Charged (9 page)

“Got it.” I take the menus tucking them under my arm and ask. “Any of you want mayo or hot sauce?” 

“Yeah, tell Gus I have pepto today so we’re set,” Horny says as the cop smiles. I pour him the black coffee, leaving a stack of the creamers he asked for. 

The wildly creative names that Hazel had put on her menu never fail to make me laugh. She said it made it more interesting, and I could understand that. Saying cheesy scrambled eggs, with toast and honey fifty times could get monotonous, but saying cheese babies, toasted wheaties, bee butt’s and a black cat instead of coffee seems a lot more fun. 

As the morning passed by, I’d found my gaze drifting back over to the shop every so often. The garage opened up a few hours ago, and with all the traffic in the restaurant, I haven’t had a chance to pop over and ask about my car.

Travis came in with a tow early on, gingerly setting down a shiny, baby blue car by the doors, before pushing it into the shop, by hand like it was made of glass. The lines on the body are sensual, with rounded front fenders like a woman’s big boobs, thin midsection, lack black high top convertible cover, and white trim on the wheels. It’s definitely not from this era, probably not even from before Hazel was born, but it’s beautiful. I can see the beauty in its style. 

Definitely way above my pay grade. 

“Staring doesn’t get food on the tables, girl,” Gus says from behind me. “Your orders are up.” 

“Yep, Gus, right on it.” Picking up the hot trays of hash, eggs, toast and home sliced ham, I serve the hungry masses once more. 

Gus kept me hopping all morning. I think he thought I was watching Ryker, but really it was the fact that I worried my Creature was sidelined yet again, now that the new car had come through the doors. I was feeling relaxed and comfortable in this environment, and if I let myself feel happy, I knew it would be ripped out from under me. Knowing that I can get on the road soon makes me feel like I have an objective to count down to. I know Ryker said he’d get on it, and that I’d be here only a week as he repaired it, but I’ve never had people I could trust; not their judgement, not their actions, and definitely not their word. When enough people let you down, you don’t look for things to go your way. I’m suspicious of it happening so suddenly now. 

Around eleven o’clock, the clouds open up with a massive downpour, pretty much stripping the diner of customers. Hazel said customers melt away in rain like they’re all made of sugar, which left me sitting in a ghosted room. I’ve already cleaned all the sugar containers, and refilled the salt n’ pepper shakers.

“Kate,” Hazel calls from the kitchen. I set down the last shaker before wandering over to see what she needs. I pass through the kitchen area, where Gus is sitting on his stool reading a local paper. He looks up from the article and smiles. 

“Hey kid.” 

“Hey, Gus.” 

I poke my head into her Harry Potter cupboard of an office. The desk is littered with bills, notices and order forms of all colors. “What’s up?”

“When it’s wet like this, the mechanics from the shop won’t venture out. I don’t blame them, really. They can’t really have wet outfits, now can they? The material sticks to everything when it’s dry, but when it’s wet they look like plaster puppets.” She doesn’t look up from where she’s flipping a large stack of papers into a neat pile. “We normally go over n’ see what they want for lunch. Mind goin’ over for me? I’m gonna get some paperwork done, seein’ yer here.” 

Hazel’s ‘go get em’ attitude’ is infectious. She’s a truly genuine person, and she makes me want to do nice things. Hell, all she’s done is nice things for me and it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours. 

“Sure.” Taking off my apron, I toss it on the counter and walk towards the entrance, calling out to tell Gus I’ll be back soon. 

“There’s an umbrella by the door,” he calls back to me from the kitchen.

Taking a pad of paper and a pen, I pick up the ratty blue umbrella, the bell dinging over the door on my way out. The awning at the front covers me while I open the ancient worn out umbrella. 

There’s no wind, so the warm rain falls straight from the sky in fat lazy drops. I’ve avoided going over and checking on Creature all morning, mainly so I’m not harassed by Gus, but also because I figured the more I bugged, the more chance I had of hearing worse news than I had. 

I know yesterday Ryker did a quick pull apart coming up with a vague repair list. I really can’t say I’ve looked after the car at all. Any money I’ve had was going towards somewhere to stay, something to eat or the odd drink to piss away the memories. Since I have enough money from the ring to take care of the repairs on Creature, and with Hazel not making me pay for a place to stay, I’ve saved a bit of money. Hopefully I’ll have some to spare for my grand escape out of Mississippi. 

I hate staying put for too long. I’m scared shitless, if I’m being totally honest with myself. Oxford may have more people my age, but I’m still taking a chance hiding out somewhere so close to the last point of discovery.  

As I venture across the asphalt towards the garage, the raindrops are so big they bounce off the blacktop, hitting my legs as I walk. It’s kind of refreshing and cool as it runs down my heated skin. 

The steel bay doors at the front of the garage are closed to keep the wet out, so I venture over to the side man door. There’s a sign hanging beside the steel entry, brightly painted and polished to a sheen, reading J
ack’s Autobody and Restoration
. I open the door and step inside, shaking out the ratty umbrella and collapsing it to rest against the inside wall. 

I’d only seen a quick view of the interior from the bay door yesterday, but I had no idea how massive it was. To the right stands racks and racks of body panels, all of them reaching as high as the ceiling. There seems to be every color and shape, some wrapped in bubble wrap, some in brown cloth sheets with taped up edges, while others lay loosely resting against the bare rack or upon each other. 

Somewhere inside the space the stereo is cranked so high, the sound bounces off the walls. I’m guessing it’s so it can be heard loud and clear by all, but it’s almost deafening. As I move through the cavernous building, it looks like a metal graveyard. Some of the large racks holding whole motors, and even bigger components. Some are covered with tiny little baskets holding nuts and bolts, or stacks of the brown sheets.

Right in the center of it all, that baby blue car sits with the top folded down and its doors open, a man tucked under the dash. All I can see is his torso and feet. His shirt is raised up, showcasing a multitude of vibrant tattoos across his stomach, chest, and the underside of his arms as he pulls at wiring under the dash. He looks busy right now; I’ll come back.

Walking into the room instead of lurking by the door, I’m approached by another young, hot guy. He’s cute in a GQ fashion kind of way. Does Jack only hire good looking mechanics, or what? 

“Hi love. What can I get you?” he asks in a southern drawl. He’s about my height, with wide football shoulders, black tribal tattoos snaking up under the tee shirt shoulder cuffs of his t-shirt. He has black spacers in each ear that are at least an inch wide. His shaved head and crisp green apple eyes make him stunning. 

I clear my throat trying to find my voice, a little caught off guard by his beauty. “Actually, I’m here to get you something. Hazel sent me over to see to lunch orders.” 

Stepping closer to me, getting right into my personal space, he drags a finger along my jaw and grins wide. “Well, in that case, gorgeous, I’ll take a nasty sandwich with a Coke. Unless you’re on the menu?” 

“Sorry darlin’,
my
restaurant is closed at the moment, but I’ll make sure you get your nasty.” I smile back and step away from him. His touch, while gentle, is unnerving and actually kind of creepy. He doesn’t affect me at all like Ryker does. His touch doesn’t cause any shivers or heating in my jeans, which is funny when you think of how dangerously sexual Ryker is, where this guy is model pretty and more my type.  

I can’t say I don’t want to see Ryker. That would be a blatant denial of the feelings he pulls from me. If a single touch of his lips can make me feel
that
alive, I’m afraid of what it would feel like with his hands on my hips, my breasts, or any part of my body for that matter. Even after he had Kendra’s ass pressed into my hood, I still can’t stop daydreaming about taking him on any surface possible. This guy though; he elicits a different reaction — fear. 

He laughs loudly, breaking through my thoughts. “Well in that case…” He turns from me, reaches over to the wall and turns down the stereo control, yelling out, “Boys! Food order’s up!”  

Seconds later, men are crawling out from under cars, and out of attached rooms in all different directions. It’s like there’s a siren for chow hour going off. How did this space hide so many men, and all good looking to boot? There should be a calendar from this place. I’d call it
Men of the Metal.
 

Taking their orders, I receive a few cat calls, a ‘hey darlin’’, ‘hi ya gorgeous’ and your typical ‘sup’ as they all gather around me. I’m guessing Hazel doesn’t get this response. I suppose there isn’t exactly a steady stream of young women walking into their domain on a daily basis. I laugh along with them as they each try their best to hit on me in one way or another. And then Ryker comes around the corner. Suddenly, it’s as if they’re all afraid of him as they quickly recite their order then clear off. 

“Hey,” Ryker says gruffly as the last one leaves. 

“Hey,” I say back, equally sharp.“How’s it going on my car?”

His hair is loose today. I notice once more how his black tee shirt lays perfectly on his sculpted chest, and how his low slung jeans hang loosely, in just the right spot to show off where his hard cut abs dip to his hips. There really isn’t one bad male specimen in this whole place, but none compare to him. 

“It’s not a car. I told you that before. What a fuckin’ piece of shit. How you could let it get to that point is beyond all reasoning.” 

Today,
I won’t let him get to me,
I tell myself as I take a deep breath and look him right in the eye. I realize my mistake right away when his piercing blue eyes seem to look right through me once again. I take a moment to gather my wits and whatever strength I can muster to stand off against Ryker, and his not so boyish charm. 

“Well, not everyone has the money to work on their cars, or has a lovely shop like this at their disposal,” I say swinging my arms dramatically, indicating the wide space. “I did due with what I had. If my car paid the consequences, but I got to eat, then I saw that as one in the win column for me.” 

“Yeah well, until yesterday anyway. Now your ass is stuck here.” Touché. I am stuck here, that’s for sure. 

One fucking week. It’s only a week. I repeat that over and over again like a mantra in my head, even as I stand so close, I can’t ignore the intoxicating smell of his aftershave. God, it’s amazing.

“How’d you make out at Horny’s?” he asks, his tone a little nicer, but now he’s looking past me like I’m not even there.

“Fine actually,” I answer. “Horny was fair. I tried for a bit more, but I got what I expected at least. You didn’t answer my question though. How
is
my car?” 

He ignores me again, too busy looking over at a guy who is just about to place a wrapped panel on the shelf close to us. 

“Charlie, that goes with the Bird. Put it over on the stack.” Again that gruff voice. I guess it’s not reserved for just me. 

His eyes wander down to mine and he smirks, then reaches forward and touches my face uninvited. He runs his hand along the side of my cheek, resting it just above my chin so that his thumb sits tauntingly at my lips. I lean into it like a magnet before quickly pulling back, the memory of yesterday’s fiasco running through my mind. 

Ryker grins a knowing grin, because the infuriating man knows he gets to me. “Your car is right there.”

I turn, looking around the corner, to where my Creature sits torn apart on blocks with everything laying all around. “What the hell did you do to him?” I screech.

Turning towards it, I sprint across the shop. The hood is off completely, leaving only two metal arms that stick straight into the air. There’s no engine where the engine goes, the front tires are off, the car is on blocks — on blocks for Christ’s sake — and various parts lay all around it. Even the doors are gone and my duffel bags are strewn around the floor like garbage.