CHAPTER FOUR
RILEY
I’m on a stool, working on a bike with a new sci-fi novel playing on my earbuds to drown out the rest of the garage and the mechanics, who are all extra chatty today. The story and a couple characters have got me wrapped up in the first chapters, my hands working on the bike automatically. When the book gets to describing this particular alien solar system, though, I throw my wrench to the cement floor.
“How does a red dwarf support multiple hot Jupiters!” I bark out.
When a hand lands on my shoulder, I jerk and pull the earbuds out.
“Uh, Riley?” Pirate Bill asks. “You good there, boss?”
I rub my hand over my face, remembering where I am. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.”
The mechanic arches a skeptical eyebrow, but shrugs. “Cool.”
A commotion interrupts the awkward moment, and I shoot my eyes to the front of the shop as I stand. A tattooed guy comes cruising in on a flashy red roadster, wearing nothing but a jock strap, boots, and a helmet. Everyone laughs as he revs the engine, and when he takes his helmet off, I see that it’s another mechanic, Little Joe.
“Hey, Little Joe! Isn’t that Sully’s bike?”
“Sure is! I’ve been at his place since last night,” he calls out, and revs the motor some more as he straddles it and gyrates his hips, which earns another laugh.
I step forward. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” I roar it out louder than I mean to, frustration about the sci-fi novel still prickling the back of my neck. But hijinks like this piss me right off on a good day, too.
Little Joe hops off the bike and holds his hands up, palms facing me in an act of surrender. “It’s cool,” he says and wiggles his butt as he walks around to the back. “Just putting on a show down Main Street. Gotta let the gayborhood know we’re open for business.”
I stomp over and grab a jumpsuit, which I throw at him. “Your naked ass is only telling the neighborhood that we’re a bunch of jokers.” I glare. “And I’m sure it’s old news anyway.”
The rest of the crew laughs, but it’s timid, like they’re scared to relax now that they see I’m upset. It’s not that I enjoy being the bad guy, but if that’s what it’s going to take to get some order around here, I’ll play the role.
I raise my voice to address the shop while Little Joe mutters and pulls on the jumpsuit. “Didn’t know I had to say this, but guess I’ll lay out some more ground rules. No jock straps. No clothing at all that violates public decency laws. No hotshots, class clowns, or attitude problems. All safety regulations will be followed from the moment you step foot in the garage.” I grab some gloves and throw them to Little Joe, too, nearly knocking him over with surprise as he finishes pulling the jumpsuit on. “And no checking in your fuck buddy’s bike. The owner of the ride has to sign before work starts. Everyone got that?”
The mechanics all mutter and look away, trying to avoid my stern stare. When I see that I’ve made my point, I huff outside for some air.
You want to disrespect yourself? Fine. But all it takes is one bad judgment call to make a garage unsafe. It’s my job to cut that shit off as soon as I see it. Chase trusted me to get the shop running right, and that’s what I intend to do.
Across the street, my eyes catch on a couple of brightly dressed people moving around inside that ice cream shop. They’re laughing and having fun, and as I stare, I realize they’re actually dancing. That might be fine and good for an ice cream shop, but it’s exactly the kind of laid-back behavior I can’t tolerate in the garage.
I do appreciate a good ice cream cone, though. I’m a big fan of sweets. Just no way I’m braving a scene like that to get a triple scoop.
“Riley, my man,” Chase says as he steps out to join me. “Chill morning with the crew?”
I snort. “You catch that scene?”
“Couldn’t hear anything from the office, but your facial expressions did the work.” He pushes a hand through his hair. “Little Joe seems chagrined, at least. He’s busying himself with grunt work.”
“Keep an eye on that one.”
“He’s a good guy,” Chase says. “Needs to learn respect, but you’ll never catch him slacking at the job. He’s just a showboat, that’s all.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “You want me to act the hardass, or not?”
Chase chuckles. “Is it an act now?” he jokes. “Listen. I’m not out here to talk about Little Joe. I just wonder if you might benefit from some rest and relaxation. Maybe if you blow some steam off, you won’t look quite so terrifying when you have to yell at the crew.”
“I like looking terrifying. It’s one of my assets.” I squint at my old friend. “What’s your point?”
“I’m saying you’re new blood in the gayborhood. Bikers are coming and going all day, and I’ve already had a few of them ask about you.” He grins and rocks back on his heel. “You know how popular diesel bears are.”
“Don’t call me a diesel bear.” I wrinkle my brow. “That’s fucked up.”
