Chapter 10
brODY
Walking around the ‘car show’, as Erica called it, is basically like entering another world.
There are gorgeously flashy cars lined up every few spaces with the doors, trunks, and hoods open.
Some are old, some are new, but they’re all spit-polished and shined for the display.
A few have owners perched in folding camping chairs by the hoods, ready to talk shop with anyone who happens by.
Which Erica does. A lot.
That’s me . . . there’s a red one, a white one, a black one, the other black one, and now a blue. Erica knows everything about them, though, bumper to bumper and inside and out. You can tell by the way she talks to the owners and appreciates every detail.
“Nothing too much, Rix. You know me, keeping it all original. My girl’s just for show.
” The dark-haired man chats Erica up about the differences in engine blocks and I get lost again.
But they are in their element, bantering back and forth with one another as I stand by, hearing a version of Charlie Brown’s teacher from their conversation . . . wah, wah-wah-wah-wah-wah.
Ordinarily, I might be bored by a topic I know next to nothing about, but watching Erica shine like this is far from boring. She’s magnificent, drawing a crowd of three other old guys as she and Ernesto discuss something called an ‘SS’.
“Hell, Ernesto, don’t be too cocky. Not like that old thing’s got a 409.” Judging by the ‘ooh’ that goes through the guys, that’s a big insult. Ernesto flips the newcomer, a silver-haired guy in a Ford T-shirt, his middle finger. I decide I like Ernesto just fine.
“Screw you, Wilson. At least mine’s OEM, not a Franken-car of shit you found at the scrapyard.”
Even I snort at that, which draws the guys’ eyes all to me.
“Who’re you?” the no-409 guy scoffs. Ernesto called him ‘Wilson.’ He’s at least three, if not four, decades older than me, a good six inches shorter and fifty pounds lighter. None of those things matter to him in the slightest as he stands up tall to face me head on.
Ballsy old fucker. I can see where Erica gets it from if this is the crowd she hangs out with.
I stand up tall myself, out of respect to the old guy because the last thing a man like this wants is to be seen as too old to be a threat. And hell, for all I know, he’s a damn Clint Eastwood clone with dead shot aim and a gun in his back pocket. “Brody.”
I don’t offer any more than that, letting my one-word, people-suck attitude shine through, dark and ominous.
Wilson grunts, his eyes locked on me as he talks to Erica.
“Hey, Rix, where’s Reed? Usually see him car shopping around here with you.
You two are always locked at the hip. ’Least he knows shit about cars. ”
I let my lips spread slowly, danger in my eyes that a man like Wilson can see a mile away, even though I wouldn’t really hurt the old guy. Reed ain’t here, but I sure as shit am. Even if I don’t know about cars, I know a hell of a lot about Erica and am learning more every second.
I cross my arms over my chest, glaring at Wilson, who to his credit, glares right back pretty well himself.
Erica smacks us both on the arms with dual fists.
“Enough, assholes. Wilson, you know Reed might be around here somewhere, so if you want him to work on Sally, then keep running that trap. If you want me under her hood, shut the fuck up. And Cowboy, seriously? Don’t make me send you to the truck while I do business. ”
My lips quirk as she scolds me like an errant kid, something that would have me bailing if it weren’t for the shit-eating grin I see in her eyes.
But I also hear the reminder. This is her work, her livelihood, her passion, and I don’t want to fuck that up by pissing off Wilson, who sounds like a good customer.
Like a good little boy, I take her order this time. “Yes, ma’am.” She’s gonna pay for that later, but I think we’ll both like the punishment.
Wilson grumbles but agrees too. “I’m just fucking around with you, Rix. Sally’s got an appointment for new whitewall shoes this week still, yeah?”
Rix beams, having set us both in place without breaking a sweat. “Yep, tires should be in on Wednesday. I’ll let you know if that changes.”
That handled, she tells the guys to ‘fuck off,’ which seems to be their version of goodbye because they all answer in kind and throw her two-fingered waves.
It feels natural to take her hand in mine as we move down the row of cars, but I can feel those guys’ eyes on me as we walk away.
We look for a while, and she educates me on car culture, telling me details about every vehicle we approach like a fucking Wikipedia page.
We get closer to the end of the row, doubling back to where the newer vehicles are.
Seems the classics guys and the hot rod guys are two very different crowds, and never the two shall mix.
Odd, seems like a car guy is a car guy to me, but what do I know?
Not enough, that’s what.
“So, what’s the deal with you and Reed?” I venture, well aware that she might rightfully tell me to mind my own business.
She looks around like Reed might actually be here, so I automatically do the same but don’t see him anywhere. Erica must not either because she sighs.
“We grew up together at the garage because our dads are friends. We dated in high school and Dad thought . . . hell, everyone thought . . . that Reed and I were going to get married.” She pauses, and I pray there’s a big ‘but’ coming.
“I didn’t want that, not then, and not with him.
So I bailed, took the easy way out and ran away to the Army.
It wasn’t the only reason, but it was a big one. ”
“And now that you’re back, he thinks you’re going to pick right back up where you left off?” I guess, which is a pretty easy leap given his alternating possessive and forlorn puppy dog behavior toward her.
Her nod is clipped. “There’s a lot of history there. We were each other’s first relationship, first everything. And I love him, but not like that, never like that. He’s a great friend, always was, and now, he’s a good coworker too, but that’s it. No matter what Reed, Dad, or Uncle Smitty think.”
“Or Wilson,” I add, glad that I’m not stepping on anyone’s toes here. Well, I’m sure Reed thinks I am, but Erica hasn’t been his in quite some time, by the sound of it.
She laughs and agrees. “Or Wilson.” Her face goes a bit blank in a blink, and I can see a guard dropping over her. “Listen, Brody. Last night was amazing . . .”
“Motherfucker, are you dumping me at the damn car show?” I interrupt, somehow both horrified and amused.
And maybe a little turned on. Girls don’t dump me, not because I’m the dumper and not the dumpee, but because it’s always been a casual thing, nothing serious since I’ve been way too busy being a family man for brothers and sisters.
Failing spectacularly at it, too, but that’s not really the point of her ditching me.
And damned if her trying to put a bit of distance between us doesn’t make me want to chase her. Shit, maybe I’m no better than Reed after all. One little taste and I’m addicted to Erica’s sour-sweet combo.
She doesn’t smile. “I want to be clear. I don’t have a lot of time in my schedule for this.
” She moves a hand from her chest to mine.
“I’ve got the garage and it keeps me busy.
Like ridiculously fucking busy. So if you’re looking for someone to call and show up, be available for dates, and hell, take showers, shave, and put on dresses, I’m not that girl. ”
I look her up and down slowly and methodically, letting her know I’m not missing an inch of her.
Her hair’s back up in that knot on top of her head, the one I’ve realized keeps her long locks from getting tangled when she’s dipping in and out from underneath hoods, and her bare face puts her freckles on display.
She’s wearing a Beartooth band T-shirt, a group I’ve definitely never heard of but judging by the shirt is apparently something to do with acid-tripping alien UFOs and snakes, a fresh pair of cutoffs, this time black with a bit of white paint spattered on them, and those steel-toed boots she already pushed me away with once before on her feet.
“I see you, Erica. Badass, beautiful, and way out of my league. If you’re looking to get married, sounds like you’ve already got an offer on that.
But if you want to just hang out when we have time and see what comes up, I’m good with that.
” I shrug, hoping it reads as casual. “Like I said, it doesn’t have to be a thing. ”
I mean it. I really do. I’m not looking to get married either and am quite busy myself, actually, since we’ve got to get the cows to market soon. But I definitely wouldn’t object to spending what free time we do have together, preferably in bed, but at car shows if we have to.
Hell, maybe I’ll take her to the market auction when we sell the cattle.
A bit of tit for tat. I listen to her talk cars with the guys and she can listen to me drone on about the price of cattle with the other ranchers.
Something tells me she won’t find my cow knowledge nearly as sexy as I find her car knowledge, though.
She squints like she’s looking beneath my hood too, figuring out all my parts and pieces the way she does a broken-down car.
“All right. If you say so. Just don’t come crying to me when you get your heart broken because I’m up to my eyeballs in transmission repairs and can’t suck your dick for a while. ”
My eyes cross. Holy hell, this woman.
I growl, throwing my arm over her shoulder and pulling her to my side. “Show me some cars or something, Erica, or I’m gonna find the nearest deserted corner of this lot and let you do that now.”
She flutters her lashes before smirking. “What? Suck your dick?”