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I feel like I just fell down the rabbit hole with Alice, but I’ll drink that damn rabbit’s tea everyday if it makes Erica smile like this and my dick this happily sore.
Chapter 10
Brody
Walking around the ‘car show’, as Erica called it, is basically like entering another world. There are gorgeously flashy cars lined up every few spaces with the doors, trunks, and hoods open. Some are old, some are new, but they’re all spit-polished and shined for the display. A few have owners perched in folding camping chairs by the hoods, ready to talk shop with anyone who happens by.
Which Erica does. A lot.
“What’d you do to this thing now, Ernesto?” Erica leans over a classic Chevrolet that I’d guess is ’50s-era. It’s only different to me than the other four old cars we’ve looked at because it’s bright turquoise with a white leather interior, complete with matching turquoise stitching in the seats and doors.
That’s me . . . there’s a red one, a white one, a black one, the other black one, and now a blue. Erica knows everything about them, though, bumper to bumper and inside and out. You can tell by the way she talks to the owners and appreciates every detail.
“Nothing too much, Rix. You know me, keeping it all original. My girl’s just for show.” The dark-haired man chats Erica up about the differences in engine blocks and I get lost again. But they are in their element, bantering back and forth with one another as I stand by, hearing a version of Charlie Brown’s teacher from their conversation . . . wah, wah-wah-wah-wah-wah.
Ordinarily, I might be bored by a topic I know next to nothing about, but watching Erica shine like this is far from boring. She’s magnificent, drawing a crowd of three other old guys as she and Ernesto discuss something called an ‘SS’.
“Hell, Ernesto, don’t be too cocky. Not like that old thing’s got a 409.” Judging by the ‘ooh’ that goes through the guys, that’s a big insult. Ernesto flips the newcomer, a silver-haired guy in a Ford T-shirt, his middle finger. I decide I like Ernesto just fine.
“Screw you, Wilson. At least mine’s OEM, not a Franken-car of shit you found at the scrapyard.”
Even I snort at that, which draws the guys’ eyes all to me.
“Who’re you?” the no-409 guy scoffs. Ernesto called him ‘Wilson.’ He’s at least three, if not four, decades older than me, a good six inches shorter and fifty pounds lighter. None of those things matter to him in the slightest as he stands up tall to face me head on.
Ballsy old fucker. I can see where Erica gets it from if this is the crowd she hangs out with.
I stand up tall myself, out of respect to the old guy because the last thing a man like this wants is to be seen as too old to be a threat. And hell, for all I know, he’s a damn Clint Eastwood clone with dead shot aim and a gun in his back pocket. “Brody.”
I don’t offer any more than that, letting my one-word, people-suck attitude shine through, dark and ominous. Wilson grunts, his eyes locked on me as he talks to Erica. “Hey, Rix, where’s Reed? Usually see him car shopping around here with you. You two are always locked at the hip. ’Least he knows shit about cars.”
I let my lips spread slowly, danger in my eyes that a man like Wilson can see a mile away, even though I wouldn’t really hurt the old guy. Reed ain’t here, but I sure as shit am. Even if I don’t know about cars, I know a hell of a lot about Erica and am learning more every second.
I cross my arms over my chest, glaring at Wilson, who to his credit, glares right back pretty well himself. Erica smacks us both on the arms with dual fists. “Enough, assholes. Wilson, you know Reed might be around here somewhere, so if you want him to work on Sally, then keep running that trap. If you want me under her hood, shut the fuck up. And Cowboy, seriously? Don’t make me send you to the truck while I do business.”
My lips quirk as she scolds me like an errant kid, something that would have me bailing if it weren’t for the shit-eating grin I see in her eyes. But I also hear the reminder. This is her work, her livelihood, her passion, and I don’t want to fuck that up by pissing off Wilson, who sounds like a good customer.
Like a good little boy, I take her order this time. “Yes, ma’am.” She’s gonna pay for that later, but I think we’ll both like the punishment.
Wilson grumbles but agrees too. “I’m just fucking around with you, Rix. Sally’s got an appointment for new whitewall shoes this week still, yeah?”
