Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 108862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
“But?” I turn to him.
He shrivels. “I’m just sayin’ … like … I’m just …” He shrugs. “It surprised me is all. You guys seem … kinda … opposite …?”
I frown.
“And I mean, all power to ya, happy for ya. But for a guy who’s hit the lottery as far as a saint like Wyatt goes, you seem awfully bent out of shape all the time.”
“I ain’t any shape,” I bark back. “I’m a man. Keep sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, I’ll bend you into a shape.”
“That a come-on? Kidding. Straight. Married.” Joel snorts and grabs what he needs off the rack. “But seriously. Never seen a man so pissed about getting laid before. You and Wyatt. Wow.”
Then he strolls off, chuckling to himself.
And I’m left wondering why the whole damned town seems so determined to decide what Wyatt and I are.
I’m hungry and wanting some serious separation from all the noise of talkative Monday-morning customers, minutes from my long-awaited lunch break, when I spot the nice car pulling into the lot. Something sets deep in my stomach right away, even before I know why. The door swings open. Clack of a pair of shiny-ass dress shoes that literally fling the sunlight at my eyes. I blink away the blindness as I see his dress shirt, khakis, and a flashy pair of shades he lifts into his flipped-up hair.
No golf polo today. Still a dick.
You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.
He struts up to Joel first, handing off his keys. “Nice shop you got here,” says the dick, sounding annoyingly polite. “Clean floors. Always have to look at the floors.” He smiles.
Perfect teeth shining.
Wealth apparent on every inch of his hair, clothes, and car.
And of course Joel takes a liking to the bastard right away. “Wow! Haven’t seen a beaut like this in a while!” He whistles as he looks it over. The dick nods at every compliment Joel dishes out, as if regarding them as apparent facts in the world. The sky’s blue. The grass is green. His car is a million bucks.
“So what brings you in today?” asks Joel.
“It’s pulling slightly right,” explains Bellamy. “I notice it more at high speeds, out on the highway. Just needs an alignment.”
I watch and hear every word of this exchange, wringing my hands dry in a rag. Waiting for the bastard inside him to come out, as it inevitably will, instead of this polite and respectful version of himself he’s putting on. He doesn’t get a pass with me just because he’s in a decent mood today.
I know what he’s really like.
“That so?” asks Joel pleasantly, tilting his head to get a peek at the car. “Just an alignment?”
“Yep. I’m sure that’s all it needs. Beauties like this are made to last. She’s still young and capable.” He chuckles. “Y’know. The way I like my women.”
Joel chuckles, too. “Well, well, sir, I’ll … definitely agree about this car. Very new. Very … capable.”
“We’ll figure out what it needs.”
That comment doesn’t come from Joel.
It comes from me.
Joel and Bellamy look my way, as if just now seeing me here. And I’m about to enjoy a sweet and personal satisfaction when the dick recognizes me from our brief encounter at the flower shop.
Yep, fuck face, it’s me.
Then I watch him smile and nod pleasantly, passing Joel and extending a hand to me. “You must be the muscle around here. Grant,” he introduces himself.
I look down at his hand. Then back up at him.
Seriously? He doesn’t recognize me …?
“I don’t mind a little grease,” he says, assuming my hesitation is because I haven’t washed my hands. “Real men get dirt under their nails when they do honest work. And I prefer to look a man in the eye when he’s about to work on my lady.” He chuckles.
Something about this really fucking irritates me.
Like his use of “real men”.
And if he treats men like me and Joel as equals, what the hell is his deal with Wyatt? Doesn’t Wyatt also get dirt under his nails? Fucking literally?
Mr. Bellamy knows how to respect people.
He just doesn’t respect Wyatt.
“Mr. Valdez will be happy to give her a look,” says Joel, who seems both surprised and a bit worried to hand the reins to me.
He’s not the one who should be worried.
I take the keys from Joel and, after getting an admiring nod from Grant, get to work. In this case, that involves a short road-test to feel the car out first—it drives like a million bucks, too—then bring it back to the shop and put it on the lift. While Joel talks shop with the guy, I get underneath it and do a closer inspection.
Grant’s assessment isn’t wrong. It does need an alignment.
But that isn’t all I’m seeing under here.
“So you can align it?” asks Grant when I return.