I rub at my temples, washing down the second of the damn horse pills the VA gave me for bad times with a swig of coffee and wincing. It’s already been a shitty day, and it’s only eleven A.M. Even on good days, I’m getting no more than four hours of sleep a night, and I know my caffeine habit is getting the best of me. But I didn’t sleep at all last night, not that that’s anything new since I got back from my last tour and the nightmares started .

Well, nightmares might be putting it lightly since the dreams that plague me are more like sleeping reenactments of the worst moments of my life. I see them all the time, the ghostly images that I know are supposed to just be in my head but sometimes seem so damn real at two in the morning. I rolled out of bed at seven simply because I couldn’t stand to lie around anymore. I felt like an extra in The Walking Dead, but I sucked it up and drove on, as we used to say. I took a shower, skipping the shave today because fuck it, and got ready to hit the day because that’s what you do when you’re responsible for helping out at a family business that provides both a needed distraction and the funds to survive .

What you don’t do is what too many of my buddies have—fall into drinking, drugs, and for some of them, eating the end of a pistol barrel. I can’t call them pussies. Some of those guys were the hardest-core motherfuckers any man could hope to meet. But that’s not me. I’m not looking for congratulations, but damn if I couldn’t use a little slack today .

Not that I’ve gotten any. As soon as I walked into the shop, my brother TJ started giving me shit about not pulling my weight when I drag-ass in an hour late and run off potential clients with my lack of customer service skills. “You can’t just get by with being good with a wrench, goddammit!” he yelled at me. “You have to actually talk to people !”

He’s probably right, but the last thing I need is my little brother telling me how to live, especially when he’s had a cushy life here at home, never having to battle a damn thing other than some nerves when he asked his flavor of the week out for a drink or a fuck, her choice .

So I’m already near my boiling point when I walk outside to grab another coffee and a cigarette to clear my head so I can tackle the engine rebuild on my schedule today. It’s not a bad one. Old GM small blocks are pieces of cake compared to European builds, but I want to be able to focus, and that means coffee. I just step out the door when I see some chick damn near lying on my bike .

Before I can even think, all of my anger from the morning boils over as I charge forward like a raging bull, exploding from deep in my chest. “What the fuck are you doing to my motorcycle ?”

I see her jerk back, startled by the noise. Who does she think she is? Hands off my baby. I built this cycle from the frame up, and nobody, not even my brother, gets to touch it without my say-so .

The woman turns to face me, a placating smile already on her red-painted lips. “I’m so sorry! It’s just such a gorgeous machine, I couldn’t help myself.” She dips her chin and pulls up one side of her smile a bit more, her head tilted slightly, and I can tell she’s used the practiced pose to get her way more than once. Considering the smooth, creamy skin she’s showing off under the tied-up t-shirt she’s wearing, she probably doesn’t have to ask twice either .

I huff, but that act isn’t going to work on me. “It is gorgeous. Know what else it is?” I wait a half-beat, but before she can even open her mouth, I answer my own question. “Mine. Back. The. Fuck. Up .”

She’s taken aback by my vehemence, her eyes going wide as her full lips round, taking in a gasp of air. She is hot, not like most chicks I see around here. I mean, she’s rocking metallic pink hair like it’s nobody’s business, and the jeans she’s wearing do look natural on a bike like mine, but that’s only if invited first. She stutters and swings off my bike, letting me see the rest of her, and she’s no less hot in that tight t-shirt that shows off a front side nearly as curvy as her backside. “Again, I’m sorry. I knocked on the door to ask but nobody answered — ”

“So you knew that it wasn’t right but went ahead and touched my bike anyway? Yeah, you sound really sorry, Princess .”

I can see the switch flip in her eyes instantly as she goes from nicely trying to apologize to nuclear. Guess she’s got a button to push .

“I’m not a damn princess, asshole,” she fires back, turning and jabbing a finger at me. “I just wanted to take a picture with your bike for our new salon. I’m sorry I touched it. Obviously, that’s my bad. But you don’t have to be so fucking rude .”

As she rants, I’m suddenly struck by how the fire crackles in her wild eyes and the flush moves down her cheeks. She’s gesturing all around with her hands like some caricature, pointing at me, the bike, and vaguely across the street. She’s cute when she’s pissed .

I can’t help but laugh, but it’s a snarky dark chuckle that she takes as my still being rude, though it wasn’t really my intention. She plants her balled-up fists on her hips while the guy, who’s looking like he wants to be anywhere but here, shakes in his overly tight khakis, holding his camera like a shield .

My eyes are mostly filled with the pixie in front of me that’s about to go apeshit on me. “What? What the fuck are you laughing at ?”

I can’t help it, her boldness makes me laugh even harder. “Did you really just try to tell me that you’re not a Princess? Have you seen yourself? Pink nails flicking all about, and makeup done like you’re in a damn movie? And that hair? You look like a Powerpuff Girl or something. You’re a walking, talking Pink Barbie Princess, honey .”

Her voice drops to a throaty growl, and I know for sure that she doesn’t appreciate being called Princess. A part of me that isn’t pissed off and caught up in my throbbing headache sort of wonders why. “Don’t call me Princess. If you want to address me, my name is McKayla, but I think we’d be better off if you just didn’t call me anything, ever again. Sorry for touching your precious bike, asshole .”

With a hair flip, McKayla pivots in her heels and stomps away. She’s obviously pissed as fuck, flipping me off as she talks faintly to herself about what a jerk I am. But with every stomp, her ass bounces and sways, creating a sexy image if I ever saw one .

I cross my arms and watch her for a moment, one corner of my lips sneaking up just a bit until I feel eyes on me. I realize that the guy is still there, his polka-dot bowtie somehow adding that touch of absolute ridiculous unreality that makes me know for sure this isn’t some waking nightmare. I’d never imagine this. He’s watching me watch her, and I raise an eyebrow at him, not saying a word .

“So. That’s McKayla and I’m Brad,” he says in a lispy voice that certainly advertises which team he swings for. “We’re the owners of the new Triple B Salon across the street. And who did we have the pleasure of meeting today ?”

I nearly gape in disbelief. Shit. They’re literally my new fucking neighbors. Of course they are, because that’s how fucked up my life is. TJ’s gonna kill me. With a hearty sigh, I look up to the sky, silently cursing whatever joke fate is trying to play on me .

Looking back at Brad, I relent and offer a hand. He shakes, and despite his effeminate aura, he’s got a good grip to him. “I’m Evan Hardwick. My brother TJ and I own this garage. Looks like we’re neighbors. Welcome to the neighborhood. But don’t touch my bike .”

Brad nods, taking his hand back. “Understood. Loud and clear. FYI, I’m the nice one. You’ve heard the expression ‘a bark worse than the bite ’?”

I nod, thinking I know where this is headed. “She’s feisty but a little playful puppy inside ?”

Brad shakes his head, surprising me. “McKayla’s got a hell of a bark, but her bite is even worse.”With a hum of disapproval, he gives me a look and then offers a little finger wave and sashays across the street toward the new storefront. I watch him walk in the door and then hop on my bike. I light it up with a grumble of the engine, the aggressive snarl mirroring my mood perfectly. I pull away from the shop, gunning it as I turn a half-circle and double-shift as I pass the salon window, the engine going from a howl to a full scream. Hidden behind sunglasses, I cut my eyes over to the salon. As I pass, I tell myself that I won that little battle of the day as I fly out to the highway, needing the wind in my face to let go of the shitty morning .