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I shove Tigger’s feet off the counter and hand him the work order I filled out, ignoring the third person in the room. “You too busy talking to do your job?”
“Nah, man. Just waiting on you.” He brings the computer to life and starts typing. He looks up at me when he gets to the amount I have circled. I narrow my eyes, daring him to challenge me, but like the good prospect he is, he doesn’t say shit about it.
“How long will this take?” Jenson asks.
“As long as it takes,” I grumble.
“I’m going to need a roundabout figure. Thirty minutes? An hour?”
“Are you late for the country club or something?”
“For Christ’s sake, Mike. We were kids, and kids are shitty.” He pops the button of his suit coat and loosens his tie, making me wonder what he looks like underneath all those clothes.
He’s clearly taken care of himself, judging by his flat stomach and narrow hips. Goddamn it. Would it be too much to ask for the man I’ve spent years villainizing to be ugly? Instead, he’s even more attractive than he was in high school and let me tell you, it really fucks with a guy’s head to get a hard-on for their bully.
“You basically called me trash not ten minutes ago,” I remind him.
He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Please, just tell me when I can get out of this hellhole.”
Then I get an idea. A childish idea but an idea nonetheless. “Looks like we have to order a part. Sorry, but you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
“A part? Tomorrow? That other guy said you just had to reset something.”
I do my best to look apologetic, but I’m not sure I pull it off. “That’s what we thought. Turns out you need a new fuse, and we don’t keep those in stock.”
Tigger starts to stand. “Are you sure? I think we—”
I quickly clamp a hand on his shoulder and push him back in his seat. “I’m sure. I checked myself.”
Jenson runs a hand through his hair, and it only makes it look better. “Shit. Do you guys offer loaners?”
Tigger laughs way too loud and inappropriately.
“No. Not that kind of shop,” I say.
Jenson turns away. “Guess I’ll call an Uber.”
“Good luck with that,” Tigger says, and I prop myself up against the wall, getting comfortable because this part’s really gonna piss him off.
“Why do you say that?”
“No ride share is gonna come onto Sons’ property. They might pick you up on the highway, though.”
“Sons?” he asks, genuinely having no clue where he is.
“You see that compound to the right?” Tigger points out the window.
Jenson walks to the window and peers out. “That looks more like a prison with the razor wire going around it.”
“Yeah, that’s our clubhouse. This shop is owned by Cyrus, the president of our motorcycle club. I believe you spoke to him earlier.”
“So what?”
I push off the wall. “You ever heard of the Sons of Erebus?”
His eyes go wide and dance around the office covered in SOE memorabilia. He’s finally getting it.
“I’m the secretary for the club, and Tigger is a lowly prospect.” I pound Tigger on the back.
