Spiked Lemonade: A Bad Boy Sailor and a Good Girl Romantic Comedy Standalone (6 page)

“And you’re choosing this particular moment to stop being a quitter?” she asks dryly.

“If I have to take it down a few notches…”

She plucks the stick from my lips and slips it back into the box it came from. “No. Quitting sucks and I’m not going to be the reason you started back up again.”

I lean toward her and yank the butt from her lips in rebuttal. “Fine, then you’re becoming a quitter with me.”

With an unexpected and quick movement, she elbows me in the gut and retrieves the cigarette from my grip. “Friends don’t torture each other,” she snaps. Holding the cigarette tightly within her hand, she continues walking, and I follow toward what I now know to be the little coffee shop beside the motel. It’s like a shed, but whatever. If they have coffee and donuts, I’ll be a happy man.

We wait outside in silence while Bambi sucks the life out of the cigarette I’m now dreaming about. She’s fast about it, though, and blows the beautiful scent into the opposite direction. Appreciated, but not helping. Once the evidence of my sneaky desire is gone, I pull open the glass door and wave Bambi inside first.

“What can I get for you? Coffee and what kind of muffin?”

“You were actually listening? Impressive. Blueberry, please.” Bambi smirks, an expression I haven’t seen happen in any of the conversations we have held in the past twenty-four hours. She slides into one of the four booths and relaxes against the cushioned spot, twisting her head to look out the window. I’ve noticed she does this a lot—looking away from everything and everyone. I can understand.

I order a couple of muffins and coffees then slide into the bench across from her. “So, where do you work?” I ask while handing her the muffin.

She glances over at me with a thank you in her eyes before answering me. “Ah, over there,” she points out the window and down the street. “John’s Auto Body.” I glance down the street and see a tire spinning above the other low-level buildings. I so badly want to ask her if she’s the receptionist named Bambi, but that would not go over well. See, I’m already learning. Smart guy, I am.

“What do you do there?”

“Well,” she says, in a mousy voice. “I—” with her gaze drifting to her nails, an angled smile touches her lips. “I’m the head mechanic.” Her voice levels out into her normal speaking tone as she states the last part.
Funny girl, here.

“No shit?” Oh shit. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just as bad as asking her if she was the receptionist.

“No shit,” she mumbles.

“No, I just mean…well, first, your fingernails don’t look like mechanics’ nails. Second, my pops is Al’s Oldies But Caddys. I don’t know if you’ve heard of the guy, but because of him, I kind of always expect mechanics to look like the guys he works with, not exactly someone as attractive as you—”

“Wait a minute,” she laughs, taking the piece of muffin she was just about to eat away from her mouth. “Your dad is Al? Like the guy on the TV show, the king of oldie upgrades? You’re fucking kidding me. That man is my icon.”

“Yeah, he’s cool shit.” What else is there to say about the man who spent my entire childhood under the hood of a car?

“So then, what do
you
do for a living now? I mean, I know you were in the Navy and a medic and all that but it’s been years. Why are you back here?” She takes the opportunity to take small bites of the muffin. The small bites look like they’re due to the width she’s able to fully open her mouth because of the location of her scars. It’s suddenly hard knowing I couldn’t do anything more for her that day during the explosion. This is the exact reason I’m not in the medical field now. Too many what-ifs and should-haves.

“Nothing,” I laugh, popping half the muffin into my mouth. “I came out here because my buddy, Tango, needed help, and I just haven’t left.”

“Your dad must be a millionaire, and you’re living at that motel?” she asks, pointing next door.

“I don’t like to spend.”
His money
. The money that was more important than his family.

Our conversation goes quiet for a few minutes as she finishes up the muffin. I see speculation in her eyes, and I know she’s trying to figure me out. Good luck to her with that. Not like there’s much to figure out, and if she does come up with something, I’d love to hear what it is.

“So,” she finally breaks the silence. “How long are you staying out here? You need a job?”

“You move quickly,” I laugh through sarcasm. But yeah, I need a job right about now.

“Figured I’d ask the prince of cars sitting before me. A girl can dream, right?” Most girls wouldn’t be dreaming of a man fixated with cars. That’s what Ma has made clear to me. She was the happiest when I told her I was going into the medical field. A little less happy when I told her it would be in the Navy. I love her to death, but she heard the word Navy and immediately assumed I’d be shooting cannons from a pirate ship and getting shot in return.
It was only half true
.

“Yeah, I guess I am looking for a job.” So, evidently I just made the decision to stick around somewhere. That’s not like me, but Bambi’s kind of like me, though, and that’s weirdly refreshing. A female Jags. Ha. Makes me want to stick around for a bit.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she says while bringing her coffee cup up to the good side of her lips.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the charger that Sasha either lent or gave to me, not sure which yet, and I plug it into the convenient outlet above the table top. Hooking my phone up, I lay it down face up on the table, waiting for the little charger symbol to light up. Not sure why I care about this thing so much since no one ever calls me on it, but if I have it, it might as well be alive. In Boston, everyone had their phones up to their noses all day. Here, it seems people are less infatuated with them. It’s kind of nice.

“Waiting on a call?” Bambi asks.

“Nah, just keeping it from dying again.”

“I see.”

“You got a man?” I ask her, curious as to what she does in her free time. Curious about every part of her life, really. I’ve done a great job avoiding friendships for a good reason, but she’s different. I don’t get to see the aftermath of destruction too often, and when I do see it, it’s never good. Yet, I hold out hope that just once, someone burdened with life’s heavy baggage could maybe pull out and survive the odds of misery.

Bambi laughs at my question while running her fingers up the side of her rippled and puckered face. “What man would want this?”

My face tightens at her remark. I shouldn’t be surprised by her comment, but she seems like such a bed-of-nails type of woman that I wouldn’t think she’d be lacking so much confidence. She’s also the type of woman who wouldn’t want me to say, “
No way, you’re wrong.
” I’m not sure how I’ve figured this woman out so quickly in the very short amount of time I have known her, but her attitude and personality feel familiar like she’s one of the guys or something. “There’s a lot of superficial men out there.” I’m probably one of them most of the time.

“What about you? I’m guessing you have a bunch of women waiting for you back in Boston and probably already have a couple lined up here.” Her smirk returns as she takes another sip of her coffee.

“You think you’re pretty funny, don’t you?”

“I know I’m funny, and possibly saying something that’s very true.”

“For your information, most women don’t find men who are six-foot-four and two-hundred-fifty pounds, covered in tattoos and a scruffy beard attractive.”

She sighs quietly, “True. Well, I guess us two ugly birds can be alone forever.” Serious or not, she lets out a small laugh. Misery does enjoy company. That’s for damn sure. Plus, I appreciate that she didn’t tell me I was wrong. “I must say, you’re awfully cocky when you’re trying to pick up women, considering you think no one would ever be interested in you.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“I’ll give you that.” Bambi slaps her hands down on the tabletop and stands up to chuck the wrapper and coffee cup into the trash behind her. “Ready for your interview?”

“What interview?” I question, feeling a little lost.

“For your new job?”

Wait a minute, nah-uhh. This chick thinks she’s going to interview me to work at her auto shop. I kind of want to laugh at the thought of it but…what the hell, I’ll play along. “Sure thing, Bambi. Should we do it here, my motel room, or in your shop?”

“Wow, you just don’t quit, do you?”

“Would the right answer to this be
yes
or
no
if I were applying to be a mechanic at your shop?” I pause for a minute, giving her the impression that I am thoroughly thinking this through. “Um, I’ll go with no, I don’t quit. So…yeah, you’d have to fire me if things didn’t work out.”

“Oh, that wouldn’t be a problem,” she says through snippy laughter while walking past me to the door.

As I follow her outside, my phone shockingly vibrates in my back pocket. The last call I got was from Tango a couple of weeks ago, telling me I needed to come out here to help him. Not so shockingly, it’s Tango again. “What’s up, man?” I answer.

“You still looking for a job? We’ve got an opening at a site today, and we could use another body,” he explains.

I stop walking and turn away from the traffic that’s making it hard to hear what he’s saying. With my finger pressed against my opposite ear, I think for a second.
I’d rather be doing my thing with cars but I’m guessing Bambi wouldn’t hire me on the spot and have me start five minutes later. I’ll feed into her little interview game now and head over to wherever the hell Tango is afterward.
“Yeah, dude, I can do that. As long as it doesn’t ruin my manicure or anything. I mean, I just got my—”

“Jags, dude, be here at 10:00. 4040 Catalina Street.”

“So no, the job won’t ruin my nails?”

No response.
Jackass
. My man used to have a sense of humor, but I’m guessing his doministress fucked it out of him.
Lucky
. I drop my phone back into my pocket and catch up to Bambi, who never stopped walking. “I’ve only got thirty minutes then I need to go help my buddy out on a house build down the street.”

“What if I asked you to start today?” Bambi asks.

“I’d say no. If you asked me ten minutes ago, I would have told my buddy no. You snooze, you lose.”

We cross the busy street again and continue across the parking lot abutting the auto shop. She doesn’t pause before whipping open the glass door and walking in through the garage, up to the back counter. “Morning, chief,” one of the guys shouts from below a—whoa, what the—?

“69 Boss 429. Niceeee,” I say in a sexual moan because that’s what beautiful cars and women do to me. They’re pretty much the same thing in my head—both heads.

After checking it out like she’s a hot chick, I press my elbows down on the counter as Bambi turns her back to me and strips off her shirt, leaving me with a pleasant view of her bra-laced back.
No confidence, my ass
. She pulls on a white, oil-stained shirt and pins her long hair up in a messy knot on the top of her head. “I like your loyalty, Jags. And you know the exact model of that car.” She holds a wrench up in the air and narrows her good eye half shut. “What’s this?”

I laugh at the simplicity of her question. “A lug wrench, Bambi.”

“You’re hired. Now get out of here. I’ll see you in the morning at eight sharp.”

I press off the counter and salute her. “Yes, Ma’am.”

I don’t get a smile or a goodbye out of her, but that’s to be expected at this point. Only
I
would want to be friends with the most miserable person in the world. So because of that, I challenge myself to make this woman laugh more than she scowls.

The second I step out of the not-so-soundproof front door, I hear her shriek…a noise I’m pretty sure I didn’t think I’d hear from her. “Do you know who that was? Do you know who his dad is? Holy shit, Hal, this is huge!”

I reopen the door and stick my head back in. “Yeah, that’s right, Bambi, I’m the shit, and you know it. Stop pretending like I’m not.” Her eyes grow wide, and she leans against the back wall with an, “Oh shit, you just heard me,” look.

“Get out of here, I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, doing her absolute best to hide the smile that so badly wants to crawl across her lips right now. See, only I can make the most miserable person in the world smile. One point for Jags.

SASHA

MANAGING TO GET
into my car without Cali stopping me with a million questions is pretty much like winning the lottery today. I know neither she nor Tango wants me going home right now but I have no plans to be a nomad. The two of them have enjoyed that lifestyle, but it’s not for me. I like stability and knowing where my bed is going to be every night. I’ll find someone to change the locks today or something. Plus, with the damage Tango and Jags caused Landon last week, I don’t think he has any real desire to continue a relationship with me.

I still can’t believe I trusted Landon all of that time. I just wanted the house, the husband, and the kids—the perfect life, and now I’m twenty-seven and flat on my ass, kind of. I mean, I still have a job and a house, but I hate feeling so sorry for myself.