“Sorry but your card has been declined.” The barista pushes her black framed glasses up her nose, looking a bit uncomfortable. I’ve got no idea why, since she’s not the one with malfunctioning credit cards. “Try this one.” I hand her the black Amex.
She clears her throat. “Er, we just did.”
We’ve tried them all. Except for my debit card. I pluck it out and hand it over, my gut clenching so tight that I’m scared it’ll tear in half while she swipes it. It works, but there’s no relief. Because that’s my own personal checking account. With maybe a year’s worth of wages in it, if that. Fuck. I stare out the window at the busy street beyond in a shocked daze, trying to decide what to do next. But my brain is frozen, just like my stiff body when I grab my to-go cup and move rigidly out the door. I turn right to go to work but think better of it when I see the bank across the street.
“Here. Hope you like lattes.” I shove the coffee into a homeless man’s chest, not seeing whether he grabbed it in time before marching across the street and entering the bank. I withdraw everything, a whopping twenty-five thousand dollars and eighty-five cents.
Shoving the envelope into the bottom of my handbag and holding onto it for dear life, I make my way back home to put it away. After locking it in the mini safe that Cleo got me five Christmases ago, I sit on the couch with my head in my hands and stare at my phone, wishing I could do something about this mess. But I know I can’t. My father’s threats are never idle; I should know that better than anyone. Figures that, after the best weekend of my life, reality needs to even the score.
Well, it’s even. And though I’m scared out of my brain, I think I’ll be okay. The lease on my apartment is paid up until the new year, I own my car, and I have enough money to feed myself and pay some bills for a while.
Inhaling the deepest breath I think I’ve ever taken, I stand and let it out then make my way to the door. He wants to cut me off? Okay. I’ll help him make sure that cord is severed properly.
Driving back to work, I park, grab my small box, and make my way to the elevator in the lobby. The echo of my heels clipping across the marble foyer sets my nerves jumping. The elevator dings, and I step out into the accounting department for Bramston Inc.
It’s time for Sally to watch my fabulous ass walk out these doors for the last time.
“Vera, where’ve you been? You were supposed to be—”
“Save it, Sal. Got shit to do.” I walk over to my cubicle and plonk the box down on the desk. Getting to work right away, I put my small number of belongings inside it. Pens, paper clips, a few dollar bills, stapler, calculator, more pens. As I open the drawers, I hear Sally’s Mary Jane heels clomping on the floor as she rushes over.
Another calculator, glue stick, gum, tissues. Okay, so I don’t need any of this crap. I just wanted to do this in person. I’m a little vindictive like that.
“Uh, what are you doing?” she asks from behind me.
“What does it look like, Sal?”
“For the last time, my name’s not … Wait, are you leaving?”
Ding, ding, ding. There it is.
I paint a huge smile on my face, not even faking it.
“Oh, you can be quite clever when you really work for it, can’t you? And yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”
Slamming the drawer closed with my ass, I take a quick look around. That’ll do.
“Bye Sal, it’s been fun,” I lie.
I walk back down between the cubicles toward the elevator.
“Oh, Vera! Here, you forgot your mug!” Sally comes trotting toward me.
“Keep it. It’s a vintage Royal Albert,” I call back while I step inside and press the button. “Sell it on eBay and use the money to pay for some proper skin care.” I point at my nose, eyeing the nasty zit sitting on the end of hers as the doors close and she growls.
As I walk out of the lobby and onto the street, a huge smile spreads over my face. I’d whistle with glee if it wouldn’t make me look like a goober. I make a beeline for my Porsche when I see a trash can. Walking over to it to dump the box inside, I change my mind when out of the corner of my eye, I see the same homeless man from earlier sitting in an alcove. He looks curiously at me when I drop the box in front of him. “There’s probably a few dollars in there,” I inform him before I make my way back over to my car and climb inside.
My brows furrow as I stare at my steering wheel. Damn, I think Jared’s fucking the nastiness right out of me. I can’t complain, though; I like it too much to do a stupid thing like that. I only got three hours sleep last night, thanks to staying on the phone with him for too long and our weekend replaying on a constant loop in my head.
Shit. No job and fuck all money. Some might say I’m an idiot for quitting my job after everything that’s happened today, but staying there is just another way for him to control me. I’m done being controlled. A whole sea of unpredictability yawns before me. But funnily enough, it’s not as scary as I thought it’d be.
I park in the tiny lot and glance around as I walk over to the rolled-up door of the garage. “So this is where you work?” I inspect the dust already coating the tops of my black pumps. Jared looks up from where he’s hunched over a bike, a wrench in his hand and a smile tugging at his lips. “Nah, I just like hanging out here with this smelly bastard in my free time.” He jerks his chin at a large man with a huge beard, who grunts, “Fuck off.”
Dropping the wrench, Jared chuckles, rising and grabbing a rag from his back pocket to wipe his fingers with. “Butch, this is Vera. Vera, Butch, one of the guys who works here.”
Butch’s head snaps over to me then, and I move farther into the crowded, oil-smelling interior of Surface Rust. Fitting name. There’s actual rust on a lot of the tin siding of the poorly structured building. But inside? It’s organized chaos. No clear space available except for in the center of the garage. Everything seems to have a home—even the various Harleys and an old car, which appear to be in various states of reconstruction or disrepair.
Butch scratches at his beard, which is so long it sits on top of his meaty chest as his eyes rake up my jean-clad legs to my cream blouse-covered chest. When he finally reaches my eyes, I raise a single brow at him. Busted. He grins sheepishly and looks over at Jared whose arms are folded over his chest while he smirks at me.
Butch clears his throat. “Sorry, ah, nice to meet ya, Vera.”
“Charmed,” I reply and move over to Jared. He unfolds his arms to fold them around me instead but then pulls back. “Shit, I’ll get you dirty, Frost.”
I lean up to brush my lips over his cheek. “Oh, you will be.” I look down at my blouse. “And don’t worry. I’ve had this thing for months.”
“I’ll just, um, yeah, got shit to do out back.” Butch nods at us and walks out a door at the back of the garage that creaks loudly before slamming it closed.
Jared tugs me back to his chest with a low groan, skimming his lips side to side over my forehead as he inhales deeply. “Christ, I’ve missed you. Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“It’s only been a day.” I laugh, but I’m secretly thrilled he does. “And, um, yeah, not going in today.” I have no idea why I can’t tell him. Why something stops me. Fear that he might think it’s all the result of me being with him? Because it is, but it also isn’t. It’s been a long time coming; he just helped it finally happen. Albeit, unknowingly. Later, I tell myself. I’ll tell him later.
“Longest day of my life.” He squeezes me.
I laugh again. “What are you building?” I pull away to look at the bike he was working on.
“Uh.” He scrubs a hand behind his head, his shirt riding up a little. My eyes are drawn to that sliver of skin as if I can feel the smoothness of it beneath my fingers just by looking hard enough. “Probably not something you’re interested in …” Jared trails off. That has my eyes unsticking and darting to his face. He folds his arms across his work shirt again, shrugging. “Sorry, I’m not trying to be a dick. But look at you and look at me.” He smiles, but it’s not convincing. “You don’t really look like you belong in a place like this, beauty.”
His softly spoken words are like tiny needle pricks right to the heart. He’s right, though. I don’t. But if I don’t belong here, and I don’t belong in my high-rise condo or fancy-ass life anymore, then where do I belong? My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I look down at my shoes. My beautiful shoes covered in a fine layer of dust. Yet I’m not cringing; I’m not cursing him out for working somewhere full of grime, dirt, grease, and countless other things bound to ruin my clothing choices. Because it’s my choice to buy them, to wear them, and as I lift my eyes to the bike in front of me, I realize it was my choice to come here, too. I wanted to see where he worked and what he did. I can’t really get mad at him for assuming what anyone else would. But still, my hand lifts to my chest, gently rubbing while I clear my throat. “Well, I wouldn’t have come here if I wasn’t interested, so are you going to just stand there or are you going to show me?”
The sharp bite to my voice has his eyes narrowing on mine. “Sure.”
He tells me about the bike he’s building for a client and the parts he’s waiting on. And yeah, it goes in one ear and out the other, but I’m still entranced by everything that comes out of his mouth. The way he points at where the engine will go and crouches with a light in his eyes as he explains how they’ve had to order a new frame. It’s then I realize that although he might’ve fallen into this job, this business he struggles to keep alive—he loves it. I’m hit with a case of irrational jealousy over this fact. I want him to talk about me with that same sense of wonder, interest, and devotion. With that gleam in his eyes. I want it all. But I don’t think he realizes that, and I can’t tell him.
I’m in love. In love with a grease monkey who fucks like it’s his last day on earth and works in an old, decrepit shed. I’d laugh at how ludicrous it all is. This crazy turn my life has taken. But then he smiles softly at me as if knowing I’m not taking in any information he’s telling me but, rather, listening and absorbing everything about him instead.
“You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?” His brow quirks.
“Sure I am.”
He cocks his head to the side, eyes glinting.
Damn it. “Okay, I’m not learning a damn thing about the bike, but you?” I bite my lip. “You’re a lot more interesting.”
He throws his head back with a loud laugh then walks over to me. Tucking some of my hair behind my ears, he says, “I happen to find you very interesting, too.”
“Yeah?” My voice is breathy.
He nods. “Oh, yeah.”
The sound of his gravelly voice has goose bumps appearing on my skin. My nipples harden behind the cups of my bra. I step into him and wrap my arms around his waist, dirty shirt be damned. Our lips meet in a kiss that’s gentle yet violent in the way it sends my emotions and hormones twisting into a painful mixture of need.
He pulls away, and my eyes flutter open, blinking and readjusting to the absence of his presence when he walks over to the other side of the garage. He uses another rag to wipe the top of an old wooden stool then carries it over and sets it down by the bike. “I need to remove this fender and a few other things then maybe we can grab some lunch.” He taps the stool then bends back down by the bike.
I take a seat. “Why do you guys pull them apart like this in the first place?”
He drops the wrench and walks over to a toolbox by the wall. “What, the bikes?”
“Well, yeah.” I fidget with my hands in my lap while I watch him. “Aren’t they old anyway?”
He turns around and walks back over with a little plastic kit or something in his hands, bending back down to the bike.
“We enjoy it. Darren used to mainly work with old cars—you know, service them and do the odd repair here and there, too. But he always loved Harleys and would work on his own here at the shop when he could. Some people took notice, or heard, and started bringing theirs to him, too.”
“But you know the stupid saying … if it ain’t broke, why fix it?”
He stops what he’s doing and grins over at me. There’s that weird twinkle in his eye I’ve learned he gets when he finds me amusing. “What?” I huff.
“You’re adorable when you’re trying not to show you’re interested in something, know that?”
“Well, I do now.”
He chuckles, going back to his tinkering. I’m momentarily hypnotized by the flexing of his thick bicep bulging against the confines of his shirt sleeve as he unscrews a bolt and gets to work on the rest.
After he’s pulled it off, he collects all the bolts and chucks them into a small tin then rises and walks back over to his toolbox to put everything away. “Darren once told us that when he was younger, rebuilding choppers was done as more of a means of transportation than a hobby. He’d pick up bikes from the war era for next to nothing, bring them home or bring them into work, and fix them in his spare time. Now it’s a little more expensive and kind of a growing industry. But I guess I just like the idea of feeling something I made rumble beneath me when I ride.” He shrugs.
“Why?” I ask.
He turns around, leaning back against the workbench. “Hard to explain, but there’s a certain beauty in creating something. In looking at the finished product and knowing you made it what it is. In the way you can so easily fall in love with an idea. Whether it’s still a little rough around the edges or not, you commit to it, put in the time, the effort and keep at it until you get it just right. Just right for you. Because it makes you happy to not only see that finished product but because you also enjoyed every second it took to get it there.”
I feel the breath whoosh out of me and stare down at an oil smear on the concrete floor. My heart constricts as I realize he hasn’t just penetrated these cold layers of my heart and made me fall for him. No, he’s now sunk himself in so deep that I don’t know how I’m going to eradicate him. How I’m going to untie myself from these constricting binds he keeps wrapping around me.
And what’s even scarier is, I really don’t even want to.
My phone rings, breaking the tense silence and causing my gaze to move to my purse, which is on the ground next to me. I bend down and get my phone out, scowling at the screen when I see Dexter’s name on it. I should probably just change my number now.
The phone disappears from my hands. Jared glowers at it before glancing at me. I lift my shoulders. “Don’t even ask. You know I’m well and truly done with him.” I try for a sultry smile, but I can tell it fails because his narrowed eyes drop back to the screen when it stops ringing and then starts right back up again.
He answers it. Shit. Not good, not good.
“Can’t you take a hint?” Jared’s voice becomes something I hardly recognize. Cold and gruff. It probably shouldn’t send tingles racing down my spine, but it definitely does.
“Really?” He smirks at me briefly, but it’s not playful. It’s the kind of smirk that says he’s pissed off but trying to keep his cool.
“Uh-huh. Sure, I’ll pass on the message. Right after I’m done sliding my cock inside her tight pussy while squeezing those creamy thighs hard enough she’s left with bruises. Because you know, we men have our priorities.”
Christ. My cheeks heat, and I feel my panties grow damp. This shouldn’t be turning me on because he’s blatantly disrespecting me. Not to mention, probably causing a shitload of trouble for me if Dexter goes running to Father dearest. Oh, well. The damage has already been done in that regard, so let him do what he wants.
Jared hums, and I take a seat on the stool again. “No. Now don’t call my girl again or I’ll show you what getting on the bad side of a piece of shit city scum like myself can do for you. Fuck off and have a shit day.”
I shouldn’t be so caught up in those two little words, not after everything he just said. My girl. But now my insides feel like mush. He hangs up and turns away from me, running a palm over his perfect hair and causing some strands to fall on his face when he turns back around.
He passes me my phone, not looking at me. “Here. Apparently, you need to call your dad.”
He’s called me twice, and to him, that may as well mean he’s tried fifty times. But there’s nothing to say, and I’m not going to do what he wants, so I didn’t see the point in returning his calls. I take my phone from him and hop up to put it back in my purse. When I turn around, he’s staring at me. His jaw clenches, and his eyes look like they’re trying to see through me. “What?” I ask, my voice tinged with nerves.
He shakes his head and turns back to the bike, but his rigid posture and the tension radiating from him won’t let me leave it alone. Walking over to him, I grab his arm, turning him around to face me. “Talk to me.”
He sucks his lips into his mouth, hesitating, then finally says, “You know, this isn’t easy for me.”
I raise a brow, giving him a shaky smile. “And what, you think it’s easy for me?” He has no idea of all the ways it hasn’t been easy for me. But I’m not about to dump that information on him now. “What are you trying to say, Jared?”
He stares at me for an excruciating few moments. “I’m trying to say you can’t fuck me over, Vera, because I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle it. What you’ve seen is what you get with me, and when you realize it’s not as fucking fun as you thought it’d be, when you get sick of roughing it …” He trails off and turns around, placing his hands on the bench and dropping his head down.
He thinks so little of me? I don’t believe that, though. He may be a smartass, but he’s also a smart man. If he truly did think that way about me, he’d have left me alone weeks ago. I step closer to him and hook my arms around his waist from behind. He stiffens then seems to relax. I scoot under his arms until he’s caging me against the bench with them. Lifting my hands, I frame his face, watching the way his eyes slowly soften when I rub my thumbs over his cheeks. “You’re the greatest adventure I’ve ever had.” The admission pours from somewhere deep in my soul. “But when you look at me, I feel it everywhere … mainly here.” I tap my chest then lean on my toes to bump my nose against his. “If you were a book, I’d read you, touch you, look at you every day and never get bored.”
I watch those green orbs widen at the same time his hands grab my face then his lips crash into mine.