“I can’t drive that,” I hiss, pointing to the SUV that costs more than I make in three years. Or more. He’s crazy.
“It’s harder to tear up. Don’t worry,” he says while winking. Then he turns around and walks away, leaving me in my stupefied state as my feet cement themselves to the ground.
A black motorcycle is parked in his yard, and he throws one long leg over it before pulling on his helmet. The beast roars to life, and he rocks it back until he can drive off the grass and onto the street, leaving me to wallow in my humiliation.
“That’s so fucking sweet,” Maggie says from behind me.
I turn to see her grinning while sipping her coffee, and I glare at her. “It’s not sweet. He feels sorry for me. I can pay for my own car to get fixed.”
She snorts and rolls her eyes. “You can’t pay for his shop. And his is the best.”
So she knew where he worked this whole time?
I frown as I look at the black Range Rover at my curb. He’s loaning me his car while he fixes mine. And all this after I wrecked it into his. What a twisted, weird world we live in.
***
RYE
“Engine looks rough as hell. Sparkplugs are going bad, brakes are shot, rotors are fucked, tires are bald—”
“In other words, it’s a piece of shit,” I interrupt, flipping through the interview questions for the magazine reporter that will be coming.
“Yeah,” Wrench—my lead mechanic—says.
“Fix it all,” I say with a shrug, cursing at how personal some of these questions are.
Why do they need to know about my home life? This is about my garage, isn’t it?
“Don’t you need to call the owner? That’s going to be a chunk of cash, and it’s a Camry, and not one of the snazzy new ones, either. It’s an old Camry—talking dawn of the dinosaurs here. There’s a cassette player, dude. The owner may not have that kind of dough. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a blue-collar car in here.”
That makes me sound like a rich asshole. I charge a lot because I have the highest quality workers, but still.
“This one is on my tab. Do whatever needs to be done.”
I can actually feel his surprise, so I don’t bother looking up. Brin can’t keep driving that thing around, and she’d have never let me take it if I hadn’t had it towed without her knowledge.
“Alrighty then,” he says at last, and then I hear him talking to a familiar voice in the hallway.
“Hey,” Wren says as he walks in.
I look up as he comes to drop onto the chair in front of my desk.
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your date?” I ask, glancing at the clock on the wall.
I don’t usually work on Sundays, but it’s been so busy that it was necessary to do. I really have to get my new guys trained properly so I can let this place run without me a little better.
It sucked to call Wrench in, but I know Brin will be impatient while waiting on her car. And I won’t dare let anyone besides me or him touch it. Since he’s even better than I am, I want him to take care of every detail.
“I canceled the date,” Wren says, bringing me back to the here and now.
I could strangle him. She just finished saying he was going to do this.
“Why?” I growl.
His eyebrows go up as a daring grin forms. He has no idea how close I am to slapping his grin off.
“Dude, if you liked her, all you had to do was use Star. You didn’t have to dye the girl’s mouth red.”
Star? I’ve never used Star. It’s a code we came up with a long time ago after a battle over a girl named Star went on between two of our friends. If you ask a guy about Star, it means you’re calling dibs. I’m not calling dibs on Brin.
We are friends. Nothing more.
“No need to use Star. Pranks are just our thing. You know the only two rules I have.”
I look back down to the interview questions, and then I groan when I see all the even more probing questions. Why do they need to know the length of my longest relationship?
No wonder they send you a pre-interview list. They’re letting you know ahead of time that they’re about to bend you over and fuck you hard. It almost makes me want to cancel.
“Whatever you say,” Wren snickers. “It was obvious you didn’t like the idea of me dating her.”
His eyes are on me expectantly when I give him my attention again. “You don’t make a good couple. But that doesn’t mean I want her for myself.”
I’d sound like an ass if I told one of my best friends that I didn’t think he was good enough for Brin. But he’s not. He proved that.
“It’s fine, Rye. Honestly. You’re right. We’re not right for each other.”