Bonus 1
I stand against the stack of boxes in my boss' office, glancing between the picture of his smiling family on the desk and the scowl on his face. Believe it or not, the scowl on his face in the picture is even bigger. Says a lot about his marriage.
"You wanted to see me?" I ask.
"What's that piece of shit sports car doing in my garage again?"
My eyes roll back and my body slouches.
"Don't start with me, Laurier," he quips. "I don't like you cleaning up Damien Mierro's messes."
Damien Mierro, arguably the person I hate most in the world, likes familiarity with the people he asks favours of. He's known me since I was fifteen, thinks he had the biggest hand in my late upbringing, and therefore always brings his fucked up cars to me personally.
His BMW currently lies in my area, pulled completely apart because I can't figure out how he fucked it up this time.
He's always tinkering with it like he has any idea how an engine works, and it always inevitably ends with about fifteen hours of my labour time taken up with fixing an idiots mistake. Today being no different.
"He pays like everyone else," I say.
Standing up for him feels like losing. I've never been at war with Damien Mierro, but these days it sure feels like I am.
Every time his sheep call me, every time his car turns up outside the garage, every check up text I get from him; I'm reminded that he'll never let me go. That I've lost this silent war.
Then again, at least I'm not dead.
Vinnie, the boss, scoffs.
"I'm staying late to fix it anyway," I shrug. "I'll still have Mrs Chen's Subaru back to her first thing tomorrow morning - all that needs doing is her tracking. It's an hour, tops."
"I don't like you here alone at night."
This time I scoff.
Nobody says it to my face, but I know what I look like. I know the tattoos scare people, that I've got dark hair and sharp eyes and skin that isn't white - I know that people cross the street when I'm approaching because I look like trouble.
I've got as good a chance in a fight as the next guy, but nobody ever tries it on with me.
I used to think that was Damien Mierro's doing too. People were scared because I was associated with him. Then I left, and still nobody picked a fight - it was me after all.
"You're joking, right?"
He waves an arm in front of me. "If someone broke in here, you'd be about as capable as a wet fly. That skull on your neck doesn't scare me, Laurier."
He's got a point.
"So you don't like Mierro, you don't like me being alone, and you don't like the tattoos either. Is this what you asked me in here for? Because to be honest, I was hoping you'd make me a latte with that new fancy coffee machine your wife bought you."
He glares at me but spins in his office chair either way, putting his guest cup under the machine and pressing the latte button. I grin behind my sleeve.
Vinnie acts like he's a complete prick, but he's got soft spots.
He didn't think twice about hiring me when I showed him the vast amount of experience I had with cars, even though I didn't have the actual qualifications to back it up.
He didn't question the tattoos, the shaky school history, nor the large employment gap I had when I was kicked out of said school.
Granted, he knows my mother personally from the industry, but still. He took a chance on me anyway, despite everything, and I know I've been his favourite employee since.
There's nobody else here that could walk into his office to be reprimanded and end up getting a one time use of his guest cup. Vinnie is weirdly obsessive about germs - he has one personal use cup and one guest cup in case of interviewees and the rare occasion that is whatever this is.
"I'm getting more tattoos."
"I bet you are," he snorts. "What's wrong with Mierro's shit bag this time?"
"I've got no fucking clue. He said he tried to mod the engine - I know," I smile at his narrowed eyes. "But under the hood is... I can't even describe it. Never seen anything like it. I've just started taking the whole thing apart."
"When does he want it?"
"He doesn't care. He drives around in those stupid fucking Range Rover's anyway."
He places the latte on the desk in front of him and gestures to a free seat. I eye him but sit anyway, glancing once out of the office window at the two other people working today. The two of them - Dave and Angie - also lean against a wall, doing absolutely nothing. I take the seat.
"What's up with you?" He asks.
I raise an eyebrow.
"Nothing."
He looks me up and down, leaning back into his chair after doing so.
"You fancy me or something?"
I eye him suggestively but he just scowls once more, lifting his own coffee to his mouth.
I hold mine between my hands, noticing for the first time this afternoon how dirty they are.
I guess I have been blindly working myself into a rut with Damien's car all afternoon, maybe it was time for a break.
"You piss me off," he grunts. "More so today than usual. So what's that about?"
"Matthew-"
"Oh, it's always Matthew. Matthew this, Matthew that - your boyfriend needs to find you a better outlet."
I blow on my coffee, staring at him.
It's not so often that I complain about Matt, my housemate. It's just that I don't really see many other people - it's Matt and nobody else. Occasionally his University friends, Dan, Sara and Skye. Matthew Grayson is the only person in my life I have to complain about.
"We're considering couples counselling," I smirk. "But it's not him necessarily. His sister is coming to live with us. She moved in a few hours ago."
"You have a girl living in your house?"
"Fuck off."
"I never thought I'd see the day."
"Seriously," I snort. "Fuck off."
Finally able to take a sip of my latte, I press myself back into the chair. Vinnie leans back too, grabbing a chocolate bar from his desk and offering another out to me. I take it from his outstretched hand and lean back once more.
"Is she nice?"
"Never met her."
He laughs aloud. "This girl's moving in with you and you've never met her? How old is she?"
"How am I supposed to know? Matt didn't tell me shit," I scoff. "No - he did tell me something. He told me he's got a date tonight and when I get home I'll find his sister on the couch, where she'll be sleeping for the next couple of weeks."
Vinnie cackles.
"Go home, kid."
"Excuse me?"
He sips his own coffee and grins.
"You've worked for me for two years and I've never once seen a girl call round here. Go home and meet the girl - maybe it'll take that stick out of your arse."
"I'm not meeting anyone," I scoff. "It's Matt's sister. She's probably like, seventeen and moody."
Vinnie's eyes just twinkle with glee.
Prick.
·─────?? ??─────·
Since my boss forced me out of the door of the garage, I do go home early. I take the extra long way home, down all the country roads and up the one way streets.
The fact that my mirrors aren't properly adjusted and my seat is two inches too close to the pedals only reminds me of my asshole housemate.
Matt's earlier words creep into my head, she needs to stay here, she has nowhere else, you'll barely even see her...
Then, but I do have a date tonight...
This girl is sleeping on our couch. What the fuck do you mean I'll barely even see her?
Having a best friend doesn't seem worth the trouble most of the time. Though I do love Matt - and I do genuinely believe that he's one of the best people I've ever had in my life, sans my parents. But still, he also can be a prick.
I park on our driveway and sigh at the light spilling out through the curtains.
Living with a complete stranger was not on my bucket list this year. Matt didn't specify anything about her - I didn't even know he had a sister until today - and so I can only assume there's a huge age gap.
Either she's seventeen and fresh into University, or she's thirty. If they were close in age I'd assume they'd be closer - that he would've brought her up once in the past three years. Either way, I don't want her here.
With that thought fresh in mind, the front door slams behind me. I jump with the force of it and cringe - not being an asshole is something I'm generally good at. I probably shouldn't start forgetting my manners now.
Pasting a friendly smile over my face, I walk into the living room.
And promptly freeze in place.
"What the fuck?"
Are those my words? They must be, because her mouth didn't move.
She's under a pile of blankets but has the whitest skin I've ever seen. Pale like porcelain, with huge round eyes that scream innocence. Long, flowing auburn hair. Long eyelashes, and a lush, pouty, pink mouth.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Absolutely not.
This is Matt's sister?
My heart pounds through my chest, beating so hard I feel it in the back of my throat. One of the blankets shifts and reveals part of a slender, pale leg. I swallow as she tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear.
"Matt's sister, I presume?"
My throat is dry, my words hoarse.
Not seventeen. Not a bratty little teenager or a thirty year old career woman.
"Uh huh," she breathes as I reach a hand out towards her.
My groin stirs.
Fuck. Fuck me. Fuck my entire fucking life.
She looks me up and down and I feel like I'm sweating under her gaze. My fingers are shaking, my mouth is desert dry, I'm beginning to feel like my sex drive didn't die a horrible death three years ago.
Definitely didn't die.
"Well," I clear my throat. "What's mine is yours."
As I'm walking towards the kitchen I'm thinking that either the Universe has it out or me or Matt does, because this feels an awful lot like a clever joke.
Hire some hot girl to come into the house for the night and see what happens, just for a good laugh. Matt regularly thinks it's funny that I haven't slept with anyone since my ex-girlfriend. Thinks it's even funnier that I've only ever slept with one woman.
Something distasteful like this would be right up his alley.
But as I feel her staring at my back, as I feel the heat crawling up my neck from being under her never-ending scrutiny, I know that this really is Matt's sister. That life is just that cruel.
Cruel, because, for the first time in three years, I'm feeling immediate attraction towards someone. Cruel because that someone should not be my best friends sister. Cruel because I should not live in a world where Vinnie is right.
I allow myself to glance back at her once. To look at the sharpness of her jaw, the rosy colour staining her cheeks, her big round eyes crinkling in the corners as she laughs at a joke said on TV.
Fuck.
I'm fucked.