Chapter Four
Jax
“Marty fucking Leoni,” I snickered.
I couldn’t believe it. My fucking high school girlfriend with the panty-knotted parents was in the audience that night. Some friend of hers was decked out in dicks, and I knew right then that she was out with a bachelorette party.
“Crazy shit,” I murmured.
“Good night, tonight,” Matthew smiled. He slapped some tips from the bar into my hand before I finished pulling the crumpled bills from my outfit. I slid into my oil-stained jeans, pulled a black t-shirt over my head, and threw my ratty leather coat over my shoulders. Sure, I could afford to buy a new one, but my dad got it for me when I was in high school; ever since he died, it made me feel like there was still part of him there with me.
It was huge on me back then, and I thought I was hot shit: a cigarette hanging out of my mouth and my big-ass leather jacket swinging at my hips. Marty fell all over that coat. She couldn’t wait to peel it off in me the girl’s bathroom during PE in high school. She was a frisky one then, though it seems like her stuck-up parents got to her in her later years.
If her parents only knew the animal that came out to play when she saw me wearing that jacket; god, it held some memories.
I shoved the wad of cash in my pocket before I busted out the back door and into the parking lot. Yeah, I fucking danced. Made good money, too. On a bad night, I still walked away with $700, and dancing four nights a week brought in a nice chunk of change, especially when the spring breakers were in town.
I slung my hip against the side of my old red Mustang and felt around in my jacket pocket. I was jonesing for a hit after seeing the sweet little thing Marty had grown into, and my cravings were kicking up again. I grabbed the packet of gum I stashed in there and threw a piece into my mouth, and as I chewed, my mind flashed back to the good old days of high school; the good old days before my dad died.
“Marty fucking Leoni,” I chuckled to myself again.
I ripped the door open and slid into the driver’s seat, and after I’d rode out the craving that had hit my system, I cranked the ignition and started to back out. I was heading to the shop I owned halfway across town; I had a car that I needed to get back to a customer tomorrow, and I’d slept in today in order to have the energy for tonight.
See, I owned the best car shop in town; not a chain franchise or some stupid shit like that. I did everything: engine work, transmission work, custom builds, tires, basic maintenance, paint jobs… you name it, my guys and I did it. We’d just gotten hooked up to the national database of car registrations and warranties as well, and I was in the process of looking to hire someone to do yearly car inspections. I could target those who still had warranties on their cars, and that was sure to get the money pouring in.
I drove across town with my mind on Marty. I meant it when I said she looked good.
Back in high school, she had that doe-eyed innocent thing going on: the big blue eyes, the long red hair, the bunched up little freckles that dotted her nose, which crinkled when she laughed. Her hands were always a bit too small and her legs were always a bit too long for her body, and she followed me around like a lost puppy the entire time we dated.
For as much as I could love someone as a sixteen-year-old high-schooler, I loved that girl.
But tonight, she looked different. She was in a tight blue dress that made those doe eyes of hers pop, and her red hair wasn’t long like it used to be; it was at her chin, with little flyaways that stuck out whenever she shook her head. She even covered her freckles with what I can only think was makeup, and that was a little disappointing.
I loved those adorable freckles on her face.
I pulled into the shop and parked my car around the side. I headed in and popped the switches to turn a few banks of lights on and went straight back to my office. I had a safe underneath my desk in a locked drawer; when I got the safe open, I took out a fire-proof box and began to open that. My dancing money—and what it was being used for—was important to me; I couldn’t risk anything happening to it.
I shoved the wad of money in the box and had to forcefully close it, so I made a mental note to take it to the bank soon and deposit it. Some bills would be coming due soon anyway, and I’d need the funds there in order to pay.
No one was ever at the shop at this hour besides me, but it was for a good reason. I built this business from the ground up when everyone had written me off as a no-good loser after my dad died. I dropped out of high school and putzed around, working at grocery stores and gas stations, and all I did was work on that old Mustang I drive around now. It was a project of my dad’s: he wanted to supe it up, paint it red, put some chrome hubcaps on it, and take a trip cross-country to watch the sun set over the Pacific Ocean someday.
So, when he died, I took it upon myself to finish the project.
I fixed up the car, paid for the parts with money from the grocery store, and sold it to get money to open my shop. Then, when I had enough cash saved up, I went back to the guy I’d sold it to and convinced him to sell the car back to me. It took much more money than I would’ve ever sunken into any other car, but this car was different.
My dad’s dreams were in this car.
All it needed was a cross-country trip to the West coast. I’d park it right off Highway 1 and watch the sun set over the water.
Just like he would’ve wanted.
I grabbed a box of tools and a back wheeler to lay on and slowly worked my way underneath the car. You know those reflector things in the middle of the road in between the two yellow lines that part the lanes? Yeah, those are popping out of the ground along Highway 77 going all the way up to Ohio, and this car came in with some serious undercarriage damage from them: leaking fluids, a flat tire, bent rods and a cracked wheel-bearing. I told the owner I could fix it up in about a week, and that he needed to use that time to file a complaint with the state.
I began removing some of the parts that were obstructing my view, and one by one, I got to the main pipe leakage. As I sang a few lines of the new song I’d been writing, I grabbed the fresh hose I was working with and just got it replaced when I felt my phone buzz in my pocket.
At first, I ignored it. I had some serious work to do on this car to get it ready for tomorrow, and it would easily keep me up all night. But after I was done bending some rods back into place, my phone started to vibrate again.
And I panicked, figuring it was my mom.
I rolled myself out from underneath the car and wiped my greasy hands on my shirt. I knew I’d given my mom the medicine she needed before I left this afternoon for work, and I was prepared to call an ambulance if something horrible had gone wrong.
But when I saw a number I didn’t recognize blinking across my screen beside the little message icon, I grinned before I swiped my phone open.
Figured I’d give you my number since I had yours.
I didn’t actually think she’d message at all, so I was surprised at the smile that shot across my face as I went to text her back.
Always mindful of your manners. How’s the penis party going?
Full of dicks, if you ask me.
That was one thing I missed when talking to other chicks. Marty had this great sense of humor, and she always kept it under wraps whenever we were around other people. It was like a secret only I knew about her.
Damn, I had it bad for that girl in high school.
Well, if you’re still at the club, it means you’re probably right. The worst dancers go on just before it closes.
My eyes flicked over to the car, and I figured if I raised it up onto a platform, I could do the rest of the work I needed and still respond if she messaged me back. I heard the phone vibrate on the counter but I had to get the car moved onto the platform. I took the keys and quickly got the engine going, and when I had it backed into the wheel stays just so, I got out, locked it in, and raised it up.
And just when it reached the top, I heard my phone buzz again.
We’re at some bar now called Fuego. Am I bothering you?
For a girl who’s out at a bachelorette party, she sure was concerned about the condition I was in.
Don’t you have some marriage to celebrate? I asked.
Is that your way of saying you regret giving me your number?
That’s my way of saying if you’re at a bachelorette party and you’re texting me with perfect words, then you’re not doing it right.
There was a long pause after that message, so I stuffed my phone in my pocket and got back to work. I started making my way towards the wheel bearing as I fixed little pieces of damage along the way, and when I finally got to it, I felt my pocket vibrate again. Sweat was dripping from my brow and I could feel it trickling down my back, so I figured a water break would be nice, anyway.
What happened to your mechanic dreams, Jax?
Ah, there she was: the caring, intuitive, nosy little Marty whose ass I palmed more times in high school than my own dick.
What makes you think I’m not living them?
Um, you were dancing in a man thong on a stage tonight.
Ever heard of a day job?
Yeah, I’ve got one of those.
Then what is it?
I’m a music producer.
My heart swelled a little with pride for her. That was her thing in high school: music. She was in the choir, she played cello terribly in the school’s orchestra, and when she wasn’t studying or riding my dick, she was messing around with music programming software on her computer. She’d always send me these horrible, pasted-together songs that I’d have to grit my teeth to listen to, but I did because it made her happy.
It made her smile.
And I loved it when she smiled.
Little did she know, she was the one who’d inspired me to noodle around with the guitar after we went our separate ways. Lo and behold, I discovered I actually had a pretty decent voice, too. Ever since then, I’ve been messing around with recording my own demos on a few shitty pieces of studio equipment I bought on consignment.
Congrats, that’s great to hear, I messaged back.
So, you’re a mechanic by day and a dancer by night. When do you sleep?
Meet up with me tomorrow and I’ll tell you.
I had finished my water and I needed to get back to this car, but I was having too much fun messaging her. It was always easy with Marty, whether we’d be talking and laughing, or just sitting around not saying anything. She could come into the room and sit down beside me for two hours, not say a thing, and I’d still feel like we’d somehow bonded.
That’s just the type of person she was.
And I wondered if she was still that kind of person.
Tomorrow? she shot back.
Yeah. Say… around 1? I don’t bite anymore, unless you want me to.
I guess I’ll see you around 1 tomorrow. Just let me know where.
And I set a reminder in my phone to message her about lunch in the morning.