“You’re gonna fix it, not make love to it.”
I elbow Danny, our townie worker, getting him right in the ribs. He makes an oof sound as he laughs and backs up. It’s common knowledge I love classic cars. Buicks are a wet dream for me.
Shaking out of my reverence for the car, I head over to the owner.
She’s in her late thirties, wearing jeans, a T-shirt with a cat on and a red beret. My mind compares it to the color I want to spray this car, it’s perfect. The woman is attractive, and a few of the guys are eyeing her up, but all I care about is the Buick.
We spoke on the phone a few times. She took photographs of everything I asked and emailed them over. Then we negotiated the price. She’d balked at my suggestion. When I told her what the car would be worth once I completed it, she changed her mind.
The club has given me everything I need, charging extortionate prices isn’t necessary. It’s a pleasure for me to work on the cars, because I don’t get a lot of opportunities to do it. The last time I worked on a restoration was four years ago. I’m looking forward to tackling this.
“Sorry,” I say with a sheepish grin as I head over and introduce myself.
“No problem.” There is a hint of amusement in her eyes.
She gives me the once over. It’s nothing new, the guys give me shit about the way I look all the time. I learned long ago not to let it bother me. My dad is a model and an actor. I inherited his looks and body type. Shit like that doesn’t matter to me. I don’t have time for it.
“Just seeing how you look at it tells me I made the right decision.”
I nod at the car. “Any trouble getting down here?”
“Nope, the transport company you recommended was perfect. I came down just…”
“To make sure you were doing the right thing?” I already explained where my garage is. “And you’re still feeling okay with that, comfortable with the deal?”
“Yes, thank you.”
I’m glad about that. Makes it easier to know the owner trusts me to do a good job. I work on projects like this when the garage is closed. Some might say I spent too much time here. When I’m not helping with club-related business, this is the one place I can switch off my mind.
Until I had a nightmare in the office.
We fill out all the paperwork, and I recommend a hotel, as she is tired from the long journey. I’m not interested in anything else, which she quickly realizes, and she heads out.
I crouch in front of the Buick, touching the badge on the front. The cold metal calls to me. I envision a lot of late nights with this girl.
“Pretty sure you’ve come in your pants at least once since you got that car. Don’t forget the Fatboy. Or I can take that off your hands?”
As much as Danny’s bullshit comment annoys me, he’s right. Not about the nutting in my pants, but I have other jobs on. Until I get the parts in, the Buick has to wait.
I parked the Fatboy in question at the back of my bay. I don’t want to admit I’ve held on to the bike longer than necessary, but everyone here knows what I’m doing. Anything to piss off the owner.
Knowing he’s riding around on a loaner is enough to make me smile. When you’re used to a Fatboy like his, riding an eight-year-old Kawasaki is a fucking travesty.
This isn’t the way I usually behave, but a petty part of me took over. I liked Mace when I first met him, despite being from a rival MC.
The Kingsmen caused all manner of shit for our club. We got on okay considering. I’d spent a lot of time babysitting him while shit got sorted out with the Kingsmen. I’d even been glad he and the few Kingsmen loyal to him joined Devil’s Chaos.
Until I saw him with Cassie Beillo at the welcome party. And that was when things cooled between us. His clubhouse is nowhere near ours. He only comes over when King summons him, or for council meetings. When I saw them together, I’ll never admit it, but jealousy tore through me.
Cassie isn’t mine, she’s free to do whatever she wants. Thinking of them together fucks with my head. It’s been months since the one night we spent together, and I’m struggling to shake it off.
Even though I left the South when I was a kid, manners and etiquette are ingrained. I never think disparagingly of any woman. Especially given where I’ve worked over the years.
The girls who came to the carnival looking for some fun, or the club girls who use their bodies for room and board within the MC, make their choices. I never second-guess or judge why they do it.
Cassie is a conundrum. The daughter of our Enforcer and Rosa, the matriarch of the Old Lady’s. She’s a lawyer, her college degree funded by the club. Now she works for us. Her firm in the city has other clients too, but we take up most of her time.
Since Waverley, the Prez’s daughter, returned, she’s started coming around more. They struck up a solid friendship. With Waverley living on site, Cassie is here a lot more, which means I spend more time watching her.
