As expected, Wren sent a text during the night to cancel our Sunday date. That’s fine. He’s really not my type. Though I’m not actually sure what my type is. Well, Rye would be my type if he wasn’t so far out of my league.
“I think it’s cowardly to break a date via text,” Maggie growls.
She’s been badmouthing Wren all morning, but it’s not necessary. That spark wasn’t there, and we both knew it. Everything felt so... forced.
“It’s fine. I need to run to the store. You want anything?” I ask as I pick up my keys.
“Donuts would be nice,” she teases, and I glare at her.
That reminds me... I need to do something to get back at him for the red mouth. I’ll come up with something while I’m at the store.
When I walk out, my mouth falls. My car... It’s gone! Who the hell would steal a wrecked car? An old wrecked car.
“It’s at my garage,” a deep voice says, prompting me to look up just as Rye crosses the street, his jean-clad legs taking long strides on his way to me.
Why does he look so good even under the influence of my cruel hangover? “I’m on my way there now. I just need your keys.”
My mouth opens and closes a few times, and then panic sets in. I can’t afford his garage! I told him this already.
“No. You can’t fix—”
“It’s fine, Brin. It’s seriously no big deal. We happen to have a surplus of the parts, and this gives me a reason to get rid of them. Besides, I can’t torture you if you get yourself killed in that thing. You can drive one of mine for a few days until you get yours back.”
He reaches me and pulls my keys from my hand and exchanges them for his Range Rover keys.
“I can’t drive that,” I hiss, pointing to the SUV that costs more than I make in three years. Or more. He’s crazy.
“It’s harder to tear up. Don’t worry,” he says while winking. Then he turns around and walks away, leaving me in my stupefied state as my feet cement themselves to the ground.
A black motorcycle is parked in his yard, and he throws one long leg over it before pulling on his helmet. The beast roars to life, and he rocks it back until he can drive off the grass and onto the street, leaving me to wallow in my humiliation.
“That’s so fucking sweet,” Maggie says from behind me.
I turn to see her grinning while sipping her coffee, and I glare at her. “It’s not sweet. He feels sorry for me. I can pay for my own car to get fixed.”
She snorts and rolls her eyes. “You can’t pay for his shop. And his is the best.”
So she knew where he worked this whole time?
I frown as I look at the black Range Rover at my curb. He’s loaning me his car while he fixes mine. And all this after I wrecked it into his. What a twisted, weird world we live in.
***
RYE
“Engine looks rough as hell. Sparkplugs are going bad, brakes are shot, rotors are fucked, tires are bald—”
“In other words, it’s a piece of shit,” I interrupt, flipping through the interview questions for the magazine reporter that will be coming.
“Yeah,” Wrench—my lead mechanic—says.
“Fix it all,” I say with a shrug, cursing at how personal some of these questions are.
Why do they need to know about my home life? This is about my garage, isn’t it?
“Don’t you need to call the owner? That’s going to be a chunk of cash, and it’s a Camry, and not one of the snazzy new ones, either. It’s an old Camry—talking dawn of the dinosaurs here. There’s a cassette player, dude. The owner may not have that kind of dough. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a blue-collar car in here.”
That makes me sound like a rich asshole. I charge a lot because I have the highest quality workers, but still.