I just still don’t like the guy. He thinks his white-collar career and triathlons make him a hero.
And now I sound fucking jealous. Great.
Punching the code into the panel on the side of the garage door, I step back and let it open. I don’t keep any cars in here, so there’s room for it to serve as more of a shop and workroom.
There are tools, an air compressor, an extra refrigerator, a couple work benches, and an entire table filled with car parts that just kind of got dumped here over the years. Jordan’s car is in the driveway, but I know I’ll need to get in here for a few things after I pop that hood. Cole isn’t bad with cars, but I know it’s going to take money to get that thing running again, and money they don’t have. I’ll at least take a look, so I can see how bad it is.
“Hey, man.”
I look over my shoulder and see Dutch walking up the driveway. He has dry clothes on and a beer in his hand. Not unusual. He keeps a cooler in the back of his truck.
“Hey.” I pull my still-damp T-shirt over my head and toss it on a work bench. Pulling a jack out from under a table, I walk back out of the garage and toward the faded green VW. Dutch pulls a lawn chair out and carries it to the grass next to Jordan’s car.
“Five tomorrow?” he asks.
“Yep.”
Since we lost time today, he knows I’ll want to start early tomorrow.
“So the guys were thinking of hitting Grounders in a bit here. Grab some beers, listen to some music…” he tells me. “There’s nothing else to do in this weather.”
I twist the wrench but glance over at him. “Grounders? Since when do you go there? Did Poor Red’s close down?”
“No,” he answers, shrugging. “They just realized there was some fetching eye candy at Grounders now.”
I look over at him, and he’s smiling and jerking his head toward the house and who’s inside it.
“Yeah, shut up.” I squeeze the wrench. “That’s my kid’s girl. You guys leave her alone.”
“I’m not going to do anything!” He holds up his hands in defense. “I’m married.”
“I don’t even want y’all looking,” I state, standing up straight and tossing the tool down.
Granted, I’ve been looking, but I didn’t know who she was when we first met.
I wipe my hands with the shop cloth. “You got that? Leave the kid alone.”
He just scoffs, slouching in his seat and laying his head back. “The kid, I’m sure, has dealt with lots of male attention already, working at that bar. And I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a little extra business tonight.”
He makes her sound like a prostitute. But I guess he’s right. Fending off unwanted attention has to be a skill by now, especially working at a dive like that.
I still can’t see it, though. The girl has a mouth on her, but she’s pretty innocent and sweet, too. Picturing her in that environment is impossible.
“Hi,” a female voice chirps.
I lean over and look around the hood, seeing the same young woman who was here last night. What was her name again?
“Pike, right?” she says, putting a hand on her chest. “Cam, remember? I’m Jordan’s sister.”
Dutch is staring at her, his mouth hanging open just slightly.
“I’m just here to give her a ride to work,” Cam tells me and then her eyes fall down my torso and arms. “And nice ink, man.”
Her eyes light up as she nods her approval. I notice she has some, too, down her upper arm, and a phoenix on the side of her torso. Which I can only see, because she’s wearing almost no clothes, dressed in a black mini skirt and a black tank top cut off just under her breasts.
Where the fuck is your father? Seriously…
Behind her, a new-ish white Mustang convertible sits parked at the curb, the car filled with two other women, all looking similarly dressed from what I can tell. They have big hair, and I can feel the breeze from their eyelashes when they blink all the way from here.
But then something occurs to me, and I look around the hood again. “You all work together? With Jordan?”
“No, we work at The Hook.”
Dutch makes a gargled sound, and I realize he’s choking on his beer. He coughs and laughs at the same time as he clears his throat.
Cam nods and teases, “Yeah, you know The Hook.”
He chuckles, and I swear I see him blush. “I may have been familiar with the place back in the day.”
The Hook is a strip club downtown, not far from Grounders where Jordan works.
“Jordan doesn’t work there, too, does she?” I ask. I mean, she could have two jobs, I suppose, but if I can’t picture her behind the bar at Grounders, I really don’t want the mental image of her at The Hook.
But thankfully, Cam rushes to respond. “Oh, no, but my boss did offer her a job bartending, though,” she says. “He’s been trying to wear her down for a year now. She’s shy, though.”
She says the last with a little wink, and I’m not sure what that means. Shy about what? Would she have to wear something similar to the dancers to work behind the bar there?
Yeah, no. Picturing her at The Hook, dealing with the guys who come in wanting one thing will stress me out. Does Cole know about the job offer? I can’t imagine he’d want her working there.
I don’t have time to think about it more, though, because Jordan comes down the front porch and walks across the lawn to her sister.
“Stop talking about me,” she warns her, clutching the strap of her bag over her chest, but Cam just shoots her a playful look.
Jordan responds with an eye roll, but I barely notice it. My heart is pounding painfully, taking in her attire.
I look away.
For some reason, the judgement I dealt Cam for her clothes doesn’t transfer to Jordan, even though she’s a few years younger. Dressed in dark blue jeans shorts, low on the hip and high on the thigh, they’re not cut off but rolled up, and her loose, black T-shirt shows off her stomach and hangs off one shoulder. Her hair hangs down her back in big, loose curls, and her eyes are rimmed in dark liner and dark eye shadow, making the midnight blue in her eyes pop like a stream of moonligt on a night sea.
I wonder if she’s wearing her Chucks again, but that would mean getting past her legs, and I’m having a hard time doing that, so I keep my gaze averted and continue working on the car.
Guilt rips through me. She’s Cole’s. He kisses her. He holds her. He makes her smile. It’s not my place to have any opinions about her, especially territorial ones like where she bartends or how she dresses. I just still keep feeling like I did in the theater. She’s a young woman I met and had fun talking to, and no one else had anything to do with it. Part of me keeps feeling like I knew her first, even though I know I didn’t.
“I have a double shift today,” she says, and I guess she’s talking to me, “so I’ll get off late, but I have my key.”
I nod and refit the cap, not looking at anyone.
There’s a short silence before she starts to move away. “Okay, see you both later,” she says.
“Thanks for the help today, sugar,” Dutch calls out to her.
He raises his arm high and waves at the girls, and I hear some giggles before the car takes off. I keep going with what I’m doing, not thinking about how unsafe that area of town is at night or the perk of working behind a bar is that customers can’t get their hands on her, which is nice. Her job is great, actually. It’s better money than she’ll make at Burger King or being a telemarketer. She and Cole will be out of the house in no time.
But no wonder that asshole Mick is trying to get her to work at The Hook. For Christ’s sake. Done all up like she is tonight? Men pay a lot of money for young and hot, but even more for young and hot farmer’s daughter.
I’m unscrewing, cleaning, and refastening the caps when I realize my hand is aching, and the muscles are tired. I stop and stand up straight, cracking my knuckles.
But then I see Dutch watching me out of the corner of my eye, and I look over at him, meeting his stare.
“What?” I ask.
Why is he staring at me?
But he just gives me a small smile and shakes his head. “Nothing.”
Jordan
“Can I have a Fuzzy Navel?”
I glance over and see April Lester standing at the bar between Grady Jones and Rich Hensburg and staring at me expectantly. I nod and finish stacking the rocks glasses I’d just washed, then reach over and grab the bottle of Schnapps.
“So, you coming home with me yet?” Rich asks April, giving her a skeptical little scowl.
Grady chuckles softly, while I smile to myself. April just turns away, looking annoyed.
All these people are regulars. April usually doesn’t go home alone, and everyone knows it. Rich only half jokes to save face when she constantly refuses him, though. Old, it seems, is her only hard limit. Anyone else is fair game. It doesn’t hurt for him to keep trying, I guess. Might get lucky one of these nights.
Not that I begrudge her. What do I know? She’s a good customer, and she tips well, after all. I just can’t help but keep an eye on her when Cole is around. I’ve seen her go after married men, so someone’s boyfriend certainly won’t faze her.
I finish pouring the orange juice and set out a napkin before placing the drink on top of it. She grabs a straw and takes her glass. “Thank you,” she sing-songs and immediately turns around, taking a sip as she walks back to her booth.
I watch her go and see her slide in with two other men I’ve seen around before.
Sometimes she makes me think of my mom. I’m not sure why, they look nothing alike. My mom was a blonde—is a blonde—and April is a brunette. Hair so dark brown it almost looks black.
But they’d be around the same age. April has to be pushing forty and dresses like I remember my mom dressing. Short skirts, billowy, silk tank tops, jewelry, and six-inch heels.
Like Cam. My sister inherited my mom’s sexy style.