Chapter 1You were pervin if you cant stand
one
. . .
you were pervin' if you can't stand
“What a good boy you are. You are seriously the best boy, you make me so happy, do you know that? Good boy. Good, good boy .”
Heat stalks up the back of my neck, radiating through my brain, making my temples go fuzzy and my thoughts a little wobbly. The blonde woman in the black plastic chair holds her dog’s head in her hands, shaking his face as she showers him with praise.
“Good boy, what a good boy,” she coos, her soft proclamations of approval doing a number on me in more ways than one. From behind, Atticus slams his shoulder into mine.
“Quit pervin’ and give ’er the keys, already.”
As quickly as I'm on my feet, I'm back down in the chair again.
Now Atti drapes his palm along the top of my shoulder, giving me a knowing squeeze. "Oh yeah," he chuckles gruffly. "You were pervin' if you can't stand."
I bury my face in my hands, the tips of my fingers knocking up my baseball cap.
"Shake it off," Atti advises as he makes his way to Delane on the other side of the desk, dropping a few private words in her ear before disappearing into the shop.
She types a few things, pulls open the sliding drawer adjacent to her, and fishes around until she produces a set of keys with an orange tag on them.
She holds them up to me a moment before dropping them onto the Plexiglass.
"Seven is ready," she says as I pull my cap back down, straightening my spine, preparing to shake off all that good boy praise from a minute ago. Getting excited by a beautiful woman talking to a dog is a new low.
Seriously.
When it’s safe to stand, I do and snatch the keys from the counter. "Thanks, Delane," I say, which earns me the smallest of smiles before she pops her EarPod back in and returns her focus to the computer.
Knowing she's not listening will make this next part a little easier.
With the keys pressed into my sweaty palm, I make my way around the counter toward the woman and her dog.
She's gorgeous, with long light hair styled in those loose waves women do.
Her eyes are bright, long dark lashes making her look innocent as she blinks up at me, full pink lips framing a beautifully white, toothy smile.
"All done?" she asks happily as she rises, conscious of the leash wrapped around her hand. The dog doesn't stir, as if he's trained to her verbal commands, and something about this woman and her dog has me anxious to sit down again .
I force myself to get through the next part instead of tossing her the keys and bolting, like I usually do with beautiful women.
Because even Atticus, the shop asshole, has a girl, leaving just me and Delane the single ones in the shop. Despite being twenty-six, I’ve never felt the pressure to be with someone when all of us were single.
Then Beau started seeing Beck, and it just so happened I got a girlfriend that month, too. And Atticus met Goldie and they got serious. Now here we are, a year later, and Beau and Atticus are both married and I'm single and have been for way too long.
I can be alone. I've been alone since I was eighteen.
But I don't want to be.
So I'm forcing myself to do this.
"Yeah, it's all done and you're all paid up, right?" I smile, letting the blunt tips of my fingers drag against her palm as I deposit the keys in her hand. Her skin is soft and warm, but she takes her hand away, looping the keys through her pointer finger.
"Yup, all good," she says with a pacifying smile. She clutches her purse where the strap bands over her shoulder. "Thanks a lot," she says, pinching her gaze on my name tag where my name is embroidered. "Miller. Thank you."
I smile, and my heart is beating so loudly I'm almost nervous that if I open my mouth, the noise will blare all around us like a drum over a speaker. Swallowing, I gather my courage in all of a split second because she's about to bolt.
I tug off my hat and fish a shaky hand through my messy hair. My hair may be a disaster, but it's not polite to talk to a woman with your hat on.
"Before you go, I was wondering, and it's completely okay if you're not up for it or into it or whatever but," I raise my eyes to meet hers and it's the strangest thing.
I can see rejection burning behind her eyes, like she's going to let me down easy, yet all I can feel is Delane's focus on us from behind me.
I glance back to catch her looking at her computer screen, but I know she's aware.
She may even be listening. No pressure or anything.
"Would you like to go out with me sometime?
Again, it's totally cool if you don't want to. "
I run my hand through my hair again and then return it to my hat, where I'm bending the bill between my fingers at my belly.
Her smile tells me everything I already know, and the heat of rejection burns up my spine like wildfire.
"Thanks, Miller, I am flattered. Really, but I'm not dating."
I'm not dating means I don't want to date you . I may not be a ladies’ man, but I'm not a moron; I speak basic woman.
I lift a hand to wave off her rejection, to make her feel okay about having to reject me. "No worries, drive safe. Thanks for coming to Wrench Kings."
I turn back to the desk, making my way quickly around it so I can get to the shop door and get out of here as soon as possible. The bell sounds when the girl leaves, and right as I'm about to open the back door, Delane swivels in her chair to face me.
Her EarPods are still in, but the chances she didn't hear that whole thing are slim to none, based on the look she's wearing. A sort of smile, a sort of grimace, and a lot of excitement burning in her gorgeous dark eyes.
Delane may be single like me, but she's single by choice. She has to be. A woman so strong and sure of herself, so gorgeous and unapologetically honest... if she wanted to be married with kids right now, there’s no doubt in my mind she could be .
She pats the stool next to her, and I take the bait. She smells like sour cherry balls, and I notice the open bag next to her mug.
“Are you eating those things while drinking coffee?” My stomach sours at the thought. Or maybe my stomach was already sour from the rejection. Or from knowing she witnessed it.
She pops another into her mouth, and I notice the faint red rimming her lips where she’s been sucking on the candy.
“I am. Do you have a comment you’d like to make regarding my personal food and drink choices?” she asks, tone pointed as if she’s really saying, step off . So I do.
“No, ma’am,” I say quickly, tugging the bill of my baseball hat to keep my nerves from manifesting in more obvious ways. I can’t deny that Delane makes me feel… things.
“Can I tell you why that woman said no?” she asks, folding her arms over her chest along her breasts. Not that I’m looking. And the way she’s asking the question makes me realize I’m not meant to really answer but just nod. So I do.
She drops her shoulders, letting her body language go from in power and ready to go to something more liquid, with no spine and no confidence. She straightens again, snapping between the demeanors a few times.
I wave my finger at her when she’s downtrodden and slouched. “If I’m supposed to be puddle man–”
“Not supposed to be,” she says, finding the stool with her bottom as she backs into it. “Are. You are a puddle.”
I try not to let my ex-girlfriend’s words haunt me, but what can I say? I’m very hauntable. “I’ll never be rich,” I sigh, tugging the bill of my cap to give my hands something to do.
She knocks my hat back, and I catch it before it hits the ground. I smooth a hand through my unruly hair, another wave of embarrassment settling in my cheeks. I don’t like looking messy around Delane. I tug my hat back down.
“Rich has nothing to do with walking around like a timid puppy.” She drops a hand on my thigh, and all the blood in my body moves quicker in response. “You need confidence, Miller.”
I cock a brow at her and hide the disappointment on my face when she takes her hand away. “First, I'm a puddle; now I’m a puppy. And I’m supposed to feel confident?”
She rolls her dark eyes, the amber bits around the pupil shining under the bright, fluorescent lights. I love that the shade of her eyes seems to shift with each expressive emotion she feels. Anger and passion make them amber with a hint of burnt caramel. It’s one of my favorite shades on her.
“You know the point I’m making. You’re not confident.”
I’ve never given much thought to confidence. I go to work, do my job, and go home. Where confidence plays into any of that, I’m not sure. I shrug. “I don’t know if I am.”
She rolls her eyes again, but it makes my pulse stir some more.
“I’m telling you that you’re not, Miller.
And trust me when I say that not being rich,” she throws finger quotes around those three words as if they’re so untrue she needs to qualify them with the gesture.
“Has nothing to do with the way you carry yourself. I listen to so many stories, Miller. And the thing that all the heroes have in common isn’t owning a private island or getting picked up in a limo.
It’s confidence. All of the men that get the girl are sure of themselves.
Know themselves, and because of that, they’re not scared or nervous… ever.”
Not scared or nervous ever? I don’t know if I believe that. “What if they see a brown bear?”
Another eye roll and another private appreciation on my end. “I’m talking about relationships, not wildlife, Miller. Stay focused.”
“So what are you saying? I’m not confident, and that’s why she said no?”
She nods as she studies her cuticles, like telling me exactly what’s wrong with my (non-existent) love life is run of the mill for her.
Just another part of her day. “Yep. And once you are confident with whatever you’re most insecure about, you will literally own your life.
There won’t be a single thing you can’t do. ”
I’m almost afraid to ask, but I have to anyway. “How do you know?”
She drops her hand to her lap and twists on the stool to meet my gaze. Her knees brush mine as she does, and my body gets confused, reacting the way it did to the woman praising her pup. I scratch my hair beneath my hat in an effort to distract myself.
“Because I’ve heard it hundreds of times. I’ve listened to men get lost in their greatest insecurity, only to come out on the other side, the sexiest, strongest version of themselves mentally. And that carries over.”
My mouth is uncomfortably dry when I attempt a response. “Well, I don’t even know what I’m most insecure about,” I admit because if I have to stop and think about it, I think the only thing I really feel good about is working on cars. That I know I’m good at.
She wrinkles her nose and twists her focus back to her computer. “I think you know, but I can’t help until you admit it.”
Help me? I didn’t know help from Delane was on the menu. Heck, I didn’t know there was a help-Miller-menu . Atticus and Beau come through the back, and I use their appearance as a distraction, slipping out the very door they came through.
I don’t say goodbye to the crew beyond a simple wave that day, but as I’m driving to my apartment, I can’t help but wonder…
Is confidence what Delane is attracted to?