My office?”

  “I’m glad you’re questioning it too because I thought maybe it was a landfill. How in the hell do you get anything accomplished in there?” Her tone seesaws between amused and the voice all mothers have when they disapprove of what you’re doing.

  “I don’t?” I’m questioning myself again. She’s turned full-on “mother mode” on me and I’m not gonna lie – I’m scared to say the wrong thing.

  “Patrick,” Her tone ree
ks of disappointment. “You have to take your business seriously. It’s your livelihood,” she’s quiet for a moment and then a huge smile breaks across her face. “I know! You helped me with my car, I can help you with your office. It’s kind of what I do. Planning and organizing.”

  She looks like she really wants to help me, and if she does, who am I to tell her no? I mean, obviously I need all the help I can get in this portion of my life. “Sure, when are you available again?”

  “This time next week? I always work half-days on Thursday. Is that okay for you?”

  It’s embarrassing to say I have absolutely zero going on in my life, so I play it cool. “I’ll be sure to be here.”

  “Awesome, I’m glad I can help. Do you mind if I take pics of before and after? I promise not to tell anyone who belongs to the mess. It would really help my portfolio.”

  Apparently I’m powerless to say no at this point. “Sure, swing by next Thursday, and I’ll let you do what you feel like you have to. Anything’s better than what’s going on in there right now.”

  “Good,” she grabs her purse, putting it over her shoulder. “So I’ll see you Saturday? We’re still meeting, right?”

  I hadn’t forgotten about my hours with Riley. “Do you still want to meet at the center? I mean you spent,” I check my phone, “almost three hours here with me today. Do you trust us to go somewhere else?”

  She tilts her head to the side, and seems to think about it for a few minutes. “There’s the small business festival downtown. They have inflatables and stuff for kids. Would that be too much for you?”

  I’ve never, in my life, done anything like what she’s describing at all but I’m willing to. “What time?”

  “We’ll meet you there around ten. Let me get your number and I’ll text you when we get there.”