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"That'll be a bitch to replace." Jett scrubbed his hand over his face. That headache that had been a dull ache was building in intensity now, and he took a deep breath, trying to ignore the pain.
"No way I can get it done by Sunday."
"Sunday?" Wes let out a bark of laughter. "Absolutely fucking not. Maybe next week. The week after." He shrugged, and Jett shook his head as he spoke.
"Asshole needs it Sunday."
"Impossible," Wes said, but suddenly snapped his fingers and pointed at Jett. "I have a buddy who works at the Bentley dealership. Maybe you can buy the part from him."
"Doubt it, but check with him, will you?"
"No problem." Wes clapped Jett on the shoulder. "Hey, me and the boys are going out for beers. You in?"
"Nah." Jett waved dismissively. "Go on without me." Wes eyed him warily. "Seriously, man. Y'all go."
"What are you gonna do instead?"
Park his ass on the couch with a few beers and a shitty TV dinner while he watched the game.
"Just need a night to myself," he easily lied.
"Every night is a night to yourself when you live alone," Wes laughed. His grin immediately fell when he remembered why those words stung. "Shit, man. Didn't mean it like that."
"All good." Jett waved again, clearing his throat.
It wasn't Wes' fault Mandy, Jett's ex, decided to fuck his friend in their bed. And it wasn’t Wes’ fault he’d kicked her out before she even finished getting dressed. But that had been over a year ago and he was over it now.
Mostly.
Even if she'd moved on to someone else, someone who wasn’t the guy she’d been caught with, someone with more money and no record, he'd moved on, too. Not that he'd been with another woman since. But emotionally, he’d moved on. And he was over it, over her and her betrayal.
He'd ignored his colleague's solid advice of, "The only way to get over someone is to get under someone else." It didn't feel right to use some girl to help him get over Mandy. He wasn't a one-night stand kind of guy.
The guys cleaned up around the shop as Jett looked at the rest of the car, checking the oil, tire pressure, and wiper fluid. He drowned out their conversations, and jerked his chin at them as they left the shop one by one, to go party and do all the shit he used to do.
Before Mandy left, he would've gone with them. He'd have called her and she would've met him at the bar with her girls. They'd get shitfaced before heading home and fighting before fucking and passing out.
Every weekend.
He was too old when he used to do it, and he was damn well too old now.
When she left, it hurt. But it was the best thing that could've happened to him.
He was healthier than ever—okay, not really. He just started lifting weights again and had packed on some muscle. And he wasn't getting absolutely blitzed every weekend anymore, so that was a win. Now only a few beers sufficed, and he actually slept. His stress levels were low. Mostly.
He was fine.
Everything was fine.Morethan fine.
Everything was routine, and he didn't have any surprises anymore. He lived a simple, drama-free life.
Just the way he liked it.
two
Abbie stared at her phone as it rang. She contemplated just ignoring it again and going back to drawing in her sketchbook, but she knew her mother would call her again. And again. And again. She'd never stop.
Ever.
