Fucking Adrian Saroyan and his shiny fucking shoes and his ruthless smile hidden by veneers.

Ox glanced up from his sketch book and just as quickly looked away. What the hell, Emmie? That guy?

A voice that sounded a hell of a lot like his late brother-in-law said, Then get off your ass and make a move, idiot. Your excuses are bullshit.

She was his partner. His landlord. Hooking up with Emmie would be catastrophic when it ended.

If it ended?

Maybe it wouldn’t end. Maybe she was the one.

Getting way ahead of yourself there, Oxford.

How did you pursue someone when the consequences of it going bad were so very, very bad? At this point they’d both invested thousands of dollars and the shop wasn’t even open. They had to make this work. Getting involved would complicate everything. It could be great, but the chances were much greater that at some point, he’d fuck up and she’d hate him.

“Some people bring out the worst in each other. Some people bring out the best.”

“Which kind am I?”

“What do you think?”

It didn’t matter. It didn’t fucking matter how much he wanted her. He couldn’t have her. He couldn’t have her and the shop, and he needed to want the shop. He needed to get his shit together and make a real go of running his own business. Screwing around with his landlady was not part of the plan.

But Adrian Saroyan?

Ox’s brain was a jumble. He broke his pencil twice trying to sketch out new book flash for the walls near the café.

Adrian had followed Emmie back to the shop, trailing after her like a puppy. Sadly, she hadn’t been scowling. Adrian waved at Ox as he walked in and wandered around her bookshelves, making dumb jokes that somehow made her laugh. Then he’d picked up a book and said something about how fast he could finish like he was bragging.

Finishing fast is not something you brag about, asshole.

Ox knew he was probably talking about the book, but his mood was foul and he didn’t want to think about the asshole even touching Emmie. He was already standing too close.

Anywhere in the shop is too close.

Ox stood and grabbed his jacket. “I’m going out.”

Emmie looked away from Adrian. “Okay.”

“Can I grab you a coffee on my way back?”

She shook her head. “I just had coffee with Adrian, but thanks.”

“Right.” Ox glared at Adrian. “See ya.”

“Nice to see you again.” There was a triumphant glint in the asshole’s eye.

Ox grunted and quickly left through the 7th Avenue door, walking down the street to his truck. He climbed in and started it, banging on the dashboard when it hiccuped. He’d put a new starter in the week before. It shouldn’t still be doing that. It had been rebuilt, but Sergio assured him that he’d done it himself and Sergio was the best mechanic in Metlin. Ox drove south on 7th, turned left on Sequoia and then north on 6th Avenue, taking the back alley into Supreme Automotive, the shop Sergio ran with his uncle Beto.

Sergio walked out, wiping his hands on a red rag and frowning at Ox when he rolled the window down. “What’d you do to my truck this time?”

“Not your truck, asshole.”

The older Sergio got, the more he looked like his dad, barrel-chested and burly. Sergio wouldn’t win any beauty contests, but he had a never-ending parade of cute girls dropping their cars off at the shop, so he wasn’t a stranger to problems with women.

“Someone’s been spending too much time with pretty girls on Main. Frustrated much?” He thumped the hood and unbuttoned his coveralls, tying the arms around his waist when Ox turned off the engine. “It’s too warm for this time of year. I’m dying in the bay. What’s wrong with it?”

“I just want to check the starter. Make sure I didn’t forget something.”

“We rebuilt this thing with Stu when we were kids,” Sergio said. “You know what you’re doing.”

Stu Oxford, his grandfather, and Sergio’s uncle Beto had taught both Sergio and Ox the basics of auto repair on the old Ford pickup. Sergio had kept learning. Ox had lost interest.

“What’s wrong?” Sergio asked.

“I don’t know.” Ox climbed out and lifted the hood. He leaned over the passenger side and rested his elbows on the edge, reaching down to check his work as Sergio looked over his shoulder.

“Dude, there’s nothing wrong with that starter. I did it myself.”

Ox knew that. He knew it was nothing but a hiccup. He just wanted to talk to Sergio. “I think I’m screwing up my shop.”

“The tattoo shop? Dude, you haven’t even opened yet. That’s not a good sign.” Sergio frowned. “How could you be screwing it up? You out of money already?”

“No.” He kicked his boot against the tire. “It’s this girl.”

“Is Ginger messing with you?”

Ox frowned. “No.”

“Oh.” Sergio smiled. “Book Girl?”

“Yeah.”

Sergio leaned against the grill and ran the rag over his manifold. “You know, there’s a reason I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Because you’re a workaholic who doesn’t know how to take a vacation and all your girlfriends break up with you because they get sick of it and also your mom and your sisters scare them away?”

Sergio opened his mouth. Closed it. He mumbled, “Yeah, probably that’s part of it.”

“I know the smart thing to do is stay away from her. I know that. Don’t shit where you eat, right?”

Sergio squinted. “I never got that saying. I mean, hooking up with someone is nothing like shitting. It’s like the opposite.”

“I think it’s more the breaking up with someone that’s the shitty part.”

He shrugged. “Who says you have to break up with her? You said she’s a sweetheart. Why would you break up with that? I mean, we’re not kids anymore. When my dad was my age, he had three kids already. You find a nice girl, it’s a sign.”

“Dude, this is me.” Ox leaned back and reached up, waiting for Sergio’s hands to clear before he let the hood fall. “When have I ever not screwed up with a woman?”

Sergio threw the rag over his shoulder. “I don’t know, man. Everyone screws up until they find the right person, don’t they?”

Ox considered that. It had a certain amount of logic. Of course he’d screwed things up with Ginger. He’d known from the beginning that hooking up with her was a bad idea. He’d known that in his gut. With Emmie, he didn’t get the same sense of dread. But it was still a huge risk.

He curled his lip. “I think she might have a thing for Adrian Saroyan.”

“The real estate douchebag who’s trying to sell everything on Main and 7th?”

“Yeah. They knew each other in school.”

“Huh.” Sergio shrugged. “Well, if that’s her type, I don’t see her going for you.”

“I know.” He leaned on the hood. “She’s not my type anyway.”

“Yeah, probably not. You said she was nice and smart and brings you coffee. Definitely not your type. If you said she was a drama queen who liked to throw shit at you and pick fights in bars, then I’d say you definitely had a shot.”

“Fuck you, Sergio.”