Page 130 of Down Bad

Joel keeps trying to start up this same conversation about the movie-slash-game night Wyatt threw on the weekend for his sister and how it was kind of outed that we’ve got something going on. I poker-faced him the first time.

I poker-face him this time, too. “No idea what you’re talkin’ about.” I dive back under the hood.

A minute later at the supply racks, Joel comes up. “It ain’t a big deal to me, man, I’m all for guys gettin’ their dipsticks dipped wherever makes ‘em happy, but—”

“But?” I turn to him.

He shrivels. “I’m just sayin’ … like … I’m just …” He shrugs. “It surprised me is all. You guys seem … kinda … opposite …?”

I frown.

“And I mean, all power to ya, happy for ya. But for a guy who’s hit the lottery as far as a saint like Wyatt goes, you seem awfully bent out of shape all the time.”

“I ain’t any shape,” I bark back. “I’m a man. Keep sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, I’ll bend you into a shape.”

“That a come-on? Kidding. Straight. Married.” Joel snorts and grabs what he needs off the rack. “But seriously. Never seen a man so pissed about getting laid before. You and Wyatt. Wow.”

Then he strolls off, chuckling to himself.

And I’m left wondering why the whole damned town seems so determined to decide what Wyatt and I are.

I’m hungry and wanting some serious separation from all the noise of talkative Monday-morning customers, minutes from my long-awaited lunch break, when I spot the nice car pulling into the lot. Something sets deep in my stomach right away, even before I know why. The door swings open. Clack of a pair of shiny-ass dress shoes that literally fling the sunlight at my eyes. I blink away the blindness as I see his dress shirt, khakis, and a flashy pair of shades he lifts into his flipped-up hair.

No golf polo today. Still a dick.

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

He struts up to Joel first, handing off his keys. “Nice shop you got here,” says the dick, sounding annoyingly polite. “Clean floors. Always have to look at the floors.” He smiles.

Perfect teeth shining.

Wealth apparent on every inch of his hair, clothes, and car.

And of course Joel takes a liking to the bastard right away. “Wow! Haven’t seen a beaut like this in a while!” He whistles as he looks it over. The dick nods at every compliment Joel dishes out, as if regarding them as apparent facts in the world. The sky’s blue. The grass is green. His car is a million bucks.

“So what brings you in today?” asks Joel.

“It’s pulling slightly right,” explains Bellamy. “I notice it more at high speeds, out on the highway. Just needs an alignment.”

I watch and hear every word of this exchange, wringing my hands dry in a rag. Waiting for the bastard inside him to come out, as it inevitably will, instead of this polite and respectful version of himself he’s putting on. He doesn’t get a pass with me just because he’s in a decent mood today.

I know what he’s really like.

“That so?” asks Joel pleasantly, tilting his head to get a peek at the car. “Just an alignment?”

“Yep. I’m sure that’s all it needs. Beauties like this are made to last. She’s still young and capable.” He chuckles. “Y’know. The way I like my women.”

Joel chuckles, too. “Well, well, sir, I’ll … definitely agree about this car. Very new. Very … capable.”

“We’ll figure out what it needs.”

That comment doesn’t come from Joel.

It comes from me.

Joel and Bellamy look my way, as if just now seeing me here. And I’m about to enjoy a sweet and personal satisfaction when the dick recognizes me from our brief encounter at the flower shop.

Yep, fuck face, it’s me.