I hate when women cry. I can’t deal and I’m never sure what to do to make it stop. Ignoring the impending doom that are her tears, I say, “Come on.” Lifting her “Baby Blue” off the ground, I carry it toward the first garage bay. “I think I’ve got a first aid kit.”
“No. I’m…” She sniffles. I hear it. “I’m okay.”
I don’t bother looking back. “Don’t be stubborn, woman. You can patch yourself up while I take a look at Baby Blue.”
“Oh. Do you work here?”
I glance up at the sign above the door: Vicious Cycle. “Yeah.”
“The owner won’t mind?”
“Nah.” I’m the owner, but I don’t feel like sharin’ that.
“Well, can you give me an estimate before you do anything? I’m on a budget.”
“Sure thing, honey.”
“Honey?” She scoffs. “Did you just call me honey?”
“Yep.” I’d love to call her ‘fuck buddy’, but I’ve got a feeling that’s never gonna happen. She’s too prissy, too… I glance back at her. …she’s too everything. I don’t want a woman like that, you know, complicated, high maintenance, and a pain in my ass. If I could fuck her once and never see her again, great. She ain’t that kind of woman, though. She’ll want to stick around and make my life a living hell. She’ll try to “fix” me.
Honey, I ain’t broken.
With that settled, I flip her bike upside down near my workstation. Reaching up, I pull down the first aid kit. I hold the box out to her. “Everything you need is in here.”
“Thanks.”
I stare as she bends to inspect her knee. When she does, her top gapes open a little bit, and I see more of those glorious tits. “Jesus,” I grumble.
Her heads snaps up, and I get her blue glare. “What?”
“Nothin’.” Grabbing a wrench, I loosen the nut on the front wheel and pull it free. Next, I take the top off the valve and release air from the inner tube. Using the end of some pliars, I free up the tire and yank it off. Next, with the tube deflated some, I remove it, leaving me with her rim. Glancing over at her, I see she’s got a large Band-Aid over the cuts on her knee. She’s having a hard time with her elbow since she’s trying to work one-handed.
“Here.” I set the rim down and reach for the kit. “Let me help.”
“I’ve got it,” the stubborn woman snaps.
“The fuck you do, honey.” Taking the kit, I set it on the worktable. “Sit your ass down.”
“Do not tell me what to do. You’re not the boss of me.”
“Jesus.” I’m about to toss her stubborn ass out the door along with her fucking bike when I look at her face. I’m close enough to see those pure blue eyes shining again. “Don’t fucking cry, lady.”
“My name is Prudence. Not ‘lady’.” She scoffs. “Or honey.”
“Prudence?” I grumble. “Of course it is.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
It means it’s the prissiest name I’ve ever heard in my fucking life. “Nothin’.”
“You’re insulting my name? First, it’s my music, and now you’re making fun of my name?”
“No.” I’ve got one of those disinfectant wipes in my hand, ready to clean her wound. “But your music does suck.” Yeah, I recognize her. A couple of weeks ago when me and Brett were out on a ride, I saw her. Or heard her music is more like. I thought she was fuckin’ adorable that day with her hair in little pigtails, like they are now. She’s got a pretty face and a body that won’t quit. Yeah, I remember her.
“No, it doesn’t.”
I chuckle. It’s just about two weeks ago. “Yeah, it does.”
