When she entered the garage, her high heels clicked against the pavement, drawing attention to her long, thick legs. The fruity aroma housed on her dark skin replaced the stench of exhaust trapped in my nostrils. Ms. Jones had been coming to my spot to have work done for two years. Every time, I had to stop myself from fucking her or giving in when she tried to fuckme. Our first encounter happened after she and her dude went back and forth destroying each other’s shit. That was all I needed to know to keep things professional with her.
“I know we spoke about fixing your brakes and changing your oil, but you needed more work,” I explained while closing the hood of her truck.
“Hol’ up. I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“Had I not, you’d be walking home instead of driving. Don’t trip. I know you’re a single mother, and the holidays are around the corner. The extra work is worth five hundred, but you can just pay for the parts, and we’re good. We can establish a payment plan like last time if you need to.”
“No need,” she answered, tossing her braids off her shoulder. “What forms of payment do you accept?”
“Same as always. Cash. Credit. EBT.”
“Pussy?”
I laughed. “You know better than that. Pussy is good, but money is better.”
“Not better than this honeypot.” In three steps, she intruded on the space between us. “I’ve been coming here for years. I see the way you look at me.”
“Of course I look at you. You’re beautiful. You’re just not pretty enough to leave without peeling your purse back.” I snatched the rag from the pocket of my jumpsuit and ridded my fingers of oil. “How about you settle your bill, and I use the bread to take you out.”
I knew I had her when Jones shifted her weight to one leg and peered at the ceiling.
“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea.” She ran her finger over a chain I hadn’t taken off in years. “It actually sounds amazing. What’s my total?”
“Eight hundred.”
Those doe eyes of her stayed launched on me as she retrieved a bank envelope from her purse. Never pressed for cash, my vision remained on hers as she counted my fee. I smirked when she shoved the money so deep into my pocket, she almost touched my dick.
“Italian food is my favorite,” she professed.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Our closeness was interrupted when Casey barged into the garage. “Loso. Your alarm went off. Twenty minutes until your next car comes in.”
“Bet,” I replied then faced the lady staring a hole in the side of my face. “I’ll get you a receipt, then I’ll call your pretty ass about the date later.”
Ms. Jones hung around a few minutes until I handed her a slip, but as soon as she sashayed out the door, my nosy little cousin snarled at me.
“What’s the problem, Casey?” I asked with a low laugh.
“You are such a manwhore.”
“She tried to fuckmein exchange for the work I did, so get the fuck out of here with that shit.”
Casey shrieked then grabbed the glass jar off her desk. “Pay the lady! I told you the only thing I want for Christmas is a profanity free work environment.”
Juice, another one of my employees, walked up shaking his head. “Loso gives good gifts. I can’t believe that’s what you asked for.”
“Oh, baby. I’m a hustla.” She lifted her half-full jar of cash. “I get to keep every penny I collect. I’m up to at least three hundred, and it’s only been a week.”
Juice groaned. “I can’t wait for Christmas to come and go. You got it looking like the North Pole in this bitch.”
“Ugh. You’re just mad because you aren’t allowed to bring a Christmas tree in that motel room you call a home.”
I frowned at the low blow. “Hey. Get off his back. A man has to start from somewhere. Just because your spoiled ass was blessed with loving parents doesn’t mean everybody was. Besides, he’s right about the decorations. Got my shit looking like the mall.”
Though we may have had different reasons, I shared the same disdain for the later months of the year as Juice. Holidays held memories for me that sparked a dark headspace I couldn’t return to. I was only eleven when my brother died on Christmas; years later, I lost the woman I thought I would marry around the same time of the year. She stayed throwing hints about marriage, so I went above and beyond to pop the question, only for her ass to skip out on me. Ever since, I got a bad taste in my mouth around theanniversaryof the last time I got my heartbroken. Twice.
“You over there daydreaming,” Casey called out, breaking my trance. “You thinking about Ms. Jones? Are you going to call her?”
