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The thing is, I didn’t believe I’d ever be ready to date again after my husband passed close to three years ago from a rare heart condition. The loss still feels fresh sometimes. He passed just months after Kyle was born. But I know he’d want me to move on with my life, to find love again, and with a good man who’d also love our boys. My friends keep telling me it’s way past time to dip my toes in the dating scene. Even if I agreed with them, there’s so much going on, with running the business, taking care of the kids, and making sure Dad’s okay.
One of these days, I’ll take the leap and actually talk to that mechanic. Who knows, we might have something in common. And if we don’t, I’d be oh so fine with a one-time hookup with a man like him. Hell yes, he can get my motor running any day of the week and twice on Sunday. And maybe I’ll at least get to see the sadness leave his eyes for a while. Too bad he wasn’t out front when I left my baby at his shop this morning. If I’m lucky, I’ll catch him this evening, especially now that I’ve got some free time on my hands…
3
Diesel
I slide out from under the car after I'm done. Still no customer. The temptation is strong as fuck to call George and tell him I ain't staying a minute longer for whoever it is. Just because I got no one waiting for me at home don't mean I should put up with this shit.
A groan leaves my throat, and I swallow hard at the thought.
No one's waiting for me.
I'll never fucking get used to that.
Maybe that’s why I'm uneasy tonight. It’s almost two years to the day since I lost them.
My wife Janine and sweet baby girl Cara were here one minute and gone the next because of a fucking drunk driver. Wrong place, wrong time, and boom they were gone. And when it was all over, I lost the best part of my fucking soul. My life was over. That fucking prick lived too. He's still serving a nickel for a DUI causing death, but even in that prison cell, he gets to breathe air while the two most important things in my life got wiped from the face of the planet in an instant.
It’s probably a good thing the fucker’s in jail. If he were out here where I could get to him, he’d be six feet under. That’s where he fucking belongs right now for what he’s done. In my book, it’s the only amount of justice that makes sense for what he took from me. That son of a bitch turned me back into the tough bastard who never took any shit from anyone. Janine and Cara softened my tough exterior and even tougher interior when they showed me what love really was about.
Then, it was ripped away from me.
So much for allowing myself to be happy. That happily ever after shit isn’t for a guy like me, apparently. I’ve been so damn bitter since that happened that I’ve buried myself in my work. I know that I need to let go and get on with my life. But how can I when Janine and Cara never will?
I uncurl my fists that balled up on their own. Whoever said the anger and grief are easier with time has no fucking idea.
As I start to neaten up the service bay, I hear the bell on the customer door to the service bay jingle.
“We're closed,” I shout over without looking, mustering up all the friendliness in my voice I can manage given my state of mind, slight exhaustion, and the lateness on a Friday evening. It ain't much, and my voice still sounds gruff as fuck, but hell, at least I tried.
“Doesn't look like it's closed,” drawls the saucy, sexy as sin female voice from somewhere in that direction.
Flicking my gaze up from the oily rag in my hands, I look over toward the door.
That's when I see her.
The goddess who works in that swanky real estate brokerage up the street close to where I get my coffee every morning. I've seen her more than a few times, but once is enough to know that she's trouble in a business suit.
It's the fuck-me stilettos accentuating those shapely legs that can clamp around my waist to let me know how much she's enjoying it as I make her scream my name. Her round, firm hips and ass in her black pencil skirt that I can grip onto no matter what angle I position her at to take her hard.
Maybe I'll hang on to her trim waist that tapers in as it meets her ribcage and makes her full, perky breasts stand out. Her black pinstripe suit jacket is open, and her nipples press against the thin soft fabric of the off-white blouse she has on. Fuck, it shows just enough cleavage rising out from the top button to make any man interested in seeing a hell of a lot more. For the first time in a long time—since before my life went to shit—I’m hard just picturing my face buried between her cleavage, or latched onto one nipple then the other, driving her insane as I fuck her senseless.
