Page 21 of Hard Fix

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“Ooops.” I shrugged my shoulders while Sharon laughed like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard.

“That sounds like Laney!”

“After that, I learned I needed to let Laney pick.”

“And Judge Mills had to install a lock on the new dryer if I recall,” the sales woman said. Her fine white hair was teased into a bouffant, and her mauve lipstick matched the silk scarf tied expertly around her neck. She had gold baubles in her ears, although hers were probably real. She looked like somebody’s grandmother, but one who’d have all white furniture and not let anyone sit on the couch.

“So your gentleman friend sent along a swatch of color for us to work with, and we’ve assembled some fabrics and draped some mannequins in the back for you to have a look at.” She dangled a square of cobalt blue raw silk in front of me. “He’s no dummy. I’d say it’s the exact shade of your eyes.”

I snatched the square away and balled it up in my fist. “Roads sent a fabric swatch? What kind of mechanic is the guy?”

“The CEO kind,” my mother whispered as she gathered my arm in hers and marched us toward the back.

Twenty minutes later, I was standing on a little platform in the back of the store, surrounded by cobalt blue silk, mirrors, and two old seamstresses with pins in their mouths.

“You look like an angel in a Renaissance painting. I can’t stand it. It’s like you’re Starry Night come to life right now, Laney,” Sharon told me, hands on her hips.

I did feel beautiful, but I also got timid when people fussed over me too much.

“Lane, you’re a vision. Frankly, you’re going to knock this man right off his feet.”

Then steal all his money and run. Burn down his shop.

If I destroyed his business, would he still have sex with me?

I blushed at the thought.

Why him? Why me?

“Give us a twirl. Let me see how the fabric moves. You are going to be dancing, I presume,” the other woman said. She had a clipped and neat bob that was strikingly silver, not a hair out of place.

I flapped my arms once at my sides and tottered in the showroom heels that were at least two sizes too big. A twirl in the mirror transported me to the fantasies of childhood. A princess, a prince, a badass car to drive off into the sunset with.

“Now if we could just find a way to cover all those tattoos…”

11

Edison

I hadn’t been nervous for a date since—well, maybe I’d never been. Ethel had come to help me, and by help, I meant eating tacos on my white sectional, guzzling beer, and watching the game. Not to mention occasionally throwing in a comment about what a sellout I was. I loved my brother. But if he weren’t my brother, I’d kick him the hell out of my house.

“Any plans for your weekend, Ethel?”

“Windsurfing, and then we’re going to pit roast a whole pig in Stewey’s backyard.”

“Charming. Too bad I sold out, otherwise I might come and play ‘Lord of the Flies’ with you.”

“You wish, douche. Instead you’re going to go waltz in a ballroom and throw money at people you don’t even know. This chick you’re trying to impress… Is she a debutant or some shit?”

“Ethel, she’s a mechanic.”

“No shit? I never knew a girl mechanic before. She any good?”

“She was the best in town. I would have hired her for Roads if she didn’t already have her own shop.”

“A chick with a shop. She look the part? Can she lift tires?”

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but she’s fit and strong and sexy as fuck.”

“So are you serious?”

I chucked an orange from the bowl on the table at his head. He ducked.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t just drop a glob of salsa on the couch. I have a dining room with a table, Ethel. Use it! I bet at home you eat tacos in your bed. Pig.”

“Have you fucked her yet?”

I lobbed another navel orange, and this one made its mark, hitting him square in the chest so hard that he rubbed the spot.

“None of your fucking business, bro.”

“That’s a no, then, bro yourself.” He tossed the same orange back, intending to hit me. But I already had my suit on, and I managed to catch it before he hit the target. The orange was crushed, and the wet juice dripped down my wrist. “If you did, you wouldn’t be so defensive.”

“Got a degree in psychology now, Ethel? Or maybe I just like her a lot and I don’t want to jinx what we’ve got.”

“Which is what? Fierce competition in a small market that isn’t reliable enough for you both to survive? I bet she’s luring you in so she can get you good and whipped. That’s her hustle. She’ll play you for a fool and then break your heart just to run you out of town.” He looked at me soberly and nodded his head slowly.


Tags: Mila Crawford Young Adult