Chapter 3 Lewis #2
“Dude! She got me in an armlock,” I protest. “A fucking armlock. Does that scream ‘I’d love to work with you’ to you?”
“At least get a straight-up no out of her first. You can’t just bait and switch like that. It’s bad for optics, Lewis.”
“She got me in an armlock,” I repeat, slower this time. “How’d you like those for optics?”
“Well, at least we know we don’t have to worry about her safety. No dude is going to fuck with her, that’s for sure.”
“She’s a badass.” Lois nods eagerly. “I’m team Firebird. Plus, her shoes are giving.”
“That’s a great point, Lois.” I flash her a thumbs-up. “You’re so right, shoes are what matter here. Anyway, whatever—I already spoke to Amir, and there’s no way I’m taking on two of them.”
Adam pauses. “Maybe one extra driver isn’t such a bad idea, come to think of it. We’re always booked up—a fifth Campus Driver would let us meet growing demand, at least.”
“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be on my side?” I frown. “We were basically breastfed together. By your mom,” I add with a smile.
“Eww!” Lois crinkles her nose and drifts back to the kitchen.
“Adam’s right, and anyway—we’ll be putting the trainees through their paces all the way through to June. Some of them will drop off, so we might as well take on a few extra. I’m totally sold on having a girl on the team—it’ll be amazing for business,” Lane says.
“I’m not taking on two of them, Lane. I’m just not.”
He shrugs. “You said Firebird didn’t seem too excited, right? So, what are you worried about? You said she’ll probably say no.”
I gulp down my smoothie. These guys are running circles around me, and they know it.
“I’ve got a whole training plan mapped out,” Donovan pipes up. “We can train the newbies on the job, so it doesn’t mess with our schedules. We just need to make sure our rides match up with their classes.”
“Jeff’ll only be in town during vacations, so I can cover for you guys the rest of the time.”
“Amazing, Laney.” Donovan turns to me. “So? What do you say, Lewis?”
“Mmmyeah.”
Don raises a brow. “Meaning?”
Adam beams. “He’s saying he loves it. We’ve been friends for twenty years—I’m fluent in Lewis mumbling.”
“Yeahscrewyou.”
“I heard that!” Don calls out.
Then he proceeds to talk us through the two students he’s got his eye on, while I sit there, quietly stewing.
Nobody’s backing me up, so I might as well get on board with it.
I don’t have a choice. There’s a month to go until I hook up with Amir again, which definitely gives me enough time to see what Firebird’s got going on.
In theory, it’s up to her to come sniff me out, since she ditched me without saying yes or no. My personal plan is to play dead.
“I’m taking my car into the shop tomorrow morning. Can one of you drive me back?” Don asks.
I jerk my head up. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing. It’s just that RJ got my new leather seats in; he’s working on it this weekend. Since we’ve got the game on Sunday, I’ll need it ready to go the next day.”
“You think he can get it done by Monday?”
“Yeah. He’s got help, apparently.”
“Sounds good.” I nod. “I’ll come with you. My Dodge doesn’t sound great—could be the release bearing. Maybe he’ll let me use his lift to take a look.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
I eye him. He better not use our drive together as an excuse to break my balls over the Firebird situation.
RJ’S GARAGE IS THE BEST. It’s huddled on the edge of town, and the guy himself is a total gem—he knows his classic cars inside out, but he’s pretty handy with all the latest bells and whistles, too.
He’s always there when we need him, and he lets us dip in and out of his gear.
He’s definitely the only guy we trust to handle our cars.
Stepping inside the shop, I let out a whistle. “Check out the Cadillac, Don.”
“RJ? You there?”
A voice echoes through the sprawling space. “Coming!”
RJ steps out of his office on the metal walkway spanning the shop’s entire top floor, the iron trembling under his weight.
“How’s it going, kids?” he calls out as he trips his way down the stairs.
He’s in his forties but looks at least a decade older.
“You put the Road Runner round the back?”
“Yup!” Don tosses him the key.
“How’re Lane and Adam?”
“Doing great. They say hi, by the way.”
RJ nods. “Tell Lane to give me a call sometime. I’ve thought of something for his Camaro.”
My gaze drifts over to the car lift. “Can I check something on the Dodge while we’re here?”
“Make yourself at home, Lewis.” RJ gestures at Don. “Let’s go see your leather.”
I head back out to pick up my car, and once I’ve lined it up on the machine, I jack it up a few inches before lowering myself onto the creeper and disappearing underneath it.
I’m still lying on the ground, working away on the Dodge, when I hear the garage door slide open and footsteps stomping across the floor.
“Yo, RJ? Next time you send me to go collect money from some three-hundred-pound dude, maybe give me a heads-up?”
I turn just in time to see a pair of sneakers flash by. Sounds like a girl. And it sounds like she’s pissed.
The stairs squeak overhead as RJ picks his way down to the shop floor.
“Yeah, I bet you were real scared,” he drawls. “Don! Get your ass over here. I want to introduce you to somebody.”
“What’s that Dodge thing doing here?” Her voice suddenly sounds different.
I bristle. Dodge thing? Girl, please…
I shove myself to the side and roll out from under the car. Well, well, well… If it isn’t—
“Firebird!” Donovan yelps.
She flinches at the nickname, and I watch as her eyes slide over to me. She blinks hard, as if she can’t quite believe it. That makes two of us.
Don holds out a hand for me to grab, and I jump to my feet, wiping my fingers down on a rag. What were the chances I’d run into her again so soon? And what the hell is she doing here, anyway?
RJ’s eyebrows shoot up. “You guys know each other?”
“No, but I do know her car,” my friend explains. “1969 Pontiac Firebird.”
RJ laughs. “I should’ve guessed. Come on, Amy—remember your manners. Say hi to the nice man. We’re working on Donovan’s car this weekend.”
“Hi,” she says dully.
“Remember the assistant I told you about?” RJ pats her shoulder. “Amy here helps me out from time to time. You can trust her, I promise.”
She’s a mechanic?
She’s wearing a red grease suit to match her nails; the sleeves knotted around her waist. It pains me to admit it, but she looks damn good.
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.