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“You coming out tonight, boss?” Jimmy asked as he poked his head into my office door. “We’re headed over to Dawson’s after close.”
It had been a while since I’d gone out and had a good time and really let down my guard. I wasn’t one to tie one on unless there was a good reason behind it.
“You know, as a matter of fact, I could do with a drink. It’s been a while since I celebrated, and this store alone has already made the year three months in.”
It was settled. I’d get drunk with the guys in Springfield and hang with them outside of the shop. It would be a good chance to see what the town was really like outside of the automotive arena. At the moment, Springfield seemed like one of the best bets for a place to settle down and grow roots. I could imagine myself abandoning the life on the move and embracing the simple life—fixing up a house, starting a family, all of the good things that come with success. So far, the only part I’ve sampled is the material. But eventually even money becomes tiresome if you don’t have someone to share it with.
I rushed back to the hotel and showered after we closed down the shop for the day, loving the fact that I’d spent half of the day up under the hood of a classic car, my favorite place to be. Jimmy had told me there was a place down the way where most of the gearheads brought their gems and hung out too. A real retro joint that sold baked goods. I laughed under the soap suds as I scrubbed my massive frame. I couldn’t imagine feeding some of those burly, tattooed customers cake and muffins. What a strange combination. Heard it was run by a woman too. Not that I had anything against women in the field. Must have come from a family of mechanics and inherited the business. Bet she did the baking and hired mechanics to do the real work.
I scrubbed under my nails with the brush to get the grease out and washed my hair twice so I wouldn’t smell like a garage. Then I toweled off my skin, which was mainly a canvas for tattoos. It came with the territory, but I was a fan of genuinely artistic ink. I loved the classic style, like a 1970s biker vibe—hard contour lines, pin-up girls, eagles, skulls when I was feeling especially hard.
The hotel was five-star with a suite——the best in town—but it still made me feel empty inside. Hotel life was no life for me. I was more than ready to give that up.
I assessed my six-foot-three build in the expansive hotel bathroom mirror after wiping away the steam. I was a stud. How come I didn’t have a girlfriend? I thought about jerking off and then realized maybe I could hook up at the bar tonight. It had been a while. Work got in the way of me even having time to give myself a decent hand job.
I pulled on a clean black T-shirt and a pair of jeans, combed my hair, and slapped on some cologne.
I’d allow myself three beers tops. Be up and at the gym by five in the morning and back on the road ten hours later.
Best-laid plans never work.
Dawson’s was crowded and promised a good time. Music poured from the speakers, but there was a small stage set up for a live performance later. All the guys from the shop showed up, Jackson—who was newly married with a pregnant wife at home—included. I knew everyone needed to blow off steam, but in his position, I would have rescinded.
I ordered a tap beer, mentally reminding myself it was one of three.
“Keep a running tab. All these lugheads’ drinks are on me,” I told the bartender, who nodded accordingly. I almost told him to cut me off at three, but then I decided not to come off as too much of a wet blanket.
We talked shop. We talked cars. We talked ink and beer. No sports or any disrespecting women for this crew. Those were unspoken rules. A few of the guys went off to play pool while I sat with Jackson and Jimmy, nursing my second pint of the night. With each sip, the tension in my muscles seemed to relax. I leaned on the bar and laughed at Jimmy’s recounting of various customers. He wanted to send drinks to some girls at the end of the bar, so I obliged and told the barkeep to add a round of whatever they were drinking.
When the cocktail waitress delivered the tray, she whispered down to one of them. The girls looked up and raised their shots in the air.
Tequila. No thanks. That stuff was poison and made people lose their damn minds. The last time I had it, I was in college. I don’t remember what happened, but I woke up naked, clad only in socks, by the side of a pool that wasn’t public and in a neighborhood on the other side of campus.
