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“Nope,” I say with a pop to my lips.
My knees crack like I’m fucking eighty when I push up to stand next to him. The toll on the body of being a mechanic is a pain in the ass. Literally, on some days. But it’s worth the love I have for turning wrenches, so I’ll never give it up.
Sitting in a desk job day in and day out like Tanner or Gabe would eventually require a pretty white jacket and a padded room for how mad it would drive me.
“Speaking of cars,” I mention, but only because he opened the topic up for discussion. I’m merely taking advantage.
“I may need your services tonight. And by services, I happen to mean a well-timed tow truck—”
“For fuck’s sake,” he grumbles, cutting me off. “Please tell me you aren’t joining those assholes in more of their shit. And there better not be a woman involved.”
My admission comes out short and sweet.
“There’s a woman involved.”
“Then tell me in my office. I need a stiff drink to listen to this shit.”
Priest heads in the direction of his office. I follow close behind. I’m thirsty as fuck and steal a soda from his mini fridge as soon as we get there. He eyes me.
“You planning on buying the next case?”
“Do I ever?”
I pop the tab and make a dramatic show of gulping down the cool liquid, the carbonation shooting right back up on a loud burp.
Shaking his head, Priest smiles. “Whatever. I’ll take it out of your next paycheck.”
“Funny. I can’t remember ever getting a paycheck from you. And here I thought you just let me hang around to entertain myself with your tools.”
“I do,” he answers.
Not that he needs to pay me. I make more than enough from the law firm, even if it’s typically a cold day in hell when anybody actually catches my ass in there.
“So what’s the favor? And what felony will I be committing to help you this time?”
Dropping my weight down onto his couch, I don’t regret the oil stains I’m adding from my coveralls. He picked this lumpy piece of shit up from a thrift store for twenty bucks to replace the other piece of shit we destroyed last year.
“Not sure it’s a felony”
He glares at me with disbelief.
“You’re an attorney. You should know if it’s a felony.”
“I’m not a criminal attorney. If you want the specifics on that, talk to Tanner or Gabe. Or hell, even Mason or Jase could tell you. I just know that some chick’s car isn’t going to be running very well after ten tonight, and she’s going to need a lift.”
Priest scratches his jaw.
“Damn it. Are you banging her?”
“No.”
“Are you planning to bang her?”
“I mean, not necessarily, but I like to leave the option open.”
He makes no response except to blink slowly in my direction before turning to snatch a bottle of whiskey out of a desk drawer. He spins the cap off then takes a long swallow.
I can’t help feeling bad for him. Priest has been dragged into all sorts of shit over the past few months. And for the most part, he’s been left in the dark as to why I’ve needed his assistance.
