Jorgie scoffs and rolls her eyes, not buying my pitiful excuse. “You’ll never have a cavity again,” she remarks, her tone smug.
I angle my head and cock my brow. “Two, she probablysmellslike a dentist.”
Jorgie’s right bottom lip tucks into the corner of her mouth as she tries in vain to stifle a smile. But she doesn’t refute my claim, as she knows as well as I do Ava most likely smells like every child’s worst nightmare: the dentist’s office. Ava’s last two weeks of high school saw her interning at a fancy dental practice downtown. I swear to god, a week after her visit, I was still smelling that ghastly dentist surgery smell.
Jorgie pledges Ava only smelled like that because her employer made her spend a week sterilizing all the equipment at the local training hospital for being insubordinate, but I’m not convinced. Ava never bent from her strong stance on following the rules to the most stringent detail, so I can’t comprehend why she'd suddenly rebel against anyone, much less someone as important as her employer.
“And third, but not at all least, she’s too…innocent,” I say, my deep tone lowering when I say the last word.
Now don’t construe this the wrong way, the last time I saw Ava, six years ago, she was no doubt attractive. Although she has always been a little nerdy, and her head never left the inside of a book during her entire academic career, she could garner the attention of any hot-blooded male she feigned an interest in – myself included.
Ava was the very first and only girl I’ve ever lusted over. One flash of her killer smile, and I wanted to drop to my knees and kiss her fucking feet. My infatuation with her only ended when she left for college. Unlike Jorgie and me, Ava chose to attend a university on the other side of the country. Although we kept in contact the first two years, all contact stopped when I joined the Air Force. The last time I saw Ava in person, she was walking into the airport with a flood of tears streaming down her face.
An eerie silence encroaches the garage as the first splatters of rain fall from the sky. The sound of big drops of water sizzling on a sun-heated steel roof makes Jorgie’s silence even more paramount. The only time Jorgie is quiet is when she is telepathically communicating with Hawke or fuming in anger. Placing the dirty rag onto the rickety wooden shelving at the side of the garage, I pivot on my heels.
Jorgie has her hands on her expanded hips and her brows knitted tightly. “You’re seriously condemning Ava because she kept her legs closed during high school?”
Even with a pleasant breeze blowing in from outside, the room becomes roasting from the furious heat vibrating out of Jorgie.
“Would you prefer she opened her legs for any man who feigned an interest in her?” Her lips purse as she screws up her nose. “Perhaps like Victoria Avenke.” Spit flies out of her mouth when she sneers Victoria’s name.
I smirk. I should have known Jorgie would have heard about myarrangementwith Victoria. Vicky and I have been on a handful of dates. By dates, I mean casual hook ups. No strings attached. No false promises. Just two consenting adults happily sticking to the no commitments requirement of our agreement.
“Vicky knows what she is getting,” I argue.
Jorgie huffs. “Yeah with you and at least another ten guys.” Her voice is low and brimming with sarcasm.
“Cattiness doesn’t suit you, Jorgie.”
Her eyes snap to mine. “It’s not being catty when it’s true. Vicky puts out more rides per year than the Ferris wheel at the State Fair.”
I try to hold in my laughter, but my deep chuckle rumbles through my gaped mouth when I spot the repulsed mask slipping over Jorgie’s face. Jorgie has always attracted men, ever since she passed the awkward puberty stage. When she was younger, her legs were too long, and her body was as straight as a board. It was only once she filled out did mine and Chase’s big brother protective mode kick up a gear.
Vicky was the equivalent of Jorgie’s schoolyard bully in a nasty prom queen bitch way. Vicky was one of those girls who gained the devoted attention of every guy in school, including the male teaching staff. Even back in the day, when Vicky and I first messed around as seniors, Jorgie was disgusted.
It is safe to say, no matter how much time passes, Jorgie and Vicky will never be classed as casual acquaintances, let alone friends. Jorgie still holds a grudge against Vicky from when she called her a giraffe in junior high. As much as Vicky’s taunting words hurt Jorgie, it was true. In her pre-teen years, Jorgie was tall, lanky and had the hugest pair of wobbly knees. She was the very definition of a giraffe.
“You won’t be laughing when you catch something off her,” Jorgie mumbles, her snarky tone barely audible from the heavy pelts of rain hammering the steel roof.
“Very mature,” I remark.
She screws up her nose and sticks out her tongue. I pace to the side of the garage to pack away the tools I used. A grin carves on my mouth at the anal cleanliness of Hawke’s garage. He is so meticulous about his man cave, each tool has its own rightful spot. Like Jorgie, Hawke also collects vintage cars. But unlike Jorgie, his are actually valuable.
One of his beauties is a 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z-28 SS Coupe. I’ve known Hawke for seven years, and I’ve only driven his Camaro once. That was only because he was too drunk to drive and refused to leave it at the college dorm where we were attending a party. My eyes drift to the other side of the garage. Even hidden under a protective car cover, I can recall its shimmering dark blue paint with thick white stripes and fat-rimmed tires. Just the thought of its 500 horsepower aluminum V-8 engine rumbling through my ears as I cruise down the highway has my pulse quickening and my palms sweating.
Noticing my appreciative glance, Jorgie moves to stand next to me. “Stay for dinner, and I’ll show you were Hawke hides the keys,” she mumbles, her voice barely a whisper, like she is afraid Hawke may hear her all the way in Iraq.
My eyes rocket to hers. “You’re that desperate for me to stay for dinner?”
A vast grin stretches across her face as she nods her head.
“Deal,” I say, thrusting my hand out in offering.
I balk as bile forms in the back of my throat when Jorgie spits on her hand and wraps it around mine before I have the chance to protest her disgusting and childish prank.
“You’ve always said ‘a deal means nothing unless it’s been sealed with a spit shake or a pinkie promise,’” she quips, her voice full of cheekiness.
“I haven’t said that since I was ten, and if I knew I had a choice, I would’ve chosen the pinkie promise,” I reply, running my spit-sticky hand down my jean-covered thigh.
