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“That’s not all I do,” Luke protested. “Where do you think our clients come from? I spend all day every day doing marketing, to keep the work flowing in.”
“Marketing?” I smiled, twisting to face him. “Really?You?”
“I’m good at it too,” he assured us. “I find people looking for old, vintage cars. Specific models, so they can relive their glory days.”
“Like this guy,” Adrian said, nodding toward Warren.
“Exactly,” Luke smiled. “Then I go about finding those cars, usually in busted up shape, and towing them down here. He does the rest.”
“Yeah sure,” Warren rolled his eyes. “Like ‘the rest’ is something easy.”
He pulled his door closed. “Forget it. I’m not getting wet running in there for nine beers.”
“Might be eight,” Luke shrugged.
I was laughing from the back seat. Enjoying the company, the camaraderie. The little back-and-forth banter we all used to have, back when life was simpler and we didn’t have a care in the world.
“I have an idea,” I said. “Let’s just grab some beer on the way and head back to my hotel. I’ve got a whole damned top floor suite, mini-bar and everything. We can drink all night and tell more Elizabeth stories.”
For a second or two, the guys sat looking at each other in stunned silence.
“Fuckin-A,” said Adrian.
“Can weraidthe mini-bar?” Luke asked.
“You can ransack the shit out of it,” I laughed. “I’m on vacation. For another two days, anyway.”
The car rumbled beneath us as Warren started the motor again. He revved the engine a couple of times before putting it in gear.
“You’re taking your vacation in North Glade,” Adrian quipped from the passenger seat. “You know that, right?”
I flipped him off, even as Warren looked back at me and smiled.
“Shut up and drive,” I said, settling into the crook of Luke’s arm again.
Twenty
WARREN
“Damn, you’ve got three different seating areas?” Luke declared, circling the room. “How many people are you inviting up here this vacation?”
The suite was big, spacious and beautiful. Not to mention new.
“And a kitchen too?”
“A kitchenette,” Kayla corrected him.
“What the hell’s the difference?”
She laughed, dropping her bag and kicking off her shoes. The face she made as she wriggled her toes into the carpeted floor was semi-orgasmic. I knew the look.
“A stove.”
We all whirled on Adrian, who was busy kicking off his own shoes. He’d also unbuttoned his collar, revealing even more tattoos.
Seeing us staring, he shrugged. “That’s the difference,” he said. “A kitchenette doesn’t have a stove.”
“And how do you knowthat?” Luke demanded.
