“This parking space says for business owner,” he yelled back nonchalantly.
“I KNOW WHAT THE SPOT SAYS. I’M THE OWNER OF THIS GYM AND I HAVE BEEN PARKING IN THAT SPOT FOR EIGHT YEARS SO MOVE YOUR TRUCK!” I yelled like a banshee.
“Well, the sign doesn’t say, Owner of the gym it says Business Owner. Do you see this establishment right here? I’m the owner of it. I would have wanted a more pleasant welcometo the neighborhood, but I’m not moving out of the spot lady so just find somewhere else to park. You don’t own this spot.” He shrugged as he turned and walked away without bothering to move his truck.
“ASSHOLE!” I screamed out of the window, angry as I swerved away to find another spot. I heard him laugh loudly. A genuine, amused laugh, like I was entertaining. That shit irritated me even worse than that country ass truck, and that country ass sign above his storefront that read:THE JUICE PLUG
The place had only been open for a week and I already hated it. It had been seven years since the storefront next to Brick & Co had been used. Our last neighbor was an elderly woman that made the best sweet potato pie in the city. I hated to see her go. Seven years of no business neighbor. Now some smiling juice salesman showed up and for the past week his juice was all I was hearing about. All of a sudden, everybody was excited about fresh juice when bottled juice had been good enough.
“Oh my God, his juice is so good.”
“Have you seen the names of his juices?”
“Oh my God, have you seen that fine ass man next door who owns the Juice Plug?”
His juicing ass thought he was slick. It was no coincidence that he moved next door to a gym. Like an ice cream parlor moving next door to an Eskimo clothing store, this nigga planned to capitalize on the clients I busted my ass to get.
I had gone through hell bringing my family gym from the stone ages into the 21stcentury. Brick & Co was founded by my father, Bernard Walker, in the 90’s. He named it after my brother and me, his fraternal twins, Brichelle and Cozart. Thebusiness had been successful enough to put us in a big house, paid private school tuition, and my father even thought about making it a franchise before fitness gurus started taking their services to the internet.
When trainers realized they could make more money coaching clients through YouTube videos than being employed by gyms, the fitness industry took a major nosedive.
There were months when my father had to choose between paying the light bill at the gym and the light bill in our house, still he refused to let my mother work. He came from that old school mentality where a husband provided for his wife and kids and the women stayed in the house and cook and cleaned. When my mother passed, my father lost the love of his life and the love for his business. He decided to retire and let my brother run the gym even though I was the more responsible one. When my brother got arrested and almost cost him the gym, he was forced to put it in my hands, and I was determined to show him that he had made the right decision.
It was my idea to get a bank loan and bring some new life into Brick & Co. I put my Ivy League business degree to work and studied the gym industry. I visited all the best gyms, studied their facilities, their products, their customers and implemented some new strategies. It took almost a year to pull the company out of the mess my brother had driven it into, but I did, and I exceeded my own expectations. I had made enough to pay the entire bank loan back, and the business wasn’t just breaking even, we were thriving. My father would never admit that a woman had run his company better than a man, but he knew it and so did my little brother, Co. I didn’t know if he loved me for saving our family’s company or hated me for it. It was probably a little bit of both.
I parked my car in a spot that I hated and got out of the car angrily. I stormed over to the parking spot thief who had set his box down and was sticking his key inside of the hole and unlocking the door. I didn’t care that it was midnight and we were almost the only two people outside.
“HEY, I DON’T KNOW WHERE YOU HAD YOUR LITTLE JUICE BUSINESS BEFORE YOU GOT HERE, BUT IN THIS PLAZA, WE DON’T STEP ON EACH OTHERS’ TOES,” I yelled from behind and folded my arms.
“Chill lady, it was just a parking spot. I have only been in the plaza for a week I’m still trying to figure out the best spot to park. If I knew it meant so much to you I wouldn’t have taken the spot. I don’t want any trouble.” The man replied not bothering to turn around as he continued to struggle with the locked burglar door outside of his shop.
With his back turned I couldn’t help but to notice his broad shoulders, how his head almost touched the top of the door, his thick calf muscles through his Levi jeans and his dusty boots. There was no way in hell he was from Atlanta. I turned back and glanced at his truck, the license plate read Mississippi. That made sense. Out of all the places to open a juice store why the hell had he come to Atlanta?
“Was there something else you needed lady or are you going to just stand there and enjoy me struggle with opening this raggedy ass lock?” He questioned startling me from my thoughts. I snickered because all of the locks were from the same company and there was a certain way you had to open it that made it easier.
“Give me my spot back and I’ll help you with the lock,” I shrugged triumphantly.
He turned around to look at me; it was more like looked down at me, because he towered above me like a giant. I didn’tgive a damn how tall he was I crossed my arms and maintained my stance. I refused to be intimidated.
“Or you can be a decent human being and just help me. I’ve had this same problem with the lock every time I try to open and close the store. I always get it eventually but it’s just a headache trying to work with it until it budges,” he admitted begrudgingly.
“I know the feeling. I get the same headache when I have to ride around and look for a parking spot when I have been using this spot right here in front of my gym. So, what do you say? I give you what you want, and you give me what I want?” The minute the words left my lips I was aware of how they sounded and I began to blush. He smirked because his mind took him to the same raunchy place.
I rolled my eyes and scowled, “You know what I meant perv. I help you unlock this janky door, and you give me my spot back,” I stuttered.
“What’s your name?” He asked me as he leaned against the door and crossed his large arms over his chest.
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t like you.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I know enough.”
His smile widened and I wanted to be annoyed with him but the longer I stood in his presence, the more my knees weakened. He was calm and staring at me intensely and I mirrored his image on the outside. On the inside I was a quivering mess. This would be so much easier if he looked like a dusty boot instead of a more muscled version of Lance Gross.
“What’s your name?” he asked again.
“Why does it matter?” I snapped as I exhaled loudly.
