RJ heads back to the office to answer the phone, and I can feel Don staring at me, a dumbass smirk plastered over his face. I know exactly what he’s thinking—she’d make the perfect Campus Driver.I should never have agreed to come.
4AMY
I’m standing there in the middle of the shop, looking back and forth between Lewis and his friend.
RJ sent me off on one of his quests this morning—the kind of quest that involves me getting a guy three times my size to pay up. Mission complete. It’s the kind of bread-and-butter job I can do in my sleep, so why am I standing here now, freaking out? I might not look it, but deep down inside, I’m a mess. Panic stirs in me. I hate this.
“I’m Donovan Wolinski,” the guy says, offering a hand. “Think you’ve already met Lewis…”
My gaze shifts back to the Dodge driver, and this time, my handshake is limper. I can’t help but recoil when I feel his skin pressing into mine.
“She’s got one hell of a handshake, huh?” Donovan smirks, and Lewis frowns in response.
I snatch back my hand.
What the hell is he doing here? This garage is my safe space. My turf. A dude-free zone.
RJ doesn’t count. He’s my landlord, boss, and friend all rolled intoone, but he’s also more like a father figure to me, what with him being a friend of my dad’s, and all. When Dad died, he kind of stepped in—especially since I left Brooklyn.
Speak of the devil.
I hear his heavy footsteps thumping down the stairs, and I glance up.
“Raven gave me a call. She just wanted to check up on you,” he adds with a smile.
“For a change,” I mutter under my breath. “I’ll call her back. Let her know that I’m still alive since we last spoke two hours ago.”
Lewis has rattled me, and as I take a step back, my foot collides with a tire, my elbow sending a toolbox clattering to the ground.
“Jeez, Amy. What’s up with you?”
“What’s up with me is that this shop is a total shit show. I mean, look at this place—it’s basically a death trap!”
There’s also the fact that the Campus Driver seems to be messing with my head. It’s insane—the guy must be releasing some kind of jammer hormone, or something.
RJ turns back to the other two. “Ignore the tantrums—you get used to them. She’s just like her dad, only with boobs.”
“Gross, Ronald Junior.” I shoot him a dirty look.
Donovan raises an eyebrow. “?‘Ronald’?”
“Nope,” he says.
“RonaldJunior,” I repeat.
He glares at me. “You’re fired.”
I shrug. “Your call.”
RJ “fires” me every other day. That’s just how we roll.
I bend down to scoop up the tools, silently grateful for an excuse not to have to make eye contact with Lewis Conley. He’s trying to catch my eye, though—I can sense it. In fact, he’s staring at me like I just told him I’m the Virgin Mary, and I can feel myself freaking out. A wrench slips free from my hand.
“You sure she’s okay to work on our cars?” Lewis asks RJ. “Looks like she’s got trouble with her coordination.”
Just as I’m about to slide the wrench back into the toolbox, I freeze, slowly straightening and turning to look at him.
“Shit. Don’t poke the bear, man.”
