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Three guesses as to what they’d been doing because Logan sure as hell knew what he’d be doing if it was him.
Not that Logan should care. He’d decided at some point between stalking the loft and shooting daggers at the evidently empty apartment—and his fifth bottle of beer—that Billie-Jo Barker was off limits.
He’d already been there and done that with her sister, Betty.. They had hooked up once a long time ago and she’d totally ignored him afterward. He’d never been able to figure out what made that girl tick and eventually had given up trying. One thing had become crystal clear–the Barker triplets were more trouble than they were worth. All three of them were wired to screw with men.
His jaw clenched as he slid from his truck and locked it, not surprised to see Shane’s bike already parked in his end spot. As he entered his shop, he was however more than a little annoyed to see Billie’s hunk of junk parked in the last bay next to a one of a kind custom bike, due to be delivered to a corporate customer in Flint, by the end of the week.
Why the hell was it in his shop? He was damn sure it should be parked inside Gord’s Garage, not here.
He frowned as his office manager, Janelle walked toward him, coffee in hand. A few years older than Logan, she was happily married with twins, and more than a little grateful they were in school full time. Her long blonde hair was tied back, her trim figure nice to look at in a pair of worn jeans, and a blue sweater that made her eyes pop.
Her lips curved into a half-smile as she stopped a few inches from him, and not for the first time Logan thought of her husband Dave, his first cousin. Lucky bastard.
“Shame what was done to Billie’s car,” she murmured as she offered him an overly large, overly fried, donut.
Logan declined the donut but grabbed the coffee. “Yes, sure is,” he replied.
“Is Shane working on her car?”
Logan’s gaze swung back to the far bay. “Not as far as I know.” His eyes hardened when he spied his friend on his cell. What the hell was Shane thinking getting in the middle of sisters—especially the Barker sisters. Everyone knew they were volatile as hell.
He sipped his drink and started for his office, located on the far side of the shop.
Shane raised his chin in a hello, ear still stuck to his cell as he passed, and Logan nodded in return as he passed all five bays—which were full with two cars and three bikes. He called out greetings to his techs as they readied for another work day and peeked into the ‘shack’, a closed off room just behind his office, where Pete was getting ready to paint a vintage 1967 Mustang.
“Hey boss,” Pete nodded. “I’ll try my best to have this done by the end of the day.”
“I appreciate it, Pete, but there’s no rush. The customer isn’t picking up until Wednesday.”
“Okay,” Pete nodded as he slipped into white coveralls. “But, Gallagher wants the room by tonight.”
Logan’s mouth thinned. Two guesses as to why.
He ducked into his office, tossed his now empty coffee cup into the garbage and then stuck his head outside the door.
“Gallagher, can I see you for a minute?”
Shane had just pocketed his cell and strode over. “What’s up?”
Logan glanced behind him. “Why is Barker’s car here? We’re not equipped to fix cars. We make them.”
Shane looked surprised. He shook an errant strand of long hair that hung in his eyes and arched a brow. “I didn’t think it would be an issue.” He shrugged. “I told Billie I’d work on it for her. I don’t trust Gord. He’s been pretty vocal about her playing in the league.”
“Uh, huh.”
Shane’s eyes narrowed and he leaned his jean clad hip against Logan’s desk. “Why wouldn’t I offer a bit of help? I’d do it for anyone else.”
“Maybe because you work for me and I need you to finish up the bike as it’s going to actually generate some income?” He sounded like a bastard, but Logan couldn’t seem to help himself.
Shane crossed his feet as a slow grin spread across his face.
Logan scowled in return, moved passed his friend and slung his large body into the chair he rarely sat in.
“No worries, boss. I’ll work on the car when I’m done with my…regular duties, if that’s all right.”
“Just don’t let your charity work interfere with the shop.”
There was a pause as Shane straightened. “You know, she’s having a really hard time and not because of,” he waved toward the shop, “all that stuff. It’s everything else. Her career’s in the toilet…her father isn’t good.”
