CHAPTER SIX
BODE
SIX DAYS LATER - FRIDAY
Three hours, fourteen minutes, and thirty-two . . . thirty-three seconds . . . since I walked into my shop and I’m already counting down the hours and minutes until I can leave and go home to my girls.
That’s right, girls—plural. Hazel, my princess, and Alyssa, the beauty who took no time at all to come into my life and tip our whole world on its axis.
Hazel’s party last weekend went off without a hitch, all in thanks to Beth’s planning, but also surprisingly because of Alyssa. For someone who had never met any of our friends or family until that day, and had no clue where anything was in the house, she hustled around like she’d been living with us her whole life. Earlier Beth had briefly mentioned her growing up in foster care, so maybe that helps in her becoming acclimated to new environments quickly, but she took over the party and ran it like a pro. Her help allowed me to focus all my attention on my birthday girl to give her the best day ever.
After the last piece of cake was eaten, all the ripped wrapping paper was thrown away, and every guest had gone home, I gave Hazel a bath as Beth, Michael, and Alyssa munched on snacks in the kitchen. Once my princess was back in her SpongeBob jammies, and tucked into her bed with all her new stuffies, I made my way downstairs to join the other adults. As soon as Beth noticed me, she grabbed her fiancé and hustled out the back door with the excuse that they were going to his apartment to start packing his things for the move next week.
I didn’t believe her one bit. When she winked at me, from behind Alyssa so she couldn’t see, I knew she was setting us up. I didn’t said anything to anyone, but my suspicions are spot on. My sister didn’tforgetto tell us she was moving out early, she waited to tell us when we were all together and couldn’t back out because there was no other backup plan. She wants Alyssa here, with me and Hazel, and she wants her to stay.
Over the next few hours, Alyssa and I didn’t stop talking. We talked about everything. Everything from what hours I work, Hazel’s daily schedule including swim lessons two days a week, who would cook dinner, what day is trash day, her shitty childhood and idiot ex, my shitty baby momma who abandoned us and gave up her parental rights when Hazel was two months old . . . there wasn’t a rock we left unturned. All of our skeletons are out of the closet, I think, and it was a great night. By the time we went to bed at one o’clock in the morning, after a make out session hotter than the sun, there isn’t much I don’t know about the woman who sleeps in the room next to mine—and that’s just the way I like it.
Alyssa has been living in my house for one day shy of a week and I never want her to leave. The three of us picked up and settled into a routine so smoothly, it’s like we were meant to be. Hazel loves spending her days with Alyssa, and I can’t fall asleep without the few hours of alone time I get to spend with her too.
We haven’t done anything more than kiss and touch, under the clothes but only above the belt, and it’s been torture . . . but in the best way. While I would give anything to push the boundaries she has asked me to stick to, I know we will get there when she is ready. Every night that I go to bed with a rock hard cock, and a major case of blue balls, I know is one night closer to sinking into her sweetness and making her mine forever.
“Yo, boss man,” I’m snapped out of my daydream by one of my employees, Demarcus. “You snoozin’ over there?”
“Who you callin’ an old man?” I toss a greasy rag at him and we both laugh. “You’re only a year younger than me.”
“And that makes you older than me. So you’re an old man.”
“Remember who signs your paychecks,” I chuckle as he throws the rag back at me. “What do you need?”
“Jane had to run out to take her daughter to her dentist appointment, so no one is at the front desk.” Demarcus walks closer, then lowers his voice. “There’s some rude, rich lookin’ dude in there who says he has some questions about getting work done on his car, but when I started asking him questions, he brushed me off and said he wants to talk to whoever’s in charge.”
Looking over his shoulder, I can see through the glass wall into the customer waiting area that’s next to the front desk. A blonde man about my height, wearing a dark gray suit and shiny black shoes, paces back and forth with his phone to his ear. I don’t know who he’s talking to, but he doesn’t look happy.
“I’ll go see what he needs.” I slap Demarcus on the shoulder and head for the lobby.
“I don’t care what you say, this was all your fault and now I have to fix it.” The man glares at me before tapping a few times on his phone, then slides it in the inner pocket of his suit. “Sorry about that. Bitches are crazy. Am I right?”
Demarcus was only partially right, rude is only part of what this shit-stain is. Arrogant, obnoxious, pompous, full of himself . . . I could go on, but I won’t.
“How can I help you?” I ask as I step behind the desk and wiggle the mouse to wake up the computer screen.
“My car started making funny noises as I pulled into town.” He rubs a hand down his face. “This podunk town doesn’t seem to have a Mercedes dealership anywhere near by, so I guess you’re my best chance at figuring out what’s going on. You can handle luxury vehicles, correct?”
And the adjectives keep piling up. Conceited, high-handed, patronizing, vain, pretentious . . . I’m a damn thesaurus today.
“I definitely can.” I brace my hands on the counter and grip the edge until my knuckles turn white. It’s either the butcherblock top I built myself, or his face that has to take my annoyance of this man, and I doubt I could afford the lawsuit this rich asshole would throw at me if I punched his smarmy face. “We service all makes and models, and years too. I even work on vintage restorations whenever I can, so I shouldn’t have any problem figuring out what’s going on with your Mercedes.”
“Great.”
“So what kind of noises was it making? Do you know where in the vehicle they were coming from? The engine, tires, under the car?”
“It was under the car I think,” he replies so snide that you would think it’s my fault that his car decided to have problems. “But isn’t it your job to figure out the problem and fix it? Why are you asking me?”
Keep your cool, Bode. No punching the customers. Especially the fat wallet customers.
“I can take a look at it now if you’d like. I just need to get your information and run the VIN number so I can look up the specs on the computer. Once I’ve got that, I’ll pull it in the garage and get it on a lift to see what’s going on under the car. Do you have some time free now for me to do that?”
He pulls his phone back out and looks at the screen, then tosses his keys on the counter. “I guess I don’t have much of an option.”
