Anthony
Three years later
“When can you start?”
I fell back in the chair, squinting toward the other side of the desk, a hundred percent positive I’d heard wrong. That sounded a lot like a job offer, and nothing in life—well at least in mine—was ever that easy.
“Something wrong, Anthony?” Mr. Falco, the owner of Falco Custom Bikes and possibly my new boss, met my gaze with a chuckle.
“Wrong, no. But …” I trailed off. My mother always warned me to beware of things that seemed too good to be true, and that was exactly how this felt. “All right, since I’m sure you looked at the application form, you already know. So, I’ll just come out and say it. This would be the first full time job I’ve had since I got out of jail, and you just sounded like you wanted to hire me after barely speaking to me. Forgive me for being skeptical, but can I ask why?”
I woke up this morning with a knot in my stomach so tight, it was hard to breathe. No, this wasn’t my only chance at a job, but I doubted I’d ever find one this good. I loved building things and getting my hands dirty. Well, dirty in a good way. The hours my friend Rory was able to throw me at his tattoo shop plus the odd jobs I held around the neighborhood were barely enough to make rent on my cheap studio apartment, but with this job plus the shifts at the tattoo shop, I could not only cover my bills but maybe even look into college classes at night.
At twenty-one, I should’ve had a better source of income than depending on any random shift that I could pick up, but I’d been afraid to apply for anything worthwhile and confirm what I’d already known when I got out. It didn’t matter how you tried to clean yourself up, because no one really cared about what you’ve donesince, all that mattered was that you were there to begin with. I didn’t want to hope for possibilities that wouldn’t fit into my reality. This job definitely fell into that category, but my parole officer pushed me to apply when I’d mentioned the job posting at our last meeting.
Despite how I tried to convince myself that it would be only a practice interview, since there would be no chance of me actually getting to work here once they found out I had a record, I really wanted this damn job.
“You came highly recommended. I was told you could fix anything with an engine.” Josh shot me a wry grin. “Your parole officer is a family friend. If he vouched for you, I’m sure you’re as perfect as he says you are for this job.”
A laugh slipped out before I could help myself. I should’ve known Gary, my parole officer who’d become a family friend, would have called ahead, and the thought made me smile.
I’d taken mechanics classes while I was away and aced every one. Working with tools was like breathing to me, the oddly natural feeling second only to having a pencil in my hand.
“I hate to speak in absolutes, but I’ve never come across anything I couldn’t fix or rebuild. Building bikes from scratch doesn’t even seem like work to me.”
He leaned his elbows on the desk, quirking an eyebrow.
“Tell me that when you have five lined up to finish in a few days. Also…” he started before cocking his head from side to side. “I was watching you as you waited. You reminded me a lot of myself. Everyone deserves a chance, and I’m happy to give you one.” He stood, a big grin splitting his bearded mouth. “Welcome to Falco Custom Bikes.” He stood and extended his tattooed hand. “Unless you’re not interested anymore.”
I shot up and took his hand. “I absolutely am. You won’t regret this.” I exhaled a long, relieved breath. “Thank you, Mr. Falco.”
“You can call me Josh. My uncle is Mr. Falco. And I’m sure I won’t. Victoria will give you all the forms and tax bullshit you need to fill out.” We both shared a laugh, and it felt so damn good to relax. I had a good feeling about Josh and about this job, as unusual as good feelings were to me since I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had one.
He opened the door to his office and motioned to the desk in the front. I spotted the back of a brunette’s head and assumed that was Victoria.
“Tell her your start date is Monday, if that works for you.”
“Absolutely!” I cleared my throat, trying and, I was sure, failing to not look desperate as I held in afuck, yes!
“Maybe with you here, we can finally get caught up. Even though it’s only September, Christmas orders are already pouring in.” He smiled before turning to head back to his office.
“Hey, Josh.” He turned to look at me. “Thank you. This chance means a lot.”
“I know it does. You’re welcome.” He smiled before closing the door behind him.
“I’m so sorry, give me one minute.”
My head swiveled toward the throaty female voice, and for a second time today, I was frozen in place. Her long, dark hair spilled over her shoulders as she nestled the phone into the crook of her shoulder, scribbling on a piece of paper before her gaze flicked to mine. She cracked a half smile, capturing me with her striking green eyes for a minute before she went back to writing. I’d never seen eyes like that before, other than the heroines who graced the pages of my comics. Her eyes were so bright, they were almost translucent, and in the brief time our eyes locked, it was as if they lasered right through me.
Her brow furrowed as she sank her teeth into her bottom lip. I clenched my eyes shut for a second to quit staring at her mouth. I’d been out of prison for close to a year, and my buddies loved to break my balls about my long dry spell. They were surprised I didn’t gorge on women the second I got out, but nothing and no one held my attention long enough for me to make an effort. My focus had been making ends meet in whatever ways I could, but in less than five minutes, this girl caught my attention, and I couldn’t look away.
“You must be Anthony,” she said after she hung up the phone. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Our main HR is in the South Carolina shop, and there are all these new procedures that are supposed to make things easier for when we get a new hire, but they already seem like a pain to me. But we can suffer together.” She giggled and stood, revealing an oversized Wonder Woman T-shirt with a frayed collar over tight jeans. She was casual but stunning, and I could end up in trouble if I wasn’t careful.
As the old saying went, I couldn’t shit where I ate, especially when it was a huge stroke of luck that I got to eat in the first place.
“I am, and you must be Victoria. Nice to meet you,” I extended a hand, and a tingle ran up my arm when her palm touched mine. What the hell was wrong with me? Granted, I might’ve spent the last of my teenage years in lock up, but this was far from my first time around a pretty girl. A blush crept up her cheeks before she slid her hand away from mine. Maybe she felt the same weird stirring?
I let go of her hand and settled into the chair in front of her desk. I didn’t need to start something up with the receptionist at my first real job and complicate the first bit of good fortune that fell into my lap. I’d learned to survive on very little, so I’d train myself to ignore the beautiful girl at my new place of business.
