Chapter 57
Fifty-Seven
“In your face, you doubting motherfucker,” Remy says, shoving a piece of paper with seven digits written in chick handwriting too close to my eyes.
Annoying. I take a step back and wipe my hand on my coveralls. “What shit are you mumbling about now?” He just got to work—late again—and instead of getting started on the Oldsmobile Cutlass that needs new brakes, he’s doing this BS.
“Karin finally gave me her number.” He’s grinning so wide he might hurt himself.
“I’ll be damned. Really?”
He raises both hands over his head in victory. “Fucking A.”
My lips purse as I glance at my watch. “So…it’s only taken three years. What makes you think she’s going to go out with you?”
He punches me hard in the arm, and my grin splits wide. I love dicking with the golden boy, even better when he takes the bait.
“She already said yes to a date, but she wants to double.” His expression morphs into one I know well. Here it comes.
“Yeah? Hope you found her a patsy…I mean, a suitable escort.”
“You’re it, handsome.”
I groan. Called it.
“Remember her friend Denise?”
My head lolls back. “Yup, and not interested.”
“What’s your problem, man? She’s cute.”
“I repeat, not interested.”
“Dude, c’mon. Please. I’m begging you. You know how long I’ve been chasing this skirt…”
I level him with a stare. Remy knows how to guilt me into it. That I owe him…a lot. Fuck me. “One date. That’s it.”
Relief spreads across his face.
“And you owe me,” I add. Even though he really doesn’t.
“Anything. Seriously.”
“Damn right.”
Stowing my disinterest in Denise and this whole farce, I feign the opposite. I’m polite. A gentleman. Solicitous, even. If anything, I feel a little sorry for my date, who seems into me by the way she hangs on my every word, compliments me, steals glances.
Not happening, baby.
I’m not remotely attracted to her. It’s less about how she looks than her personality, which radiates desperation and insecurity.
Beyond that, I can’t imagine any woman sinking her claws into me deep enough to scar.
I’ve set veritable animal traps to protect myself and keep the opposite sex at bay.
Some lessons are learned the hard way, and the fortress I’ve built isn’t getting knocked down any time soon.
Remy and Karin seem to be hitting it off.
He’s laying on the charm peanut butter-thick, and she’s lapping it up like a hungry Chihuahua.
I’m happy for him. He’s wanted her for a long time—and she made him work for it.
Maybe that will equate to something lasting for once.
Remy’s not much for monogamy, despite many girlfriends over the years.
Not sure he’s remained faithful to one yet.
I wonder if Karin will prove different, inspire him to change his spots.
Playing hard to get might make him value her differently.
Plus, Karin’s a little scary—the kind of girl who’d probably try and kick his ass if he steps out of line. She’s tiny, but yeah…terrifying.
“Hmm?” I say, keenly aware I missed key components of conversation.
Denise bats her eyelashes, and my eyes want to roll. That shit doesn’t work on me. I’ll never understand why chicks think it does.
“Have you seen Urban Cowboy yet?”
I’m drawing a blank.
“It stars John Travolta and Debra Winger. He’s a cowboy.” She giggles. “I mean, obviously.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“I’m dying to see it. I just love him. He was so good in Grease!”
Skipped that one…and don’t think I’m sorry about it. “I caught him in Saturday Night Fever. Good flick.”
“He’s an amazing dancer. Do you dance?”
“Sure,” I admit, taking a sip of my soda. “But I’m not into the whole disco scene.”
She giggles again, and now I’m worried she wants to, what…go dancing? “My friends and I used to do The Hustle in junior high. God, that was so fun. Maybe we could see his latest while it’s still playing…”
I shrug noncommittally but hate when the light fades in her eyes.
It’s a long night, one where I tread water…so I don’t drown.