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At that, a shock of envy leaked into my heart. I had it all. A job I loved. Friends. A place to live and a paycheck. All that was missing was someone to love. In truth until recently, I hadn't really been looking, mostly just tasting. But I was a firm believer in something my gran used to say, which was that if I wanted to find the right one, I had to become the right one. At the time it'd sounded like a bunch of bullshit, but I was working to grow emotionally. I'd cleaned up my act so to speak and was fucking saving myself for the right woman. Damn if it wasn't hard—in more ways than one.
“Fine, dude. But just fucking be careful," I added.
Clint cocked his fingers in a salute at me. “For sure. Now come on back. I’d better show you where those invoices are.”
"Right." I followed him into office. Towers of papers balanced precariously on the gently used oak desk. The air had a funk to it I didn’t want to explore. By the multiple coffee mugs scattered around, I guessed it was old coffee and something else. “This is disgusting.”
“Have you looked in the mirror?” Clint lifted a thick brow as he sat and pointed to a small rectangle mirror hanging near the exit to the office.
“I’m talking about workplace cleanliness here.” I shoved my hands in my pockets. If potential clients saw this mess, they might think we were running science experiments instead of a motorcycle shop. Still, I glanced over my shoulder and at my reflection. My naturally tanned skin had streaks of grease everywhere, including one eyelid. And my dark hair was mussed like I never combed it, even though I did.
I scowled and focused on Clint.
“This is just how I work,” he said, waving my comment away like an annoying gnat.
I frowned with distaste. “Thanks be to the gods of grease it’s not often you come upstairs to my place then.” My loft wasn't big or filled with a bunch of fancy shit but what I had I appreciated and took care of it.
“Only because you don’t invite me very often.” Clint grinned but he was right.
Sure, he'd had a couple beers with me when we first started working together but he'd obviously been on his best behavior and that had been a long time ago.
“Anyway, here are the invoices," he went on. "Don’t worry about filing them, I’ll do it when I get back.”
“Damn good thing because I wouldn’t even know where to start," I responded and felt a pang of uncertainty in my gut. It couldn't be good to rely so heavily on someone else to handle the finances and all the paperwork. For the millionth time I berated myself for not taking the time to figure out that side of my business. But it truly gave me hives.
Clint chuckled, low and deep. Stood, and picked up the leather jacket resting on the back of his seat, then slid it on. “Just how I like it. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got a bike to ride, and you’ve got a repair to finish.”
"Absolutely." I clapped him on the back, desperate to escape the fetid confines of the office as quick as I could.
"Later, Rush," he said, hurrying down the stairs. He headed toward the back of the shop and opened one of several small garage doors. Tugged on his leather gloves, climbed on his bike, and started her up with a deep roar.
"Crazy son of a bitch," I muttered as some brisk wind and rain fluttered inside.
Clint gave me a wave and I gave him one in return a sarcastic with only a small shake of my head.
"You'll close up the garage door behind me?" he asked.
"Yeah, man. Be safe."
"Damn straight," he replied and took off.
Once he was gone, the vibrations of his bike echoing down the street, I pulled down the single-garage door, and went back to work.
Repairing only made a small part of the business. If I hurried, I could get on with my real love, which was building and designing bikes from scratch. I’d be up all night working on my latest baby.
Who needed a woman when I had a motorcycle to play with? Not me, that was for sure.
THREE
Men and Chocolate
LUX
Resolute,I handled the necessities in the bathroom, including a shower and brushing my teeth. After drying my long hair, I pulled it off my face and into a high ponytail. It tended to frizz, so I combed some leave-in conditioner into the wispies around my face. After moisturizing, I applied a little mascara and some gloss. Then dressed in white shorts, a yellow polo shirt, and a pair of tan sandals. Finished, I gave myself a once-over in the full-length mirror beside my closet and added small gold hoops and a thin gold necklace, with a star charm dangling from the end.
Still full of guilt over my decision but ablaze with obstinance, I gulped down the cold coffee, snatched my phone and bag, and slipped quietly down the stairs of our traditional two-story home. Grabbed the keys off the table in the entryway and peaked in on mom.
She was humming happily in the kitchen as she bleached everything down, killing all bacteria, both good and bad. Our home always had the lingering nasal sting of cleaning products. Mom took my label of being immunocompromised very seriously.
