“Earth to McKayla . . . come in, bitch. Can you hear me?” Brad asks, all giggles as he catches me drifting off once again.

I’m trying to focus. Data entry isn’t my strong suit to start with, but these bills have to get paid. I love feeling the twenties and occasional hundreds between my fingers, but that doesn’t mean I like dealing with the paperwork. It’s why we spent the money for a totally integrated point of sales system, but it doesn’t do everything. So I try and focus, but even as my nails, blood red today, clickity-clack on the keyboard, my mind wanders.

For the last few days, I’ve popped between virtually euphoric at the amazing sex with Evan, dreaming about how he put me up on the hood of my car and pounded into me like an animal unleashed, and feeling creepy-crawlies down my spine at what was done to my car.

Evan tried to make me feel better, cleaning it up and then opening up to me more than I thought he ever would, and he’s tried to assure me that it was probably just a stupid prank. But I haven’t overlooked the fact that he’s more or less moved full-time into the apartment above the garage since the gross incident, almost like he’s protecting me. While that helps me feel safer, it also means that every night, I have to fight the urge to call him or go over there to see if maybe he can give me a little bit more assurance, if you know what I mean.

Brad sighs with a laugh and brings me fully back to the moment.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Just daydreaming for a minute.”

Brad sets his makeup brush back in his case, shaking his head. “Girl, those aren’t called ‘daydreams’, they’re called fantasies. And yours were written all over your flushed face. Although with the way you were walking the other day, I’d say you were more likely replaying memories.”

I reach a hand up to my cheeks and blush even further. I didn’t tell Brad about anything that happened, and I can’t get a read on him whether I actually was walking a little weird or if he’s just fishing. We’ve joked about it before—we call it the ‘Drought Breaker,’ although I’d say my wide-hipped mosey isn’t as funny as Brad’s waddle. “I wasn’t—”

“Aha, caught you!” Brad crows with a triumphant little clap. “I was kidding, but your reaction says I’m damn close to the bullseye. Just what devious things are you imagining doing with your greased up biker across the street?”

We both swivel our heads to look out the windows and into the bay doors of the garage across the way. It’s past sunset, but the lights are on inside, giving us a great view.

Evan and TJ are walking around a car, appraising it as they point and talk. Evan leans over to get under the hood and my eyes lock on his ass, covered in tight denim with a big grease swipe where I’ve seen him wipe his hands countless times in the last few weeks. It’s just about the same place where I want to dig my nails into the dimples of his ass as he pounds into me.

Brad, I can tell, probably knows what I’m thinking. “Mmm, damn, boy. Yeah, I can see why you’re cooking up some afternoon delight dreams about that yummy goodness. Jesus, I didn’t think you could get something that nicely fitting without being stretch jeans.”

I sigh dreamily, leaning forward and resting my elbows on the counter. “It’s even better without the jeans. Best ass I’ve ever had my hands on.”

I hear Brad’s gasp and realize I said that out loud, not in my head as I’d intended. Shit.

Brad’s eyes bore into me, his voice demanding as he plants his elbows right across the counter from me, lowering himself to stare into my face. “Spill it, bitch. Don’t even try to back out of it now.”

Before I can say anything, there’s a honk from across the street. We both look up and see Evan rubbing the back of his head, glaring at his brother. TJ looks across the street, trying not to laugh as he points and says something that makes Evan flip him the bird before stomping into the garage. TJ raises two fingers in a wave, and I return the greeting with a smile, thankful for the delay before I tell Brad what happened.

Brad offers a little finger waggle to TJ too, watching him disappear before hitting me with his full attention. “Well?”

“Well what?” I try in a last-ditch effort to not have to spill it.

Brad’s not having it. “Bitch, don’t make me turn you from Marilyn Monroe to Marilyn Manson.”

“I think I’m more Shirley Manson, don’t you?”

Brad growls, and I laugh, throwing up my hands. “Okay, okay. Chill. So, the other day after we got back, I was really feenin’ for a burger around midnight. So, I pulled on some clothes and came down to make a drive-through run. When I came downstairs, I unlocked the car and grabbed the handle to open the door and there was something all over the handle, door, and window, but I didn’t notice at first. It was . . . oh, God, this makes me wanna hurl even thinking about it, but it was semen. I screamed, and then I got mad and started stomping around. Evan came over to check on me because he heard the commotion.”

Brad interrupts me, his eyes wide in shock. “I thought this was a story about your seeing his ass. Now I’m fucking freaked out. Are you saying Evan jacked off on your car?”

I look at him, wondering if he’s had hearing loss recently, then realize I have been sort of babbling and going fast. I probably sound like a lunatic. “No, of course not. I’m getting there, but you need the whole story. So I was just totally freaked and grossed out. I mean seriously, it’s creepy as fuck to find your car door turned into a frosted fucking donut. Evan calmed me down but offered to call the cops. I said no, figuring they’d just blow it off like some damn teenage prank. Then he offered to use the power washer in the garage to clean it off. We got to talking . . .”

I realize that I don’t want to tell Brad the things Evan shared with me. They feel private, like he gave me a little more than he does most folks, and I hold that dear. Brad seems to understand, though. “And? About the hands on his ass part.”

Giving my friend a grateful smile, I wrap up my abbreviated tale. “Well, one thing led to another, and we had sex on the hood of my car. Kinda reclaiming it from the bad memory with a good one . . . a really good one.”

Brad looks me up and down, then he stands up, rubbing at his cheek. He’s still a little playful, but there’s a side of him that’s serious right now, too, and both are present in his eyes. “We’ll get back to the other stuff, but first of all, how good are we talkin’ here?”

I chuckle, squeezing my thighs together as a memory tingle starts up between my legs. “Legitimately, the best I’ve ever had. Even Mr. Hitachi upstairs can’t keep up.”

Brad snaps his fingers, whistling in admiration. “Well, all right then. What’s next?”

I shake my head. “There is no next. He’s been clear he’s not looking for anything serious, and I’m not exactly a ‘wait for him’ kind of girl. I guess we’re just going on as usual, and if something happens, it happens.”

Brad looks shocked for a moment, his mouth hanging open, then he bursts out into laughter, bending to put his hands on his knees as the tremors of laughter shake his whole body.

Through his fits, I can barely make him out, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Wait for him . . . if something happens, it happens.”

I slap his shoulder, not amused. “Quit laughing. This is serious.”

Brad tries to reel it in, taking some big breaths, but his shoulders are still bouncing with suppressed laughter. “Okay, so serious. Got it. Let’s get one thing straight. You are not some Sit-Around Suzy who’s gonna wait for him to ask you out on a dinner and movie date. You’re a shot caller. You get shit done on your terms. Yeah, so you’ve picked a fucking vertical uphill battle this time, but that’s on your heart . . . and your nether regions. The pussy wants what the pussy wants, I guess.”

I grin. Brad’s right. After all, I went after what I wanted last time too. Now that Evan’s had a taste . . . I bet he’s already thinking about wanting another round, even if his damaged side says he can’t. “This is why you’re my best friend, Brad. And if you ever repeat that, I’ll tell everyone your man-scaping secrets.”

“Meow, retract those claws. I’ve got you, babe.” He stops laughing, his face going serious again. “But listen, I know you’re a big girl and can handle your own shit, but if anything like the deal with the car happens again, tell me so I can have your back. And if there’s no future with Evan, just watch yourself and don’t let it go too far. Shit can get too deep quickly if you’re not careful.”

I nod and give Brad a hug. “I promise. Don’t worry, Evan made me promise the same thing.”

“Oh, really?” Brad asks, hugging me back as he looks over my shoulder across the street. “Maybe Mr. Bad Boy Biker has some redeeming qualities besides a nice ass.”

“And a big wrench.”

Brad growls. “Bitch, don’t make me choke you.”

“How do you know I wouldn’t like that?” In a fake sultry voice, I moan out, “Choke me, Daddy.”

Brad shakes his head, the horrified laugh barely held back. “This is why I date men. Women are weird as fuck.” He walks back to his station, and I hear him mumbling about pirate porn and near-death experiences just to get off.

Not able to resist one more twist of the knot in his knickers, I sing-song after him, “Don’t knock it ‘till you’ve tried it.”