Chapter 22 Amy
I’m driving home alone, and the week I just had is flooring me. I haven’t seen Lewis since our SexyBikini adventure. It’s been seven days since he last messaged—some bullshit about how he has too much on his plate and can’t train me up anymore.
Every time I start to miss him, I repeat the same mantra over and over—I’m Amy Hitman.
I don’t need anybody but myself. It works for all of three minutes, and then I’m back to melting down.
I can’t stand the grip he has over me, and so I’ve upped my workout schedule, trying to sweat him out of my system.
I need to forget it all—how I could spend days just watching him drive, nights just pulling him into me on the back seat.
The way all my broken parts seem to slot together under his weight.
I pull up outside the shop and head to my room, stopping in my tracks when I hear that all-too-familiar sound. Slowly, I turn to the garage. RJ knows how much I love the plasma cutter. Would he really get it out without asking me to join him?
Apparently so. What is it, Disrespect Amy Month, or something?
I clatter back down the stairs and storm through the door.
“You limp-dicked little traitor!”
I slouch against the wheel balancer, smirking when RJ whips around.
“You a fucking psychic, kid? Every time I get this thing out, you’re up my ass.”
“So, you really were sneaking around behind my back, huh?” I fold my arms over my chest. “You know it’s a two-person job, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” He scratches his head sheepishly.
That’s not a good sign.
I straighten, narrowing my eyes at him. “What’s going on? You hire someone to help?”
“Not exactly.” He looks at me nervously. “Emil wanted to apologize for one of his guys stealing the Dodge, and—”
“Emil? Apologize?” I let out a bark of laughter. “To you?”
“He really cares about you, you know.”
“He sent a guy to help you out—so that I would forgive him? That doesn’t make sense. Emil would never do that for you.” I shake my head. “Ever. Unless the guy he sent was infected with a zombie virus.”
I know he knows I’m making sense, but the light shifts in his eyes, and something weird is definitely going on here.
“Why’d you say yes? Why even let Emil get involved?”
“I know, I know…” RJ shrugs. “But I have a bunch of cars lined up for repairs. How could I pass on a free mechanic? I’ve got him on back-to-back oil changes; the dude’ll be pissing the stuff by the time I’m done with him.”
I eye him warily. “Which dude?”
He jerks his head over to the walkway, and I follow his gaze.
And that’s when I see him.
Elbows propped on the railing, his eyes twinkling, a playful smile flitting on his lips.
“You have got to be kidding me!”
“Hey, babe.”
“Esteban?”
I glare at RJ. Fuck my life. I race up the stairs until I’m face-to-face with my ex, and when he parts his lips to speak, I hold up a warning hand.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Nice to see you, too.” He stretches out a hand to my hair. “Wanna grab a drink?”
I step back, appraising him coolly. Talk about overconfident.
“What are you doing here?”
“Emil,” he says simply.
“You think I’m stupid?”
“Never.”
I sigh. “How long you staying?”
“Until Emil says I’m done.”
I fish for my phone and hit dial. It rings straight to voicemail. Asshole. I’m pretty sure Emil knew how this was going to play out—he’s probably blocked me already.
“?Pequena comadreja sucia! You better call your dog off—I mean it.”
I hang up and jab a finger in Esteban’s smug, handsome face.
“Get outta here.”
“I love when you talk to me like that.”
“Now.”
“I’ve got half a dozen oil changes to get through—Ronny’s counting on me.”
He gives me the world’s fakest helpless shrug, and I spin on my heel, stomping back down the stairs, cussing under my breath, hitting dial on a second number. By the time the beep sounds out on Lewis’s voicemail recording, I’ve got no idea why I even called him in the first place.
“Hey, Lewis. I… just… Call me back.”
I know his life is insane right now, but I need to see him as soon as possible.
That was part of our deal, and with Esteban rocking up to Sycamore Heights like this, things have never felt more urgent.
I wait. And I wait. I wait all evening long, with no word from Lewis, and I’m guessing he must be busy with practice.
Except the same thing happens the next day.
And the next.
THE DAYS SEGUE BY, AND my Campus Driver has officially ghosted me.
Esteban, on the other hand, is everywhere I look, and each time he tries to spark up a conversation with me, I shake him off.
I don’t want him here, and I plan on doing everything in my power to get his ass carted back to Brooklyn.
No matter how I have to do it. That’s the plan, anyway—but two weeks later, and Esteban is still right here.
Great. Not only do I have an ex hanging around like a bad smell, but Lewis has gone MIA.
He swore he’d be there whenever I needed to let off steam, but he’s just ditched my ass and left me to deal with my feelings alone.
I don’t understand what’s going on, but there’s no way I’m double texting.
Instead, I thank my lucky stars that he got me that track pass.
It’s fun, I guess—and it definitely goes some way to helping me unwind, even if it doesn’t exactly hit the same as a drag race. I’m holding on, though.
In a way, it should feel good. This is the new me—in control of my actions, independent of anybody else.
But the truth is, I miss my trainer, and it’s dragging me down.
Things were starting to look up for me, but as one day turns into two turns into a week turns into three weeks, I feel like lighting a match under it all.