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I grinned like a loon as he shoved his hands through his thick hair, the gravity of what he’d accomplished finally hitting him.
“I did it,” he said.
“Fuck yeah,” I agreed, as the light in his eyes reignited. “You did it. You made something we can actually use.”
“I’ve gotta make the island stools next, or maybe a dresser, or end tables for the living room,” he said absently, ideas tripping over themselves in his head.
“Not so fast, Mr. Carpenter.” I held up a hand. “First off, it’s going to rain.” And as if waiting for a proper introduction, steel-colored clouds swarmed the sky. “And secondly, we need to celebrate.”
“I could always work in the garage.” He rubbed at his cheek, transferring the grime on his hand to the smooth, freshly shaved surface. “I’m only kidding,” he said when I scowled. “What do you suggest we do?”
“There’s a cool jazz bar not too far from my place. Josephine’s. Nothing fancy, but they have great beer on tap, a couple pool tables in the back, and if you bump your hip into the jukebox the right way, it’s free.” It was also where I went when needing a quick, no-strings fuck in one of the single occupancy bathrooms. After having Franky’s indelicate hands on me, I needed the rough handling of a man tonight. I wouldn’t be picky, though. Something soft with great tits would do as well.
Franky scanned the twilight sky with mistrust. According to the weather forecast, we’d be getting a bad storm tonight.
“Or we could keep it local if you want. I just need a change of scenery. We both do,” I said pointedly.
“No, Josephine’s is fine,” he said. “We’ll be near your place if it gets too bad to drive back here, and besides, I feel terrible about how I’ve been acting.”
“Oh, and you think taking me to my favorite bar will make up for it?” I asked.
“I’m hoping it will,” he said, giving me sad puppy dog eyes without even trying to. Yeah, I needed to get laid, and fast.
We loaded his tools into the garage before separating to get ready.
My eye color came courtesy of my dead-beat dad, but I got my straight hair from my mother. It required styling when in between haircuts, or else it would stick out at odd angles until long enough to properly flop over my ears and forehead. Tonight, I gave myself a slicked-back do, finishing the look with faded tight jeans and a t-shirt purposely one size too small.
Franky waited at the bottom of the landing dressed similarly, except his outfit didn’t scream bargain shop the way mine did. It didn’t bother me, though. Not after he’d treated my apartment tour like the world’s most hidden treasure. We were too alike to dwell on the superficial areas where we were different, because we were different in ways that didn’t matter to either of us. “Great minds think alike,” I said, in reference to our matching ensemble, and he agreed.
“Ready?” he said, then winced. “I mean, to go to the bar.”
“What else would you have meant?” I asked with humor in my tone. I cleared the bottom step, which put me directly in front of him. Franky may have had me beat in the muscle department, but we were the same impressive height.
“Nothing, just didn’t want to confuse you,” he said, being weird again.
“My car or yours?” I asked. The mechanic had dropped Betty off earlier, finishing up with her sooner than anticipated.
“Mine,” Franky growled, the possessiveness emanating from that one word felt out of place. Had he misheard my question? He seemed angry, which in turn raised my internal temperature. Now I not only wanted to be fucked, but I wanted the fucking fueled by rage.What the hell is wrong with me?
“Your car?” I asked, just to be sure we were on the same page before the heat in my core traveled southward.
“Yes, my car,” he confirmed with a stiff smile.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Of course. With the weather being as bad as it is, it’s probably best we take my car. That’s all.”
“Makes sense. Betty isn’t known for her reliability,” I said, as he moved past me and toward the door leading to the garages.
***
We parked right outside Josephine’s doors, but neither of us had thought to bring an umbrella, and the storm was now in full swing. We hurried inside and over to the two unoccupied bar stools closest to the entrance, grabbing handfuls of napkins to dry off with.
Josephine’s had a good crowd for it being mid-week. I did a quick once-over for intimately familiar faces and came up short. I avoided repeats, but tonight I would’ve made an exception. Desperate times and all.
“Soquestionablyraised by your Uncle No One after your mother ran off, and completely on your own—well, with Noon—by the time you were fifteen?” Franky asked, picking up the conversation we were having on the car ride into the city.
“Pretty much,” I said, ordering two Stellas. “My uncle isn’t built for a domesticated life, but he stuck around long enough to see me out of the hospital and turned over to him. Then he’d come and go—mostly go—with strict instructions to not answer the phone or open the door for anyone.” I slipped the bartender my bank card before Franky could get his wallet out. “Keep the tab open,” I told him, ignoring Franky’s glower. While intimidation tactics may have worked for him in business, he didn’t scare me. I hid my smirk around the mouth of my pint glass.
